Vanished Kingdoms: The Rise and Fall of States and Nations (43 page)

On the surface at least, the capital Minsk is peculiarly uninteresting. It was virtually levelled in 1944 during a frontline German–Soviet battle, which caused horrendous loss of life, and the ruins were then repopulated by rootless migrants, mainly Russians. Its Soviet-style urban design emphasizes extra-large boulevards with little traffic, grandiose public buildings for officialdom, and shoddy, decaying tower blocks for the populace.

The overall image of Belarus, in fact, is catastrophic. It scores lower than all other European countries in almost all fields. In the most recent (but somewhat out-of-date) Quality of Life Index available (2005), where Ireland came top and Zimbabwe bottom, Belarus occupied the 100th place out of 111. In the Corruption Percentage Index (CPI, 2007), it was 150th out of 179, and in
The Economist
’s Democracy Index (2007), it is the only entirely European country still classified as ‘Not Free’.
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Three-quarters of its Soviet-planned economy remains in state hands. Its population, which steadily rose in the post-war decades, is now declining. It is ruled by the pseudo-democratic dictatorship of Alexander Grigoryevich Lukashenko, which analysts place in the none too savoury company of other ex-Soviet regimes in Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan or Kazakhstan.
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The official languages are Russian and Belarusian, but the latter operates at a severe disadvantage. Lukashenko, like the rest of the ex-Soviet elite, normally speaks only Russian in public. Confusion reigns over the question whether his name should not be written and spoken in the Belarusian form of ‘Alyaksandr Lukashenka’.

Belarusian publicity makes no secret of the fact that the country has been blighted by the nuclear disaster at Chernobyl in April 1986. Indeed, great efforts have been made to inform the world about the damage and the costs. Chernobyl’s deadly, Soviet-era reactor lies just over the border in Ukraine, but 75 per cent of the radioactive fallout drifted north, and it was Belarusian villages, Belarusian agriculture and Belarusian children which bore the brunt. The by-products of the 1986 explosion will remain active for hundreds of thousands of years. Half a century at least must pass before all fish, fungi and forest berries will be fit for human consumption. The closure of the offending reactor is nowhere in sight.
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The misfortunes of Belarus, however, did not begin in 1986, but recurred with painful monotony throughout the last century. The Byelorussian National Republic (BNR) of 1918, which emerged from the collapse of the Tsarist Russian Empire, was crushed by the Bolsheviks. In the 1930s up to 60 per cent of the native intelligentsia was killed in Stalin’s Purges; the mass-murder site in the Kuropaty Forest near Minsk between 1937 and 1941 has still to be properly investigated.
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In 1941–5, during the German occupation and the accompanying Holocaust, one-quarter of the entire population perished. Post-war ethnic cleansing caused the exodus of similar numbers. Soviet reconstruction was slow, and Marshall Aid was excluded.
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Quite apart from the terrible human costs, these multiple tragedies have resulted in many Belarusians having a weak sense of their national identity.

So ‘Lukashenkism’ can only be rated as the country’s most recent blight; it is the product of what political scientists might call ‘failed transition’. The politico-socio-economic system of the USSR collapsed in the 1990s, and was not replaced by a viable alternative; Lukashenko (b. 1954) rocketed to power by filling the vacuum. In 1991 he had been a man of purely local consequence, an ex-officer of the Soviet border guard and director of a
sovkhoz
or ‘state collective farm’, but not a prominent member of the ruling Communist Party. He came to notice as the only deputy of the Byelorussian SSR’s last assembly to vote against the abolition of the Soviet Union, and gained his foothold on power by heading a corruption commission, which promptly discredited the country’s first post-Soviet leaders. Within three years, he was president.

In four terms of office – in 1994–2001, 2001–6, 2006–10 and from 2010 to the present – Lukashenko has calmly created a legal dictatorship, achieving his goals through a dubious referendum, a purpose-built constitution, and a hand-picked legislature. A police state operates, the ‘president’s men’ enforcing obedience at all levels. The opposition is harassed. The media are shackled. Foreign protests are ignored. Western governments are courted for investment, but not for advice. In short, the president-dictator does as he likes. Fifty new ‘universities’ are busy training the cadres that will project Lukashenkism into the future, while several parts of the University of Minsk can only function in exile.
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Careless talk characterizes the president as ‘a would-be Putin with no missiles and no oil’; it is not a good comparison, and it underestimates his tenacity.
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His henchmen call him ‘
Batka
’, the ‘Daddy of the Nation’. Their slogan proclaims:
Batka
Is,
Batka
Was and ‘
Batka
Will Be.’ ‘My position and the state will never allow me to become a dictator,’ he says of himself, ‘but an authoritarian ruling style is my characteristic.’
⁹

Immediately after 1991, Belarus was taken to be a straightforward, Russian-controlled puppet state. It was (and apparently still is) the capital of the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), which was formed to replace the Soviet Union and to preserve Russian supremacy in a less inflexible form. In 1996, at least in theory, Belarus entered economic union with Russia, aiming to produce a customs union and a common currency within twelve years. In 2002 it even began talks on a Russian proposal for constitutional union. But none of these schemes came to fruition. Instead, they have been supplanted by a series of ever intensifying rows about ‘unpaid debts’, oil prices and gas supplies, and in general about Lukashenko’s disinclination to dance to the Kremlin’s tune. Relations deteriorated to the point of being at best ambiguous. Then in a sudden reversal, the ‘Last Dictator’ travelled to Moscow in 2010, in advance of a looming election, mending his fences and announcing that the oil-price dispute had been settled.
¹⁰

