BELARUS NEWS AND ANALYSIS

DATE:

21/04/2006

Jail Diary

by Weronika Samolinska

A Polish reporter describes her experiences in a Belarusian jail after being arrested at an opposition rally.

Weronika Samolinska, a reporter for the Polish daily Gazeta Wyborcza, was detained by Belarusian police on 24 March during one of the daily rallies in Minsk protesting what demonstrators called the flawed election of Alyaksandr Lukashenka to a third term as president. She was sentenced to 10 days in jail, and after her release on 3 April described her experiences in a reportage that appeared in English translation in the online newsletter, the Ukraine List.

BODY SEARCH

The jail guards made body searches. They took everything from me, including my glasses and tampons. I explained to the female guard that I had to keep the tampons. Somehow I managed to hide one. Afterward they escorted us - 14 young women - and crammed us into one cell.

We began introducing ourselves to one another and calming down. We were able to smoke a cigarette for the first time. One girl who snuck in her mobile phone called her sister. "Masha, tell everybody that I am attending an academic conference in Polatsk. Don't tell anybody that I'm in jail," she whispered.

After some time we began to sing. The young men in the neighboring cell immediately joined us in chorus. They then cried out "O Flourishing Belarus," nearly shouting. We replied with equal ferocity. Soon at least half of those arrested had joined in.

An enraged guard appeared and began to threaten us, but by then we felt more at ease in our solidarity.

They quickly took away every Belarusian for trial, while the journalists - namely myself, the Ukrainians, Russians, and one Canadian - were led from room to room. They obviously did not know what to do with us. In the end they put me in a cell by myself.

FIRST DRINK

Some time later the Polish consul came to see me. As it turns out, he had waited in front of the jail since 4 a.m., but was not allowed in. He was told that no Polish citizens were held in custody.

He waited for hours while the prison guards searched throughout the prison for Poles. There were three of us: Piotr Dudkiewicz, former Polish ambassador to by Belarus Mariusz Maszkiewicz, who was also arrested on the main square, and me.

I received my first glass of water when the consul came to my cell. He promised to take care of us and get us anything we needed. Then they took me for another body search, during which I was able to recover my tampons, cigarettes, and glasses. The prison guards were more humane than the militia members.

They locked me up in a cell with a relative of Maszkiewicz, a Belarusian citizen who also has permanent residency in Poland, but she was identified as a Polish citizen. She was horribly beaten, bruised, and showed symptoms of concussion.

Late on Friday night we were joined by a Georgian freelance journalist who was arrested that morning for circling the prison and photographing the prisoners' relatives.

They arrested her, oddly enough, for not having her registration card. She told the militia that her card was at the hotel, to which they replied, "Then let's go to the hotel." A cab picked them up and drove them straight to prison. Three days later, during her trial, she discovered that she was being sentenced for hooliganism. Smiling, she recalled her judge's comment after sentencing: "They couldn't have thought up anything more unlikely, could they?"

LIFE IN THE CELL

The three of us sat in our cell. It was hard to tell day from night, because the lights stayed on all the time and we were forbidden to open the windows throughout our stay, making it difficult to tell the difference. They did not want us to see the crowds of supporters outside. They sang, they waited, and some of them even provoked the authorities into arresting them, if only to offer hope for the imprisoned.

News about what was going on in the city reached us in random bits. The consul visited us every day. If not for him, I don't think we could have stood being jailed for long.

The cell was a small hall that contained tables that served as our beds, seats, and eating space. A dirty room, fungus on the walls, holes in the windows. There was a toilet in the open, so that anyone who entered the cell could hardly avoid our "tidings." There was no privacy. We had nothing: no soap, no toilet paper.

The food mostly consisted of some form of gruel and the odd cutlet, which was only served at the end of the day. We could scarcely touch this repulsive stuff, even though our hunger was intense. There was tea as well, but it was awful. A broth with some cabbage would follow. We wouldn't eat either, it had a foul smell. Only the bread was edible: good, fresh, and dark.

The first night was the most difficult. It was very cold and we huddled for warmth. The windows would not shut tightly. After the consul saw us, the next day, he brought us sleeping bags. I received sweaters, socks, basic toiletries, but most importantly, food: bread, meat, and cheese.

10 DAYS FOR WOMEN, 15 FOR MEN

My Belarusian fellow inmate, Maszkiewicz's relative, was released after three days. Nina followed two days later. By that time they had put two Belarusians in the cell, arrested on 20 March for having participated in a public meeting.

