Mikita Zalatarou: It felt wild — just to go out into the city and see people in normal clothes
What it's like: to be imprisoned as a schoolchild and emerge into a completely different world. One of the youngest political prisoners told "Salidarnasc" about pressure behind bars, laws that don't work, faith, and life from scratch.
Mikita Zalatarou was arrested in Homel almost immediately after the 2020 presidential elections. He was only 16 at the time. But neither his age nor his health condition became an obstacle for the repressive machine: the youngest of the political prisoners was sent to a penal colony for 5 years. While in captivity, he was tried twice more and his conditions were changed to stricter ones.
In the spring of 2026, Mikita was among 15 political prisoners whom the Belarusian authorities "pardoned" and transported from Belarus to Lithuania. Meanwhile, his father, Mikhail Lapunou, was tried and imprisoned. Before that, he was repeatedly detained and sent for "days" [short-term administrative arrests], essentially just for refusing to acknowledge his son as a criminal and fighting for him.
In an interview with "Salidarnasc", Mikita spoke about what he himself went through and how he is adapting to the new conditions.
— I received international protection in Lithuania, but I haven't made a passport yet; it's in progress. I have some odd jobs, but I haven't found an official job to settle down in one place yet. That's in the plans. For now, I want to deal with integration: Lithuanian language courses, something else.
— What is known about your father now, is there any contact with him?
— When we last spoke to him, he was so sad. That is, he's happy for me that I'm free — he's not as worried anymore and it's a little easier for him to serve his term. But on the other hand, he's being pressured: placed in a punishment cell (ShIZA), deprived of parcels — he can't receive anything from his relatives.
His health is more or less okay, but his immune system is weak, and he has heart problems. And I'm very worried about him.
In the heat that stood in Belarus at the end of June, Mikita adds, it's especially hard for prisoners: there's no ventilation, and "nobody cares, whether it's hot or not, cold or not":
— They have a prescribed uniform — and it absolutely doesn't matter, even if it's +40 [Celsius], you wear it. Didn't wear it — off to the punishment cell (ShIZA). There's absolutely no humanity there. All that saves you is to go wash yourself with cold water. Because there's no shower — just from the tap or soak a towel and hang it on your head.
The harshest conditions, I would say, were in Penal Colony No. 15 (PK-15) in Mahilioŭ, in Zhodzina prison, and in Orsha (PK-8, Mikita ended up there when his term was extended for "malicious disobedience to the administration" – S.).
And the most normal place, where I felt somewhat more comfortable conditions during the entire time, was pre-trial detention center (SIZO-3) in Homel; I was there while trials were ongoing and appeals were being filed. And in the juvenile penal colony — compared to prison, it was still more or less normal.
— But at the same time, in the juvenile penal colony, you weren't even allowed to finish school, 11 grades. Why?
— Yes, I only have basic education. By law — it's allowed, I had the right to finish 11 grades. But they just did it their way: when I turned 18, they said that you have basic education, and that's it, get out of here. They gave me no opportunity.
They told me: "When you get out of the punishment cell (ShIZA), then you'll study." I said, "Then let me out! You're fabricating violations against me."
They found a speck of dust on the bed frame, a cobweb hanging in the corner, an unbuttoned button — they write a report, and off you go to the punishment cell (ShIZA), and you can't get out of there; they keep finding reasons to add more.
I had it like this: I spent 5.5 months in the punishment cell (ShIZA) without release. And the conditions there, I'll tell you now: no pillow, no blanket, a wooden bunk folds down for the night — lie down.
And nobody cares if you're cold, hot, uncomfortable, or anything else. My term was extended because I slept on the floor during the day. "Forbidden," they said. I said: "By law, I'm entitled to eight hours of sleep, but you gave me such a sleeping place where the boards are crooked and it's cold, and I can't get enough sleep — so I catch up during the day."
And, of course, I became a "malicious violator who has not taken the path of correction."
"I took the Bible, prayed — and felt it getting easier"
According to the Homel court's version, the underage teenager made "Molotov cocktails" and convinced people significantly older than himself to set fire to a prison van or a city bus. Mikita did not admit guilt — he calls all accusations fabricated and witnesses false. He himself refused to testify against himself and did not implicate others.
