“Viasna” spoke with Valentin not only about the absurdity of the prison system and the biting cold of the punishment cell, but also about internal transformations: how the mind finds refuge within four walls, how one’s perception of classic literature shifts, and why unexpected solidarity from common criminals leaves a deeper impression than the cruelty of the guards.
Summary
Valiantsin Stefanovich, deputy chairman of Human Rights Center Viasna, was detained on July 14, 2021, along with Ales Bialiatski and Uladzimir Labkovich. On March 3, 2023, he was sentenced to 9 years imprisonment. He served first in Mogilev correctional colony No. 15, then for roughly the last year and a half in Mogilev closed prison No. 4. He was released and taken out of Belarus on March 19, 2026.
Timeline
14 July 2021 – detention
Stefanovich points out that in 2021, most of the office staff had left, but he—along with Bialiatski and Labkovich—stayed behind; “that was our decision.” They were detained by the Department of Financial Investigations: “the officers were polite—unlike GUBOPIK.” The “funniest part,” he adds, was his son’s toy pistol. Regarding the money and the filming, he puts it in these exact words:
They confiscated my personal money – about a thousand euros. I said: “This is the last money the family has, our family budget, I have three children.” They took both the money and the white-red-white flags. Moreover, all this was beautifully laid out on the table and filmed: flags, money, and a pistol. I said: “Excellent picture – they found a revolver with a human rights activist too!”
I asked: “Let me say goodbye to my family.” “Oh, come on, you will be home soon, we will just have a formal chat.”
Next sentence unchanged: “I said goodbye, hugged my wife and children – and that was it, for almost 5 years.”
Investigation: Articles 243 and 228(4)
Initially prosecutors used Article 243 Part 2 (DFR detained the group). There were attempts at non-procedural contacts; as a lawyer he demanded a defined procedural status: if not detained he would leave; if detained, produce the order and go to the Investigative Committee with counsel.
In autumn 2022 prosecutors showed cessation of prosecution under Article 243 together with reclassification to Article 228 Part 4 (smuggling within an organised group, with Viasna treated as a criminal group and a higher sentencing range than Article 243).
The investigator asked whether he had expected the change; he replied that under the current broad view of law at least it was not a capital offence, “and thank God.”
2023 trial; sentence on 3 March
On treatment in court:
We were treated with demonstrative humiliation. We rode in handcuffs, like everyone on preventative registration, although formally we were not yet on it. We were in handcuffs both in the cage and in the “glass” (isolated booth) between sessions. Handcuffs were removed only when hot food was brought to us, as the process was very long, and they did not take us back to the SIZO. Handcuffs were switched from behind our backs to the front. I tried to argue to them that this fundamentally contradicts the principle of presumption of innocence; it is cruel, degrading treatment.
He quotes his remark to the judge—”Perhaps it would be better if the court heard the convoy commander as well?”—and observes the proceedings: “This isn’t a court; it’s a total farce and a circus.” According to him, the prosecutor demanded a sentence of 12 years for Ales Bialiatski, 11 years for him, and 9 years for Uladzimir Labkovich; “they knocked two years off for each of us.” Regarding the verdict itself, he offers his own words:
Here a strange psychological effect occurred: I rejoice, I am happy – they gave me not 11 years, but “only” 9! Then you realize: “Why am I rejoicing?”
Mogilev IK-15, preventative dossier No. 10 and SHIZO
They immediately place him on “preventive watch No. 10—’prone to extremist and other destructive activity.’” The interview describes in detail a “provocation on the third day” after his arrival at the penal colony; the remarks are quoted verbatim:
When you enter the sleeping quarters, you must change into rubber slippers. I put them on. The orderly says: “They are calling you, come for a minute.” I approach the door – the quarantine chief is there. I say: “I am not in uniform, no boots.” – “Come in for a couple of minutes.” I enter. “Why are you not in uniform? Violation.” I received a penalty.
Continuing verbatim: “They are taking me to the SHIZO—the punishment cell—for the maximum term of 10 days (later increased to 15). It was May 3rd—my wife’s birthday.”
The heating season was over, but everyone wore quilted jackets; it was cold. They change my clothes, take away my underwear, I remain in my briefs, they give me a uniform with the inscription SHIZO, and put me in a large cell. I could not sleep at all; the cold was so intense! I shivered, did some squats, push-ups.
He clarifies: in 2023, he “spent 10 days in the SHIZO during almost every month—totaling about two months”; he “also rang in the New Year of 2024 in the SHIZO.” The heading of the corresponding section in the original text cites “20 days in the SHIZO”; however, the detailed account of the first episode specifies 10 days, subsequently extended to 15.
