Seviarynets: In the summer of 2020, informants' top interest was attitude towards Putin

In the summer of 2020, once a week I was regularly transferred for a day from the solitary confinement cell to a regular cell – primarily so I wouldn't die of dehydration, and also to check if the 'client' had reached the desired 'condition'. This was checked through personal contact with an unofficial administration employee – an informant.

Every prison or colony is full of informants. Sometimes you end up in a cell where everyone but you 'spies' for the administration – and three or four pairs of eyes jealously watch your every move and facial expression change. Afterwards, the 'oper' (operative) would 'pull' you out of the cell, listen to the report, and if you were lucky, give you a couple of cigarettes.

To gain my trust and find out what was on my mind, the informants cursed Lukashenka, passionately supported the opposition, but their attention to specific questions of interest to the operative (crime, scandal, health condition, mental well-being, money, personal relations with leaders) gave away these 'Stirlitzes' completely.

A typical Minsk drunkard from the district, an African awaiting deportation, a retired serviceman, a homeless person, an overstayed 'blatnoy' (career criminal) – all fraternized, sympathized, and tried to find out what was on the mind of this Seviarynets.

In the summer of 2020, informants' top interest was attitude towards Putin. Russia pressures Luka, Putin weaves webs – haven't Belarusian Christian Democrats suddenly 'sang along' with Moscow on the grounds of Orthodoxy? Are you familiar with the Wagner guys? What do you think, Pash, are there any here who are 'hand in glove' with Putin?

— Of course there are, — I laugh. — Lukashenka.

And, of course, Pash, how is it in solitary without water? Is your heart pounding? Are the walls pressing in? Are you slowly fainting? Is your head spinning? Do you see 'cartoons' (hallucinations)? Maybe, screw it all – and go talk to the warden?

Most of all, I was struck by an old boxer, who, according to him, had spent 42 years in prison and was now embarking on another 'business trip'. He had spent his entire life robbing, watching those who paid with large bills in stores, hitting them at the exit and taking their wallet, drinking it away, getting caught, serving his time, and going again. His right arm already hung like a whip, he couldn't even properly stretch, but his left – the old man boasted about his signature left – 'still works, I can deliver a punch'.

The old man sat for hours on the bunk without a mattress, staring straight ahead, and then suddenly asked a question 'not in the eyebrow, but in the eye' – as if firing with his signature left:

— So who gives the money?

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