Archive photo: naviny.by
Mikita recounted that he was severely beaten during his arrest, to the point of hospitalization — but following a lawyer's complaint, "no elements of a crime were found." In the pre-trial detention center (SIZO), the boy was not given pills, despite his epilepsy attacks.
— Did you ever encounter human relations within the system?
— You know, I did. Some adult employees, who had not yet lost their human face, treated me more leniently. They had no personal animosity towards me, no malice, thinking that I was "political" and needed to be punished properly.
They couldn't create softer conditions for me, it wasn't within their capabilities — but they could warn me that a report was being prepared against me because the boss ordered me to be sent to the punishment cell (ShIZA). I still respected such people somewhat.
Because there were also completely opposite examples. I believe their names should be mentioned. In Zhodzina, there was the head of prison regime, Sobal Viachaslau Mikhailavich, a lieutenant colonel, who was also the head of those serving life sentences. He often gave orders to his subordinates to put me in the punishment cell (ShIZA), to conduct constant searches, psychological pressure, and physical pressure.
Shylau Dzianis Uladzimiravich — head of the unit. Malicious, hates prisoners, constantly tried to make evil jokes, to find fault with something.
And another operational officer, Tsitsla Siarhei Hienadzevich. A very bad person. One of those, you know, "ideological" types.
I thought and couldn't find an answer as to why they are like that. What must be done to a person for them to lose some basic humanity? Simply: not to hit a child, not to hit a woman, not to allow oneself to hurt the weak.
Why don't you attack someone like yourself, or someone healthier? Because you're afraid that he will break you later.
Mikita was not given a single meeting with his relatives in over 5.5 years of captivity. Calls were allowed, but even getting them was a stroke of luck:
— By law, if you are in a punishment cell (ShIZA) (and they can send you there artificially), nothing is allowed. But in the general population, it's one call per month for 15 minutes. And if your call is scheduled, say, for the 15th, then the day before they'll put you in a ShIZA, and that's it, no call. And when you get out — you have to wait for the next month again.
It was difficult for me, they pressured me from all sides. But I think it was also very hard for my parents.
— You said that you came to faith precisely in captivity.
— I had been baptized before, and we could go to church as a family. But I wasn't so devout, so strong in faith. But when I was imprisoned and difficulties piled up: they would put me in a punishment cell (ShIZA), or there were no letters for a long time, or they would start to psychologically pressure me, saying that nobody needed me — I would take the Bible, take icons, pray, and feel it getting easier.
Sometimes they would take away prayer books. But in most cases, they allowed them. However, I never went to church in the colony and did not communicate with the local priests.
"You are a criminal, you went against the state, you will sit"
— Forgive me if this is a very personal question. In September last year, it became known that you cut your veins...
— Yes, it was a gesture of despair because the pressure intensified to such an extent that I could no longer endure it.
When I arrived in Orsha at Penal Colony No. 8 (PK-8), they told me: "Supposedly, you don't have much time left, serve it peacefully, don't violate rules." "Good," I said, "then don't bother me, don't mock me further — I also want to serve my time without violations, get free, see my relatives for a visit."
But already in quarantine, where we were sent immediately after transfer, I realized that they wouldn't let me serve my time peacefully. They started sending provocateurs: someone constantly walking nearby, listening to what you say, about what, trying to draw you out into openness.
They constantly came with searches and nitpicking — three or four times a day they could turn over bags and bedside tables, and then complain why there was no inventory. And how would I find it if all my belongings were turned over? But the main thing here is to write a report.
The operational officer Hurski, the chief, called me "to his office" and also started asking provocative questions, making offensive comments. He directly said: "We won't release you into the unit, you'll go to the punishment cell (ShIZA) and to the cell-type room (PKT)."
I couldn't stand it: "What," I said, "did I do that makes me different from the majority of convicted people? You have pedophiles, murderers, drug addicts sitting, watching TV, going on visits, eating sausage. And a kid who's been sitting since he was 16, even though he committed no crime — can't even have normal human conditions?"
