Katsiaryna Andreyeva: “We will be grateful to John Coale for generations to come”

If John Coale, President Donald Trump’s special envoy for Belarus, manages to secure the release of journalist Ihar Ilyash from a Belarusian penal colony this autumn, Ihar will be able to celebrate his tenth wedding anniversary with Katsiaryna Andreyeva this winter. Katsiaryna herself was released from a Belarusian penal colony by a US delegation this spring.

I meet Katya at the end of her working day. She shows me her press card. Her Polish press card includes a request from her newsroom to the authorities to facilitate the journalist’s work. Katya reads it out with an ironic laugh — something like that definitely did not exist in Belarus. Belarusian security forces detained her in the autumn of 2020 while she was livestreaming from “Ploshcha Peramen.”

We head from the Belsat newsroom to the nearest café. Katya reflects on how she feels no hatred toward the Belarusian authorities — and immediately adds:

— But that doesn’t mean journalists can be imprisoned. Those who directly ordered and carried out these actions should face trial.

US Special Envoy for Belarus John Coale hopes to secure the release of a thousand political prisoners from the Belarusian authorities in mid-September. Katya hopes Ihar Ilyash will be among them. She will go to meet him without her Belsat press card — as his wife, not as a journalist. 

“I need a new season to begin”

— Where was your wedding ring while you were in the penal colony?

— Ihar had it, and when he was detained, the ring was left at home. Fortunately, my friends were able to pass it on to me. I only put it on here in Warsaw, and I haven’t taken it off since. I hope I’ll see Ihar soon and put his ring back on his finger.

Along with the ring, my parents also sent a children’s toy to me here in Warsaw — a little dog. When they managed to visit me in Gomel a few times, they would always bring that rubber dog with them. I want to be able to do what I did as a child: put the toy in bed with me and fall asleep. It’s something that makes me feel connected to home.

Cooking could also make a place feel like home, but I don’t enjoy cooking just for myself. I think I’ll feel at home when Ihar arrives and I start cooking for him, and he cooks for me. He’s a really good cook — he’s simply talented. I admired him every time because he always did it better than I did.

And when we can cook for each other — me for him, him for me — that’s when we’ll be able to say we’re home. And it won’t matter where that is: here, where I live now, or somewhere else. What matters is having that person by your side.

Our tenth wedding anniversary is in December. When I addressed an open letter to [US Special Envoy John Coale — Euroradio], I mentioned it. And I’d like to repeat that appeal: if John Coale is reading this interview, I want to remind him that generations of our family will be grateful to him for giving us the chance to celebrate our first major anniversary together.

I’m afraid there isn’t much time left to secure the release of everyone. We don’t know how the political situation in the US will develop or what will happen here in our region.

Every day I see warnings about the coming autumn and winter, and there’s a fear that Belarus could once again be used to launch a new wave of aggression. And I’m afraid for the lives of the people who remain in the penal colonies. It’s no coincidence that John Coale recently received an award specifically for saving lives.

However, I’m still afraid of crowds. And even now, whenever I see police officers, I feel anxious. I felt it particularly strongly when I saw a police van with barred windows.

It reminded me of the van in which they took me and the other prisoners to the border. I was sitting by the window, with wire mesh over it — it looked very cinematic.

— In one of your first interviews, you said you wanted to automatically greet police officers, the way you did in the penal colony.

— I don’t anymore. At a recent rally by migrants calling for faster legalization in Poland, I was surprised to learn that you can actually ask a police officer how many people are there. I asked, and they said — roughly 120 people. That’s something that genuinely surprised me a lot over the past week.

All these years were aimed at breaking my desire to work. They tried to convince me that I wasn’t a journalist and had never been one, that I had no audience of my own.

— They probably tried to convince Darya Chultsova [a Belsat camera operator who was detained and sentenced alongside Andreyeva. — Euroradio] of the same thing. How are things between the two of you?

— Oh, I’ll show you. When we meet, we take photos like this. During one of my first days of freedom, we went to a café and then to a bookshop. Now we see each other almost every day, even though we’re working on different projects. Look at the photo: she looks wonderful, and apparently I don’t look too bad either.

— You look wonderful. What did you want to buy after all those years in the pink dress [the uniform worn in the women’s penal colony]?

— Oh, I still spend ages browsing in shops — it’s my way of relieving stress and switching off.

In the penal colony, whenever I needed to calm down from a panic attack, for some reason I would imagine myself walking around shops and looking at what was on the shelves. And now, whenever I walk into a shop, I catch myself realizing that my anxiety-relief visualization is literally all around me.

The first shop I went to after being released was a cosmetics store. In our prison shop [the store inside the penal colony — Euroradio], they only had creams made by Belita. And you had three seconds to choose because there was already a queue behind you. Now I can finally spend half an hour looking at a single jar, and I enjoy that even more than actually buying it.

For the first few months, friends gave me a lot of clothes, and I’m very grateful to them. It was wonderful to see myself in different colors. In the penal colony, we either wore those pink dresses or everything in black. Only in the evening, at 8:30, were we allowed to take off our uniforms, and even then we had to stay in black: black leggings, black T-shirts. Not even a tiny bit of embroidery was allowed.

So in the mirror, you would see yourself either in a uniform or in black — for five years. That’s why I’m drawn to bright colors now. I want to wear white, cream — I’ve been drawn to those shades from the very first days.

Fashion has changed a little over the years. Oversized clothes were already popular before, but now there’s a lot more of them, while super-tight clothes in the style of the 2000s have also come back into fashion. To me, that combination looks a little strange.

I wouldn’t say I like it. I feel more comfortable in oversized clothes. I think there’s a psychological aspect to it — for now, I still feel like hiding from the world.