An example of the absurdity surrounding disciplinary sanctions is a verbatim exchange from an altercation over a soap dish: “You’re allowed to keep the soap, but not the soap dish”—a remark made by the unit chief, as described by the interviewee.
Then the unit chief (he was an honest man) would simply come and say: “Stefanovich, I need to punish you with SHIZO.” “Understood, citizen chief!” – “And what shall we write?” I said: “Inventory, as usual, or a jargon word – whatever you want.”
Strict regime: closed prison No. 4
After disciplinary escalation on the penal colony premises he was resentenced internally to three years prison and transferred to prison No. 4:
A cell in the basement, no daylight, a 40-minute walk per day, 1 basic unit for “atavarka.” They moved me between different cells; I went to SHIZO several times.
Release – hints, setbacks, March 18-19, 2026
I heard about releases. I knew that Tsikhanouski had been released. An officer from the Mogilev GUBAZiK came to me then. I thought: maybe he came to release me? That officer started to bait me: “We transferred Bialiatski to the hospital, Labkovich was released. You are the only one left, enter into a dialogue with us: tell us about Viasna, about Bialiatski, about the volunteers.” I understood everything. I was not tempted by such things; I started to mock him, saying: “And how much time do I have left? Only 4 years! That is fine!” He says: “I see you are still holding up. Bialiatski and Labkovich testified against you, but you do not want to testify against them!” I replied that I know: no one testified against anyone, because I am confident in my colleagues. In short, we parted with nothing.
At the end of January, a sergeant announced that they would be released the following day and would need to leave the country—”no alternative was mentioned”—followed by a week of fruitless waiting and the sense that they had been “deceived.”
In February he returned to SHIZO for ten days. On Wednesday 18 March, quoted without cuts:
On Wednesday, March 18, at 11 oclock, the chief was supposed to make a round of the entire prison. Suddenly, two OMON (riot police) officers in masks burst in, called out my surname and Kuliashous: “You have three minutes to pack!” Everyone asked: “Whats happening?” – “They are leaving!” We packed; I only grabbed my sports uniform and papers.
They frisked us, conducted a search. There was a premonition, anticipation, but nothing was clear. They put on handcuffs, a hat over my eyes. Two people led me by the arms, as I could not see where I was going. They put me in a bus. They said I was going for investigative measures. We arrived at the SIZO in Kaliadychy (and at first I did not understand what kind of large, completely new prison this was). A lot of authorities – colonel-lieutenant colonels-dogs.
I recognized Eduard Palchys, but not immediately: they put him, Kuliashou, and me in one cell.
Next morning they changed clothes, swapped boots for trainers and told detainees to shave. On leaving Belarus for the Lithuanian direction, forest stop (verbatim):
We drove into the forest near Kamenny Loh, stood for about an hour – as I understood, we were waiting for the American escort. Five cars with diplomatic plates passed, and we sped after them. Moreover, the Belarusian side did not inform us that we were pardoned. They did not ask – do you want to leave Belarus or not? They just brought us to the border.
Mr. Cole, according to the interviewee, said in English that “it’s all over; we are free”; negotiations were discussed, as was the fact that “250 people who had remained in Belarus were released today.”
Documents and political overview
All prison-related items – uniforms, quilted jackets, yellow tags – were taken away. All notes, copies of protocols, the verdict, the referral to prison were not returned; they tore out pages with relatives’ phone numbers from my notebook – I used that notebook to call my family. They did not return our passports; they only issued a certificate – a kind of identity confirmation. A photo with a stamp and it stated that this was Stefanovich. They said nothing: whether we could return, whether we could not – nothing! They simply expelled us from the country, that’s all – without passports!
It is as if I was in a coma for 5 years, and now I have woken up. And in a foreign country, too.
An assessment of the country’s political situation—after nearly five years behind bars—boils down, quite literally, to the following:
What’s happening now is simply a catastrophe – you cannot call it by any other name. Because all categories of civil and political rights and freedoms imaginable have simply been dismantled. Completely. If previously they were limited, but one could, relatively speaking, pay for cleaning the territory and hold some public action in a park, now nothing is allowed. That is, freedom of speech, thought, assembly, freedom of media – everything has been dismantled. There is not a single opposition political party, no human rights organizations. Democracy is carried out on the basis of the ideology of the Belarusian state. And who wrote it? By whom was it established, why is it mandatory for everyone? This is totalitarianism. This is a catastrophe.