"I know nothing more terrifying than love." What Alexievich said at the Maldzis Fest

On July 13, the second Intellectual Festival of Belarusian Culture "Maldzis Fest — 2026" took place in Warsaw. Nobel laureate Svetlana Alexievich spoke at the event.

The moderator of Maldzis Fest, Ryhor Astapenia, introduced Alexievich by saying: "This is a person who needs no introduction to our audience today." He then invited her to first speak about the book she is writing about Belarus in 2020.

"Now we are all so scattered around the world and truly glad to see each other. We are becoming a nation that should not despair, but should rejoice in the fact that it can gather something from all over the world to later bring it back to the homeland. I think not all of us will return – it's sad to say. But this is a rare opportunity for us to educate ourselves, to learn how the world is structured. And this is a peculiarity of our life that should prevent us from falling into despair," says Svetlana Alexievich.

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She admitted that she had the imprudence, after her 30-year work on the book "Secondhand Time," to speak of "the end of the red man."

— Now I have to admit that this hasn't happened. The red man sits in the Kremlin, the red man shoots at Ukraine. On the one hand, we live among dying ideas, but on the other hand, these ideas are dangerous; they are still alive.

We need to see what is happening to this red man, how he is exiting history. You probably remember how in the 1990s we hoped that the fall of communism involved little bloodshed.

Writing a new book, I meet people from 2020, those for whom 2020 became a year of re-evaluation, awakening, and also of rethinking what happened to us. I meet people who went to the marches. And I wanted there to be a re-evaluation – why this happened to us. Many had to leave and live in a new country, start life from scratch. Emigration is hard; people have to buy forks and spoons, coats, and even get a new cat, because their own was left with grandma.

As one of my heroines said, "I wake up thinking about where my homeland is, and I fall asleep with the same thought. And on the weekend, I go to the border fence and stare for hours at my native forests, fields..." Some can start a new life with greater ease, with more ability.

But this is a difficult experience," says Svetlana Alexievich, who herself has been forced to live in emigration for more than 5 years.

"They call me a 'writer of catastrophes,' with which I absolutely disagree"

How does the writer herself assess what happened in 2020 — was it a victory or a defeat? — asked moderator Ryhor Astapenia of the Nobel laureate.

"I don't think it was a defeat. I feel it as a path, a difficult path. But there is no need to fear it. When I am told that after 2020 life is on pause, I disagree. What is happening today, right now, is also life. We just need to learn from the people around us – in Poland, Germany, France, etc. We are all accumulating this new experience.

It was difficult for me to write "Secondhand Time" because empires didn't collapse that often. I don't remember books where this was described, or where the experience of people scattered across the world like that was described... How I lack these words for a new book!" — admits the writer.

Ryhor Astapenia says that at 14 he read "Chernobyl Prayer," and a little later, all of Alexievich's other books. He became convinced that a significant part of Belarusian books, including hers and Vasil Bykaŭ's, are about pain, sorrow, and suffering. And when he heard seven years ago that she was writing a book about love, he was surprised: "Love is not ours; we need something more terrifying. Love doesn't define us. Do catastrophes truly define us, and can there be any book with a happy ending?" — he asked.

— I know nothing more terrifying than love (the audience laughed loudly and applauded for a long time). Love is more terrifying than war, more terrifying than Chernobyl. Because you disappear entirely; there is a complete collapse of your whole self. I am not sure if I will write a book about love. Because it's hard to get a person to tell about love completely. Especially from men. Women find more words for it. It's like a wave in the sea: it comes so strong, beautiful – and then disappears.

They call me a writer of catastrophes, with which I absolutely disagree. Although you are right: our history is a history of catastrophes. Because the nation is constantly divided. On one side, the temptation of freedom; on the other, the temptation of unfreedom.

Why do I deal with this topic? I like the human being in catastrophe. I like the human being near death. My hero is constantly dancing near death ("The Unwomanly Face of War," "Boys in Zinc," "Chernobyl Prayer," "Secondhand Time").

That's why in my books, people speak well, because they are near death, they seem to rise on tiptoes, they fully show what they are capable of.

We had 30 years of freedom – or rather, unfreedom. When we could have become a different country, and when the past caught up with us and constantly tied our hands and feet. And we didn't have the strength to untie our feet.

"To find out the truth, I myself went to Afghanistan"

Kupalovsky Theater actress Kristina Drobysh also read all of Alexievich's works, as she narrated audiobooks. She recalled stumbling upon fragments of information about the play "Boys in Zinc" at Kupalovsky in the early 1990s. There was only a publication about the trial in "Vecherniy Minsk" — with a lawsuit filed by the mothers of those very "Boys in Zinc." Kristina Drobysh asked to recall that page of history.

— The book "Boys in Zinc" offered a completely different version of what we were doing in Afghanistan, in Africa. To find out the truth, I went to Afghanistan myself: it's one thing to write about war from a distance, another to see how it really was. It turned out people kill and die so easily!

