Interview
with Vera Dziadok
Thousands of artists and cultural workers from Belarus have been forced to flee to neighbouring European countries due to the massive political repression and arrests since 2020 – many of them continue to actively campaign for a free Belarus in exile. One of them is the journalist, translator and cultural manager Vera Dziadok. From 2008 to 2021, she worked as the coordinator of cultural programmes at the Goethe-Institut Minsk until the institute there had to close and she had to leave her home country. In 2024, she curated the country focus Belarus at the Goethe-Institut in Exile. In this interview, she talks about how the extremely lively Belarusian art and culture scene developed into the engine of the new protest culture against the regime and how the artists are doing today.
Ms. Dziadok, you experienced both the relatively liberal period from 2016 to 2019, when Minsk became a dynamic and open city, and the increasingly repressive years leading up to the forced closure of the Goethe-Institut in 2021. What was your approach, and how did your work evolve during this fluctuating time?
The Goethe-Institut’s approach was always to integrate with the cultural scene, to listen to its concerns and needs, and to foster its vitality and diversity. Independent cultural actors, such as the “Minsk Urban Platform,” a team of young professionals working nationwide to improve urban infrastructure, were partners of the Institute for many years. They provided a strong alternative to state-sponsored art. Collaboration with the International Film Festival Listapad and the International Theatre Forum TEART between 2013 and 2020, for example, gave the audience in Minsk access to experimental formats and enabled exchanges with the German cultural scene.
We focused particularly on those areas that the government, whether intentionally or unintentionally, either underfunded or neglected entirely. For example, we supported a VR reconstruction of several synagogues and other projects aimed at bringing Jewish culture closer to young people.
At the same time, it’s important to note that the liberal period was only partially liberal. Even then, there were already political prisoners. In hindsight, it has become clear that it was unrealistic to believe in a genuine liberalization after the early phase of the war in Ukraine.
How did you experience the summer of 2020? Was there a moment, a decisive event, that made you realize you would have to leave the country?
Not at all, in 2020 it wasn’t yet clear. On the contrary, that year, for the first time since 1996/1997, nearly the entire nation was on the streets. There was an air of euphoria, it was incredible to see such diverse people joining the protests, creating a sense of belonging. For the first time in this country, I felt that I was not part of a minority but was sharing my hopes with many others. There was a unique atmosphere of creativity where everyone became an artist. At the Sunday rallies, there were always new, funny, and beautiful posters to admire, and small performances were happening everywhere. Participants worked on their looks throughout the week; it felt like a festival. People there reacted to the political accusations coming from the television. When the ruling incumbent called the protesters prostitutes and alcoholics, they countered with a slogan: “Are the prostitutes here?” “Yes!” “The alcoholics?” “Yes!” Many memes were created during this time, which later went viral and were reproduced as stickers and in other forms. There was a group of women who organized spontaneous rallies at unexpected locations. They became known as the “Women with the Umbrellas in the Colors of the Revolution”, and their actions addressed current events. In the first weeks after the rigged elections, several singers gathered at the entrance of the Philharmonic during lunchtime, creating a lively atmosphere for the people. Later, the Volny Choir performed at train stations and shopping malls:
Even on the three worst days and nights after election day, countless people gathered in front of the prison on Akrestina Street, supporting each other and offering help in every form. The solidarity and unity among the population were stronger than ever before.
In the autumn, the repressive apparatus began to strike back. One event particularly shook me – it was a video on state television showing an obviously tortured activist. By now, it has become common practice for the police to release such “evidence” without any scruples. I wonder: What went wrong, and since when has such a thing been possible? What perverted legal understanding and moral values underpin such actions? For me, it’s certain: This video recording will still play a role in the investigation of the crimes committed against the Belarusian people.
What cultural and subcultural movements have been and continue to be pivotal for the protests within the country? What role did this play in the program of the Goethe-Institut Minsk?
I believe the desire to live freely and shape one’s life was what sparked the protests. The discrepancy with the government pushed people onto the streets; they could no longer recognize themselves in the rigid and inflexible state politics. Particularly regarding the role of women, there was a stark contradiction to the officially presented image, but the protests also targeted the invisibility of other marginalized groups in politics. Decolonial thinking was, and remains, very important and was clearly reflected in the Goethe-Institut’s program.