I wouldn’t rule out wearing more formal outfits soon because of my work. But people say that style suits me.

For me, the most important thing is being comfortable and being able to move freely. I think what really shapes the impression is how you present yourself, how you talk to the audience — and, of course, the whole backstory, let’s not pretend otherwise. Whatever I wear, it’s going to look good now.

— Do you often notice people looking at you in Warsaw?

— I wouldn’t say it happens every day, and more often in Belarusian places. At concerts, in cafés… But once I was walking around Gdańsk when a woman came up to me and said, “Oh, Katsiaryna, can I give you a hug?” And in Vilnius, I often ran into familiar faces. When I went for coffee with Maryna Zolatava [a political prisoner and former editor-in-chief of TUT.BY — Euroradio], someone also came up to us to say, “Thank you for your work.” There are a lot of Belarusians living in my neighborhood too, so even if I’m just walking to Żabka, someone might recognize me on the street.

It doesn’t bother me, although I do get a little embarrassed. I’d rather not be the center of attention anymore — I want to be the one doing the journalism.

And, by the way, thanks to my colleagues for creating such a welcoming environment for me that I feel like one of them, not some kind of curiosity.

“While I was in prison, not only did Gen Z emerge — there’s also Generation Alpha now”

— If you suddenly found yourself in Minsk, where would you go?

— Apart from home? Probably somewhere that reminds me of my youth — Victory Square, where I studied at the Linguistic University. I’d take a walk along the Svislach, get one of those buns…

— At Karavai [a famous pastry shop in central Minsk]?

— No, not at Karavai. You know those little kiosks they used to have? I’d get one from a kiosk like that, and some coffee. Then I’d walk along the Svislach, past the ducks… Oh, and I’d want it to be foggy, with everything slightly shrouded in mist. I’d walk along listening to some early Volsky. That would make me feel like I was home.

But I’m not one of those optimists who say there’s no point unpacking your suitcase or buying a blender because we’ll be going back soon. No. I think we’ll be here for quite some time.

When you read about a five-year period in history, it seems like nothing. But for an individual, it’s an entire era. My cousins, who were just little kids when I was imprisoned, are now dating people and working.

While I was in prison, not only did Gen Z emerge — there’s also Generation Alpha now! I can still more or less understand Gen Z. The Gen Z girls in the penal colony themselves taught me their slang — there are a lot of young people serving sentences there under drug-related charges. They told us about youth trends and TikTok trends.

Through Ihar, I kept track of the trends that were around before the autumn of 2024, when he was imprisoned. I should watch Oppenheimer, by the way — I haven’t seen it yet.

I want to believe that even if I’m no longer young when I return, at least my children will be. That doesn’t sound very optimistic.

— So you did buy the blender.

— No, why would I? But not because we’ll be going back soon. I just don’t need a blender when Ihar isn’t here and there’s no one to cook for. All my thoughts that go deeper than everyday life are about Ihar.

I follow his recommendations: I listen to classical music because he strongly encouraged me to go to classical concerts. In the autumn of 2024, before he was imprisoned, he was listening to Beethoven. He said he really enjoyed riding in a taxi while listening to that music. And now I listen to the things Ihar recommended.

— They didn’t let you take his letters with you?

— Neither his letters nor any of my other correspondence. I had a huge box from a 50-kilogram parcel, completely filled with letters.

— How big is that?

— A gigantic Belposhta box like this one, the kind they used to send food in. There were several thousand letters in it. When I was released — and I didn’t know I was being released, I only knew that I had to urgently bring my belongings to the checkpoint — I noticed that my boxes of correspondence were being carried away somewhere.

And they weren’t just letters from relatives. There were postcards and letters from as far back as 2020–21, when we could still receive mail from abroad. Some had these really beautiful stamps from Belgium, the Netherlands… Even Belarusians in Australia and Brazil sent me letters.

At the KGB pre-trial detention center, we weren’t allowed not only to receive letters but even to keep notes. None of my creative work survived. At least the letters I sent to people while I was still allowed to remain are still out there.

People have suggested that I write a book, but I don’t feel that the story is over. To write something, you have to reach a logical ending. I need a new season to begin, and when it does, I’ll be able to write about it from a little distance. I don’t want to turn it into, you know, a book of complaints about my fate.

I care about Ihar’s opinion on this, and if he wanted to write something of his own, I would step aside and let him do it. I need to wait for Ihar. Creative things are very important for me to discuss with him, and so is sharing our plans. And because I can’t share my thoughts and creative plans with him, I feel very lonely.

— Tell me about him…

— About Ihar? Well, look, it’s seven in the evening now. If I start talking, we’ll still be here at nine.

Sometimes you get the feeling that someone appeared in the universe specifically to be a perfect match for you. It’s such a complete match that you can’t understand how it’s even possible. It’s as if you’re having an internal monologue — but with another person. It’s an absolute merging of minds, while at the same time Ihar maintains his own boundaries.

I’ve never met anyone like that. I have a pretty specific personality, and it was particularly pronounced when I was 23 — which was when Ihar and I got married.

And Ihar… Everything about him is just right. His personality, the way he behaves, his mannerisms, his intelligence, his sense of humor, his talent — it’s also a huge creative match. And, simply put, he’s a very good person. A decent person who could never hurt you.

He’s both interesting and safe. Any woman who has lived a little will understand that those qualities rarely come together in the same person. I hope I can be the same for Ihar. Until now, I haven’t been safe for him.

— And do you feel safer for him now?

— Not completely. And I’m afraid that because of the prison flashbacks, I might not always be gentle enough with the people close to me. But in any case, when we meet, it won’t be a new beginning — it will be a return to each other.