"To wash, to talk with loved ones." In response, I was told: "You are a criminal, you went against the state, you will sit," and so on.
They immediately set up a pretext: the regime officers called me for a search of personal belongings — and stated that I hadn't introduced myself. I look, everyone's video recorders are turned off. And it's as if everything is by the book: if I complain, two people will be enough to confirm the violation.
Endless pressure, no letters from relatives, plus I was kept in such small cells, where there wasn't even room to walk, let alone sit. A sink with rusty water, smelly prehistoric toilets from the Soviet Union era, concrete, cold — that is, they specifically created conditions to make me break. And they pushed me to the limit.
I deliberately did everything on camera. And the video goes directly to the Minsk Department of Penal Enforcement (DVP), the main authority over the colonies. And when they see a suicide attempt, the duty officer is immediately obliged to report it. They are very afraid of this.
Right there, everyone started bustling, medical workers rushed in, then the main chiefs, colonels there, started calling me in for a talk. And the pressure did ease up a bit.
— By the way, about the medical workers. Did you receive any real help from them?
— The attitude was very bad.
For example, when they sent me to a punishment cell (ShIZA), I had epileptic seizures due to stress. And by law, a medical worker has no right to sign a conclusion that I can be sent to a penal isolator — but they would write backdated notes saying everything was normal.
A medic would come, look, measure pressure: "You're fit for space travel, here's a pill, and keep sitting." Even though they should have put me in the infirmary.
Literally a couple of days before his release, Mikita adds, he felt unwell again: he fell, lost consciousness. The seizure was so strong that the administration didn't dare pretend everything was fine. He spent several days in the medical unit on IV drips.
Once in Lithuania, his condition stabilized for the better — both doctors and Mikita himself believe that there was less stress. Although his heavy dreams haven't left him to this day:
— At first, I woke up in a cold sweat, seeing such horrors in my dreams. I couldn't believe I was free. For about a month, I probably walked around like a zombie. It was hard to get used to society again, to people — for me, it was wild — just to go out into the city and see people in normal clothes. All that flashed before my eyes were black robes and spotted police uniforms.
And from Lithuanian police officers, honestly, I flinched at first. I just saw a car, and immediately in my thoughts, it was like a stop signal: police! Now it's normal, I understand that nobody will just arrest me here, that if you live by the law, nobody bothers you.
"To go to a university, you need to finish 12 grades. And I only have 9"
— Do you feel that after 5.5 years in captivity, you have to learn many things anew? Like mastering AI, much smarter technologies.
— Of course. I can't even properly get used to a phone yet. But most of all, it's unusual to communicate with people: there's confusion, shyness, maybe even a little fear of ordinary conversations. Although I don't seem like a particularly shy person, I notice this in myself.
— I know that during your imprisonment, you broke up with your girlfriend; law enforcement officers pressured her, and she refused to continue the relationship. Did this deeply affect you, did you understand the circumstances?
— It was difficult to accept. I thought we would have something, she said she would wait, that she loved me. I thought about it almost the entire term. Then I decided that there was no need to tear my soul apart and worry about someone who didn't need me. Now I'm not offended anymore, I've forgiven everything. God be her judge.
Now — I miss my father most of all. More precisely, all my loved ones, but I worry most strongly about my father.
Not long ago, Mikita celebrated his first birthday in freedom in six years. However, "celebrated" is a strong word, he clarifies: he invited a few acquaintances, bought something tasty at the store. And he made a wish to see his father sooner and embrace him.
— What's next — I haven't decided yet. I'm not planning to seriously go somewhere to study. Because here, to go to a university or even a technical college, you need to finish 12 grades. And I only have 9. So what, will I go to school at 22?
So for now, I'm focusing on work, finding something permanent to have my own source of income and be able to survive. And then I can think about education, studying somewhere. People learn new things at 40 and later, so — what are my years? The main thing is health, and everything else can be achieved if there's a desire.
And of course, I very much hope that publicity will help my father. That people who support Belarusian political prisoners will include him in their lists and be able to achieve his release, so that this separation does not continue.