One of the last events we organized was a series of concerts as publicly accessible live streams in a remote village during the pandemic. These music events were made possible only through collaboration with a wonderful festival that managed to establish itself in rural areas, thus strengthening the local community.
How would you describe the current situation of the independent Belarusian cultural and art scene within Belarus? Are there still artists resisting the repression within the country?
In Belarus, anyone with a different opinion is persecuted. Certain methods have been developed, such as labeling authors as “extremists”, which means that their followers can be arrested for a like or a comment on social media. This is even applied retroactively, for example, to posts from ten years ago.
In addition to the propagandists working for the official authorities, denunciation has become a sort of sport. One informer has even made it her mission to report artists and initiatives she deems subversive.
Belarusian works are being removed from the school curriculum, and books are physically banned from libraries. As my friend, the literary critic Tsichan Tscharniakievich, put it: “There, they try to ban books, here we try to write new ones.” The Janka Kupala Theater, the oldest theater in Belarus, has brought in actors from Russia because, after the ensemble’s dismissal in 2020, no one applied for the positions.
Overall, the cultural sector is being integrated into the Russian cultural space. There is also a broader adjustment to Russia in other areas of life. This is evident, for example, in draft laws on LGBT issues and the “childfree” movement, which have clearly been modeled after Russian laws.
Nevertheless, there are still artists and small but brave actions in Belarus. We will only learn about many of them post facto. Much of it has shifted to the private sphere, with concerts taking place in apartments, and events occurring in rural areas. At the same time, private parties often transform into improvised cultural programs. I am certain that new works are being created in the background, and we will still be amazed by developments on the ground. For example, Maxim Znak reports on his experiences in pretrial detention in his book Zekameron. Additionally, a new generation has grown up in Belarus, some of whom were just sixteen years old in 2020 and are now being creative on TikTok and YouTube. It is frightening to see that young people are still being arrested for their social media posts.
How do you perceive the mood and security situation among Belarusian artists and cultural workers living in exile in Vilnius, Berlin, Warsaw, or Tbilisi? And how has it changed since the beginning of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine?
Many have seen exile as an opportunity. In Belarus, life was quite isolated, and artists had few opportunities to engage internationally. This also affected their work. In this regard, there have been positive developments in terms of professionalisation. The artists and cultural workers are well-educated, they work at a high technical level, they have ideas, and they have something to offer. One example is the jazz musician Pavel Arakelian in Lithuania or the accordion player Yahor Zabelau in Poland, both of whom are now in high demand and perform more concerts than they did in Minsk.
For literature and spoken theater, it’s of course more difficult, as language is a key factor for them. Overall, many musicians, visual artists, and performers have been able to expand their horizons and find their audience.
Theater groups that insist on continuing to work as a complete ensemble, such as the troupe from the Janka Kupala Theater, which is active under the name Volnyja Kupalaucy in Warsaw, have had major difficulties. This is the only case where almost the entire team resigned. Over the past three years, they have celebrated nine premieres and are now negotiating the rental of a venue in Warsaw. Nonetheless, it’s no secret that many artists earn their living through driving taxis or other odd jobs, but at least in this example, they have preserved the core idea of the theater.
Through exile, many have gotten closer to the culture of neighboring countries, learned the language, and there is a noticeable boom in translations from Lithuanian.
As for security, some artists in exile still face insults and hate speech from state propaganda, although I personally suspect these passages are already being written by AI.
The networks continue to operate. We were used to planning without state funding in Belarus, so in that sense, not much has changed for cultural workers. The networks and structures quickly rebuilt in exile, such as the theater institute and the Belarusian Independent Film Academy. Publishers in Belarus also didn’t receive state support and were not protected from the huge Russian market, so now they sell digitally and try to find other sales channels.
Anyone who has survived as a cultural worker in Belarus will likely find it easier to manage in exile.
What are the future prospects for the contemporary art and cultural scene in Belarus and in exile?
