As a Belarusian photographer who fled after documenting the 2020 election and its aftermath, I have an intimate connection to the story I am photographing. I am both a witness to and a product of the ongoing repression, exile, and quiet resistance shaping Belarusian society. My photographs not only document this transformation but also reflect my own experiences and struggles.
In Belarus, the regime declared truth its enemy, seeking to erase the traces of repression and destroy the memory of national unity. By the end of 2024, 45 journalists and bloggers had been sentenced on political charges, independent media had been almost completely destroyed, and the country had become a zone closed to objective journalism. Repression continues, but it is impossible to witness from within: access for journalists is blocked, and telling the story of what is happening can only be done from the outside — through those who have fled the country to escape persecution or those who have been through Belarusian prisons. Like many Belarusians, I was driven by a sense of urgency and responsibility to capture the truth of what was happening in my country. My photographs eventually forced me to flee, knowing the consequences of staying.
Since 2020, over 400,000 Belarusians were forced to leave the country and this process continues. Among them different social strata of people who lost their homes but did not lose their memory. However, emigration is not salvation; it is a continuation of the struggle, only in a different form. Outside of Belarus, repression does not end: the authorities persecute the families of those who have left, use extraditions, and pressure the diaspora to silence voices.
My project explores what happens when a government eliminates independent voices and criminalizes dissent, leaving its people to choose between repression, exile, or silent resistance. The project follows those who risked protesting in Belarus, living under fear and constant surveillance, as well as those who have fled — former political prisoners, activists, and ordinary people rebuilding their lives while struggling to maintain a connection to their homeland. It also includes the stories of those who lost loved ones to war, illustrating how Belarusian identity continues to evolve beyond the country’s borders.
Map of Memories is not just documentation; it is an attempt to answer the question of what it means to be Belarusian when the homeland has become more of a memory than a place. It is a story about life after repression, about internal resistance, and the attempts to restore one’s identity on foreign soil. Some continue the struggle in exile — organizing protests, helping political prisoners, and supporting Ukraine. Others, in contrast, fade into the shadows, trying to build new lives. But even silence is a choice, a form of survival.
Belarus remains a blank spot on the media map. The world watches the war in Ukraine and Russian politics but barely notices a country trapped in an authoritarian deadlock — under constant pressure from Moscow on one side and 30 years of rule by Lukashenko on the other. Meanwhile, the Belarusian experience is not only important for Belarusians; it shows that repression, emigration, and the disappearance of civil society are not just a national tragedy but part of the global struggle for democracy in a world where authoritarianism is rising again.