They told me the trial was nothing more than a farce. No counsel was present. Those prisoners who were either lawyers or who knew their rights called out: "I request legal representation," "I ask for witnesses," "I wish to submit a complaint." Every request was ignored. They entered the courtroom, heard the charges read out, and were sentenced. End of story. Women were given 10-day sentences, men 15 days, with a few exceptions.

My own trial fared much better. The trial was attended by the consul, a lawyer, and even a witness: the very militiaman who arrested me. At least, that is what he claimed; I could not tell whether this was my aggressor or not, since all the militiaman had worn masks. He told the court that he heard me screaming anti-state slogans in the vein of "O Flourishing Belarus," "Lukashenka out," "Down with the authorities," and "We can't live like this." He claimed to have stood within a meter of me - obviously an outrageous fabrication.

The alleged witnesses came and went from one trial to the next, repeating the same story. I was sentenced to 10 days and Maszkiewicz received 15 days. We shared the same lawyer - except that in Maszkiewicz's case the lawyer acted as prosecutor. Mariusz was furious. The questions addressed to him were obviously tailored to get him convicted.

The lawyer behaved completely differently in my case. I had not signed any protocols at the time of my arrest. Instead I demanded that the consul be allowed to interpret what was written in the statement. Since I had not signed the protocol, after a full three days of detention, they could not determine the exact time of my arrest. The lawyer defended me as best as he could, but to little avail.

NO MORE FEARS

When my two cellmates Tania and Ilina arrived, we spent a lot of time reading Henryk Sienkiewicz's Quo Vadis aloud in Belarusian. The novel's themes turned out to be quite current. The girls said that the author was a functionary journalist for a special division of the army who later became an oppositionist.

We sang, too. When the guard told us we were not allowed to sing, we merely sang louder. By then the girls had lost their fear of the 10-day sentence, and jail became bearable. "If they throw us out of university, so be it. But we are no longer afraid," they said.

Other new arrivals in the jail expressed themselves freely. I believe that too had lost their fear. We could hear boys singing in nearby cells. The Poles taught their Belarusian friends the lyrics for "Walls" [a popular Polish protest song from the 1970s].

When my fellow inmates were released, the guards took me to another cell, one with a Belarusian prisoner, Sveta. She had been given a 12-day sentence but did not yet know why.

By this time I was very sick with fever and had a runny nose, and I strayed in and out of consciousness. The prison doctor helped me. She was very nice, and treated me for the pain, but the pills she gave me were ineffective. Finally a package arrived with proper medication, and I was back on my feet in no time.

ENTER KGB

A KGB officer then came to the prison and began asking about me. Soon afterward the guards led me to the prison warden's office, where I saw a lieutenant. He introduced himself as a KGB officer who was leading an investigation into an illegal organization called the "Youth Front." I asked for the consul to be present, but the request was firmly reprimanded. I was told I had no right to communicate with the consul, that this was a secret criminal matter, and that I could not leave any questions unanswered.

I was afraid of the repulsive officer, but I decided to play dumb. I said I knew no one in Minsk, and if I was near the protesters' tents it was because they were giving out cups of tea. I also made sure to emphasize that I knew nothing of politics or of any political organizations whatsoever. After two hours of pointless dialogue, the lieutenant gave up. He had been very sweet at first, but the facade soon crumbled. He got no information out of me, and sent me back to the cell. No one spied on me after that.

Sveta was released, and I was eventually transferred to a cell for "nonpolitical" inmates. There I saw two "bums," people without passports, documents, a designated residence or registration papers: an illegal Uzbek migrant and a young woman accused of theft. Living conditions were far worse here. The cell was very filthy and the walls were full of mold.

It was difficult for me to understand these new acquaintances. They spoke very poorly, accentuating nearly every phrase with foul language. Before meeting these girls I thought I had a pretty good understanding of Belarusian curse words, but now I know better. I began to grasp the language a little, as they made every effort for me. They made sure that I stayed warm, and ate my rations. In these circumstances we got acquainted with one another. For a time, I worried about being detained with prostitutes and drug addicts. I had heard many terrible stories about prison life before. The girls smoked the cheapest brand of filterless cigarettes.

FREE

The following day, or rather the following morning, at 3:15 a.m., I was called downstairs and released with several others. Throngs greeted us with flowers, champagne, and cheers as we walked outside.

I am very happy that I saw a free Belarus, because what I witnessed and experienced at the protesters' square was in fact a brief yet definitive moment of Belarusian freedom. To have sat in prison with these people, despite the discomforts and deplorable conditions, was an honor for me. They are heroes.

Source:

http://www.tol.cz/look/TOL/article.tpl?IdLanguage=1&IdPublication=4&NrIssue=163&NrSection=2&NrArticle=16817