Director Valery Rayevsky staged a play, and a decent one; we were like-minded. But at that time, there was a trial over the book. Back then, the "Unions of Afghan Veterans," war veterans, were very powerful…

People gathered near the courthouse and shouted at those women: "You are betraying your children a second time."

I asked one "Afghan": "Why did you go to that war?" – "They promised me a refrigerator..." – he replied. There was nothing in the country. The authorities used this and bought people. But some don't need to be bought; they go to war themselves. I talked to one such person: "Why are you going to fight in Ukraine?" – "I don't like 'khokhly'," – he replied. Svetlana Alexievich, archive photo

There are people of one time and people of another time. I once spoke before IT specialists – 500 people of the future in the hall. And there are people of another time.

There was one woman who so hated those who went out to the marches! She took out a large pot and poured its contents from her balcony onto people. It was like that during the revolution, and during the war.

I don't know about you, but I remember 2020 as beautiful. I remember how a girl didn't let herself be humiliated and walked with an OMON officer to the police van herself. I remember how girls gave flowers to OMON officers. No one burned tires, there was no smoke, no one took the post office or telegraph. We offered a different option of resistance – an option of dignity.

"I remember, the censor summoned me: 'What, have you been reading Remarque?'"

On the eve of the writer's speech at the Intellectual Festival of Belarusian Culture "Maldzis Fest — 2026," news emerged that Svetlana Alexievich's book "One Hundred Quotes on Freedom" had been recognized as "extremist material" in Belarus. Svetlana was asked how she views the state's assessment of disloyal artists and how she generally views censorship.

— About two years ago, information appeared that my books were being checked for "extremism." And then they fell silent: maybe some reasonable person was found who said that we would look ridiculous all over the world. Now they have found another way – my speeches on Radio Svaboda have been recognized as "extremist."

I have a bad attitude towards censorship. The book "The Unwomanly Face of War" was not published for three years. I remember the censor summoned me: "What, have you been reading Remarque?" He accused me of "naturalism." Today everything is simpler, because dictatorship is always simpler.

What do they want? They want power over us, over our minds, over our spirits. They fight with books. For some reason, we don't have "foreign agents" in Belarus, unlike in Russia. I think they will appear soon. This is a form of fighting the future. Today they have broken through. Everyone needs to choose their own path. I choose the side of light – that is the side of the future.

— How to survive in a storm? Go forward? Or stay and wait it out? What do "people of light" lack to increase their chances and get out alive, to reach the top?

— Living primitively is simpler. Most people don't have the strength, don't have grandmothers or parents who would tell them to choose the side of light. And life is a choice.

My father was a communist. But a strange communist. He believed that the idea itself was great, but it was corrupted. His friends were good people (I never use the word "sovok" because I can't call my dad a "sovok"). When I came from Afghanistan and started telling what I saw there – he sat and cried. He was not a simple man. The idea of communism fell – though it was supported by good people... And out of 20 million communists, who stood up to defend it? Only a few.

You want a dignified life; you don't want to be a slave. I once argued with Viktar Babaryka, who said that "Russians are slaves, but Belarusians are not." We simply have accumulated more European traits. Volodimir Orlov writes that we had Magdeburg Law. But the Moscow principality constantly attacked and killed Belarusian men. It was a catastrophe, a tragedy for Belarus. Perhaps that's why, being "under a neighbor" who doesn't let us be ourselves, we still have many problems. And in 2020, Putin said, "we will not leave Aliaksandr Ryhoravich alone; we will help him."

But the experience of 2020 remained with us. People in Belarus are silent, but they think as we do. They couldn't leave for various reasons. "Our spirit hasn't changed; we think about the same things. But for now, we cannot speak," one person from Belarus admitted to me.

"Hatred saved no one"

Should the question of national reconciliation be raised, should we start talking to people in Belarus who, perhaps, hate those who protested in 2020? Does the writer have a recipe for national reconciliation?

— I heard these words when Ales Bialiatski spoke in court. I just shuddered at his last word when I read it, because these were my own thoughts too. He said, "we are a small nation, with great losses. And we must be together; we must not be divided." Now Ales speaks more harshly, but back then he said that.

Perhaps "reconciliation" is not a very accurate word. We need to start talking to each other, though I don't know in what form yet. But I agree with this idea. We should not seek reconciliation.

We must offer an option for dialogue. We must talk to those parents who are waiting for us, to those children who remained there. They are waiting, and they want to talk to us. I think Belarus has suffered too much. There was much blood and loss, both in the war, and, as one woman told me about the "Gulag archipelago": "There was such a roundup; all the men were taken." People told me about how Jews were exterminated. With the Jews, it was a different country. And now very strong, interesting people have left. And perhaps here they will not fully express themselves as they could have there.

In the new book, I want to explain who we are. We are homeless, but not those who rummage through garbage... Who we are, what we are – that needs to be explained. We all wanted to make our country better; we are on the side of good and change. I am also for conversation. For an honest conversation. I don't think Lukashenka will want to talk to us. But hatred saved no one. Love saved.

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