The European Union was no happier with Belarus than Russia was. Lukashenko has proved resistant to all overtures for meaningful dialogue, always insisting that he will not accept ‘the imposition of alien values from outside’. Protracted discussions preceded the reluctant acceptance of Belarus as a member of the EU’s Eastern Partnership, inaugurated in May 2009. The Partnership complements the Union for the Mediterranean, which deals with the EU’s neighbours in North Africa and the Middle East; it aims to promote good governance, energy security, environmental protection and co-operation on common issues of trade, travel and migration.
¹¹

The presidential election of December 2010, therefore, took place amid considerable uncertainty. In the run-up to the elections, President Dmitri Medvedyev of Russia fired off a broadside, accusing Lukashenko of repeatedly breaking his promises; among other supposed offences, he had failed to recognize the independence of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, and had granted asylum to the ousted Kirghiz president, Bakiryev. In an article entitled ‘Batka Stoops To Blackmail’,
Russia Today
lamented an incident in which Russia’s threat to cut off oil to Belarus had apparently been countered by a Belarusian threat to cut off electricity to Kaliningrad.
¹²
Outside observers concluded that Russia was losing patience. Then, early in 2011, came the Wikileaks scandal. No less than 1,878 of the leaked cables related to Belarus; in a cluster dating back to 2005 American diplomats characterized Belarus as ‘the last outpost of tyranny’ and ‘a virtual mafioso state’.
¹³
But Batka had little to fear. In the polls of 19 December, he had been officially declared to have received 79.7 per cent of the votes.
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Opposition candidates, who had been allowed to stand, were beaten up afterwards by the police. Demonstration were followed by arrests. Diplomats from neighbouring countries reckoned that Lukashenko had probably lost, but he continued on his way unruffled. In an appearance on the state STV television channel, he surprised his audience by breaking into fluent Belarusian, introducing his elderly mother and courting popularity.
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In recent years, the thesis that dictatorships are vulnerable to the growth of new communications and technologies has gathered widespread support. The Green Revolution in Iran in 2009, the ousting of Ben Bella from Tunisia in 2010, and the revolt against President Mubarak in Egypt in 2011 have all been held up as instances where a repressed opposition mobilized itself by cellphones, Facebook and Twitter. A future-technology specialist argues the opposite case. According to Evgeny Morozov, all dictatorships control access to the Internet and possess active cyber-departments to protect their interests. The democratic character of the Net, he says, is a delusion. Morozov is Belarusian.
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*

Even so, the Internet offers a wealth of information about Belarus that was not available when the state came into being. Readily accessible websites list a host of attractions for hardy souls who are considering a visit, and they give a flavour of what awaits. A government-sponsored site follows six headings: Jewish History, Castles and Churches, World War II, Nature, Agro- and Eco-Tourism, and ‘Healthcare Tourism’. The Jewish link informs readers that Marc Chagall, Irving Berlin and Kirk Douglas all came from Belarus, but does not suggest any places to see in connection with them. The ‘World War II’ link recommends the Soviet-era Belarusian National War Memorial at Khatyn (
sic
),
¹⁷
and the Soviet memory site at the fortress at Brest.
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The ‘Nature’ link mentions only one of the country’s six national parks, and advises people hoping to explore the Belavezha Forest to approach it via Poland. ‘Do not expect a five-star service anywhere,’ it warns, but ‘you can swim in any lake or river without lifeguard whistling at you’. Under ‘Agro-Tourism’, visitors are urged to watch the harvesting of extremely unlikely local foods ‘such as coconuts, pineapple, or sugar-cane’. Under ‘Healthcare’, one learns that ‘Dentistry is lately on the rise in Belarus’. But only one spa is named, at the salt caverns of Salihorsk.
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Most recently, winter skiing has been introduced. The National Ski Centre is at Logoisk, which has a partner at Silich Mountain. Each resort possesses one hotel.
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‘The medieval martial castle’ of Mir, some 60 miles to the south-west of Minsk, turns out to be ‘the main architectural symbol’ of the country.
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It is also the seat of the national school of architectural conservation, and it well repays the journey. A splendidly illustrated English-language guidebook awaits, showing the castle in all seasons. In 2000, one learns, the castle complex was included in the UNESCO Register of World Heritage Sites.
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The position of the castle on a low mound and surrounded by a lake enhances the illusion of fabulously colossal proportions, as it looms over the water and the lush meadows. Its brick-and-stone battlements were constructed round a broad, interior courtyard, but the most prominent aspect is provided by tall octagonal towers that rise at the four corners, and by the central, fortified entrance gate approached over a bridge. It is the colours, however, that make the most immediate impression. The three-storey palace wing is plastered white, with red brick sills and ribbing; the entrance gate and two of the corner towers are faced with red brick interspersed with white panes and false windows, the roofs tiled in a brighter shade of orange-red that stands out magnificently against the blue sky of the summer’s day or, in winter, against the deep snowdrifts. In autumn, the leaves of the park change colour to match the battlements. Sunsets at Mir are a photographer’s dream.