After the artist Ales Puschkin died in prison in August 2023, it is very difficult for me to speak about the prospects of the cultural scene, especially the prospects of the artists. We are in the middle of a war. On the other hand, the demand in Belarus is extremely high. For the few cultural events, people sometimes stand in line for hours. In exile, culture will integrate, exchange, and open up – and perhaps it will take something with it for the future of Belarus.
This interview was conducted in writing in the summer of 2024. The questions were asked by Rebecca Ellsäßer, a staff member of the Goethe-Institut in Exile project.
The Goethe-Institut’s approach was always to integrate with the cultural scene, to listen to its concerns and needs, and to foster its vitality and diversity. Independent cultural actors, such as the “Minsk Urban Platform,” a team of young professionals working nationwide to improve urban infrastructure, were partners of the Institute for many years. They provided a strong alternative to state-sponsored art. Collaboration with the International Film Festival Listapad and the International Theatre Forum TEART between 2013 and 2020, for example, gave the audience in Minsk access to experimental formats and enabled exchanges with the German cultural scene.
We focused particularly on those areas that the government, whether intentionally or unintentionally, either underfunded or neglected entirely. For example, we supported a VR reconstruction of several synagogues and other projects aimed at bringing Jewish culture closer to young people.
At the same time, it’s important to note that the liberal period was only partially liberal. Even then, there were already political prisoners. In hindsight, it has become clear that it was unrealistic to believe in a genuine liberalization after the early phase of the war in Ukraine.
How did you experience the summer of 2020? Was there a moment, a decisive event, that made you realize you would have to leave the country?
Not at all, in 2020 it wasn’t yet clear. On the contrary, that year, for the first time since 1996/1997, nearly the entire nation was on the streets. There was an air of euphoria, it was incredible to see such diverse people joining the protests, creating a sense of belonging. For the first time in this country, I felt that I was not part of a minority but was sharing my hopes with many others. There was a unique atmosphere of creativity where everyone became an artist. At the Sunday rallies, there were always new, funny, and beautiful posters to admire, and small performances were happening everywhere. Participants worked on their looks throughout the week; it felt like a festival. People there reacted to the political accusations coming from the television. When the ruling incumbent called the protesters prostitutes and alcoholics, they countered with a slogan: “Are the prostitutes here?” “Yes!” “The alcoholics?” “Yes!” Many memes were created during this time, which later went viral and were reproduced as stickers and in other forms. There was a group of women who organized spontaneous rallies at unexpected locations. They became known as the “Women with the Umbrellas in the Colors of the Revolution”, and their actions addressed current events. In the first weeks after the rigged elections, several singers gathered at the entrance of the Philharmonic during lunchtime, creating a lively atmosphere for the people. Later, the Volny Choir performed at train stations and shopping malls:
In the autumn, the repressive apparatus began to strike back. One event particularly shook me – it was a video on state television showing an obviously tortured activist. By now, it has become common practice for the police to release such “evidence” without any scruples. I wonder: What went wrong, and since when has such a thing been possible? What perverted legal understanding and moral values underpin such actions? For me, it’s certain: This video recording will still play a role in the investigation of the crimes committed against the Belarusian people.
What cultural and subcultural movements have been and continue to be pivotal for the protests within the country? What role did this play in the program of the Goethe-Institut Minsk?
I believe the desire to live freely and shape one’s life was what sparked the protests. The discrepancy with the government pushed people onto the streets; they could no longer recognize themselves in the rigid and inflexible state politics. Particularly regarding the role of women, there was a stark contradiction to the officially presented image, but the protests also targeted the invisibility of other marginalized groups in politics. Decolonial thinking was, and remains, very important and was clearly reflected in the Goethe-Institut’s program.
One of the last events we organized was a series of concerts as publicly accessible live streams in a remote village during the pandemic. These music events were made possible only through collaboration with a wonderful festival that managed to establish itself in rural areas, thus strengthening the local community.
How would you describe the current situation of the independent Belarusian cultural and art scene within Belarus? Are there still artists resisting the repression within the country?
