{As the bus crossed into Lithuania, Mikola Dziadok, recently released after five punishing years behind bars in the Eastern European nation, shouted: “Long live the United States.”
{It was an unexpected cry from a dedicated anarchist and journalist who had spent almost half of his adult life incarcerated for opposing Alexander Lukashenko’s regime.
“I was so happy. In that instant, I loved the whole US government. Just for that brief period, naturally,” he said with a grin in a Vilnius cafe, his hair freshly cut from detention.
Dziadok, 37, was one of over fifty detainees freed and sent to live abroad in the adjacent Baltic state in recent weeks – a significant amnesty in the nation's modern era, and the latest ploy by the long-standing leader, the calculating ruler who has ruled Belarus for decades and close ally of Vladimir Putin, in his attempt to enhance ties with the Trump administration.
{But the prison release, which came after previous amnesties, including that of the dissident figure Syarhei Tsikhanouski in June, has come with certain conditions. And the nation's detention facilities remain packed, with 1,168 political detainees still in custody, according to the human rights group a monitoring body – a figure that includes its founder, the Nobel peace prize laureate a human rights defender.
{Through a series of diplomatic overtures, Lukashenko has guided the country out of years of western isolation that followed his crackdowns at home and support for Russia’s war in Ukraine. Washington’s decision to ease its first sanctions in following the detainee freedom, along with Trump’s hint of a potential encounter with the Belarusian president, marked a clear success for a leader long viewed as an outcast in the international community.
{But observers now say the government is using political prisoners as bargaining chips – exchanging their freedom for international concessions while maintaining oppression at home.
{While welcoming US diplomacy, many of those released said they were fully conscious of the trade-off.
“The key point is not to replace the liberation of the country [from the regime] with the release of detainees,” said a fellow activist, a 39-year-old activist from the opposition group released in the same deal.
{In an discussion in the Lithuanian capital, he stressed that the Belarusian authorities had no intention of relaxing their crackdown on opposition. “Fifty people were released, but then about 50 new people were imprisoned. What is the point of this? They release us now, and then Trump will bargain over these 50 new people,” he shrugged.
{The more than 1,000 political detainees also include a prominent opposition figure, the musician turned opposition leader who refused to leave by tearing up her passport at the border. Observers say freeing them all at once would deprive Lukashenko of leverage.
{The oppression that populated the prisons began during the highly contested presidential election of August 2020, when hundreds of thousands of citizens took to the streets to demand Lukashenko’s exit.
The two activists were swept up in that crackdown, alongside reporters, activists and regular people accused of “radicalism” for a like, a contribution or a negative remark online.
{On a rare visit by international journalists to the capital, a news outlet recently observed the trial of Ihar Ilyash, detained in late 2024.
The spouse, also a journalist a media professional, is already serving an lengthy prison term for “high treason” after reporting on the mass demonstrations. Standing motionless inside a glass cage, the defendant was sentenced to four years on extremism charges for writings critical of Lukashenko.
Freed prisoners say they need no imagination to envision his fate: extended periods of seclusion and brutal treatment in what is often described as a detention network harsher than Russia’s.
“The nation serves as a laboratory for oppression. First it happens here … then Putin does it a few years later,” said the activist. He described gruelling conditions inside the country's detention centers, where officers had devised their own disturbing terms for abuse.
“One method is called ‘disco’ – when they strike you with a stun gun while you are restrained,” he said. “Another term, ‘quick charge’ is a full-power shock. And the so-called ‘lawyer’ is when officers beat you with batons. You say, ‘I need legal representation’. They respond, ‘this is your advocate’.”
Survivors of the system said the suffering was as much mental as bodily. “One cannot to fully comprehend it unless you have experienced it,” said the activist, nervously turning a pen in his hands as he talked. During the discussion, he paused, appearing too ill to continue before insisting he could go on.
Sparysh remembered how political inmates were routinely thrown into solitary confinement – tiny solitary punishment cells – for trivial offences such as an unbuttoned shirt or unpolished shoes.
A significant part of the abuse, however, was delegated. A practice based on historical methods set violent criminals against conscience prisoners. “Ordinary criminals are used to bully political prisoners,” the journalist said.
It is also used to segregate them, ex-detainees said. Ordinary inmates were ordered not to speak to political prisoners, and those who did risked immediate penalty. “It’s surreal … picture being in a dormitory with dozens of individuals and no one speaks to you,” said the activist.
Inmates also face medical neglect. “Medical care is withheld until you collapse,” he said of a detention facility in western Belarus, where he spent the majority of his incarceration.
He added that the implication from the guards was clear: “Increased mortality here, the improved the condition in the country will be.”
He said: “At my facility, several inmates died. Two due to sickness that could have been prevented. One hanged himself. And one died from assault by another prisoner.”
Included was the elderly creative a dissident artist, a illustrator who once deposited a cart of manure outside the president’s office. “I was sitting in a adjacent room, and witnessed how it occurred,” Dziadok said of Pushkin, who passed away in recent years as a consequence of sickness.
{Some of the more disturbing reports from those newly freed recount how detainees with symbolic body art were targeted – made to erase them themselves or restrained while officers performed the removal.
The leader says the country treats inmates “normally”, adding that “prison is not a resort”.
Dziadok and Sparysh are now adapting to life abroad. Their national documents were confiscated by the authorities as part of the release, leaving them without documents.
Staying politically relevant from outside the country, they concede, may prove difficult.
Some individuals, exile was never an option. When the bus came to pick up the freed prisoners from the Lithuanian border, one person was absent.
An opposition veteran, 69, a veteran opposition figure and former general repeatedly jailed for challenging