In Belarus, anyone with a different opinion is persecuted. Certain methods have been developed, such as labeling authors as “extremists”, which means that their followers can be arrested for a like or a comment on social media. This is even applied retroactively, for example, to posts from ten years ago.
In addition to the propagandists working for the official authorities, denunciation has become a sort of sport. One informer has even made it her mission to report artists and initiatives she deems subversive.
Belarusian works are being removed from the school curriculum, and books are physically banned from libraries. As my friend, the literary critic Tsichan Tscharniakievich, put it: “There, they try to ban books, here we try to write new ones.” The Janka Kupala Theater, the oldest theater in Belarus, has brought in actors from Russia because, after the ensemble’s dismissal in 2020, no one applied for the positions.
Overall, the cultural sector is being integrated into the Russian cultural space. There is also a broader adjustment to Russia in other areas of life. This is evident, for example, in draft laws on LGBT issues and the “childfree” movement, which have clearly been modeled after Russian laws.
Nevertheless, there are still artists and small but brave actions in Belarus. We will only learn about many of them post facto. Much of it has shifted to the private sphere, with concerts taking place in apartments, and events occurring in rural areas. At the same time, private parties often transform into improvised cultural programs. I am certain that new works are being created in the background, and we will still be amazed by developments on the ground. For example, Maxim Znak reports on his experiences in pretrial detention in his book Zekameron. Additionally, a new generation has grown up in Belarus, some of whom were just sixteen years old in 2020 and are now being creative on TikTok and YouTube. It is frightening to see that young people are still being arrested for their social media posts.
How do you perceive the mood and security situation among Belarusian artists and cultural workers living in exile in Vilnius, Berlin, Warsaw, or Tbilisi? And how has it changed since the beginning of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine?
Many have seen exile as an opportunity. In Belarus, life was quite isolated, and artists had few opportunities to engage internationally. This also affected their work. In this regard, there have been positive developments in terms of professionalisation. The artists and cultural workers are well-educated, they work at a high technical level, they have ideas, and they have something to offer. One example is the jazz musician Pavel Arakelian in Lithuania or the accordion player Yahor Zabelau in Poland, both of whom are now in high demand and perform more concerts than they did in Minsk.
For literature and spoken theater, it’s of course more difficult, as language is a key factor for them. Overall, many musicians, visual artists, and performers have been able to expand their horizons and find their audience.
Theater groups that insist on continuing to work as a complete ensemble, such as the troupe from the Janka Kupala Theater, which is active under the name Volnyja Kupalaucy in Warsaw, have had major difficulties. This is the only case where almost the entire team resigned. Over the past three years, they have celebrated nine premieres and are now negotiating the rental of a venue in Warsaw. Nonetheless, it’s no secret that many artists earn their living through driving taxis or other odd jobs, but at least in this example, they have preserved the core idea of the theater.
Through exile, many have gotten closer to the culture of neighboring countries, learned the language, and there is a noticeable boom in translations from Lithuanian.
As for security, some artists in exile still face insults and hate speech from state propaganda, although I personally suspect these passages are already being written by AI.
The networks continue to operate. We were used to planning without state funding in Belarus, so in that sense, not much has changed for cultural workers. The networks and structures quickly rebuilt in exile, such as the theater institute and the Belarusian Independent Film Academy. Publishers in Belarus also didn’t receive state support and were not protected from the huge Russian market, so now they sell digitally and try to find other sales channels.
Anyone who has survived as a cultural worker in Belarus will likely find it easier to manage in exile.
What are the future prospects for the contemporary art and cultural scene in Belarus and in exile?
After the artist Ales Puschkin died in prison in August 2023, it is very difficult for me to speak about the prospects of the cultural scene, especially the prospects of the artists. We are in the middle of a war. On the other hand, the demand in Belarus is extremely high. For the few cultural events, people sometimes stand in line for hours. In exile, culture will integrate, exchange, and open up – and perhaps it will take something with it for the future of Belarus.
This interview was conducted in writing in the summer of 2024. The questions were asked by Rebecca Ellsäßer, a staff member of the Goethe-Institut in Exile project.
