"I didn't expect such mockery"

In the evening, my wife and I rode out on bicycles and got detained forty minutes later in an auto parts store. Why did we go to the store? We saw a convoy of military and police vehicles. We got scared, so we went into the store to avoid attention. At that time, I was already wearing the vest. The store employees let us in without any problems. No sooner had the doors closed than people in masks ran in, shouting, "On the floor!" with obscenities. I can hardly recall all this. I didn't see where my wife ran: the auto parts store was big. I ran into some compartment or behind the counter, I don't remember. And that was it: a man in a mask ran at me with a baton. I don't even know if he was an ordinary police officer or a riot police officer. I had no time to look at his pants – I distinguished them by their pants.

I shouted, "I am a journalist! Do not touch me! I am a journalist!" He shouted, "Your last name!" "Kulevich." "So, you got caught! On the ground, on the ground!" I lay, and he started beating me with a baton, so I covered my head with my hands. He hit me on the arms, on the back. I heard my wife screaming. I didn't know what happened to her. I shouted to them not to touch her. We were taken out of the store together with her and a store employee. No one else was detained then. So, I guess, it was a targeted hunt for me.

They put us in a paddy wagon. Of course, the detention was brutal. In the paddy wagon, they ripped off my bag, but my phone was in my pocket. I managed to call the mayor of the city and say, "I have been detained! Mechislav Bronislavovich, help me! You know that I am a journalist, that I have done a lot for this city!" He said to me, "Why would you go there?" "Where? We got detained in the center of the city!" He would later tell everyone that it was out of his sphere of competence: he was not in charge of the police, but in charge of roads and buildings. Well, if you are the head of the city, if such chaos is around, you should try to help! Moreover, we are called "friends" in the city. I would have helped in such a situation. I would have come and seen the conditions in which people were kept in prison or the temporary detention facility. I would have stopped the lawlessness. On the other hand, I understand that he was powerless. All the orders came from Minsk, from the capital.

I called the editor and said that I had been detained. I called my brother. And that was it. One of the guards heard me calling, ran to me, hit me with a baton, and took the phone away. Then we rode a little around the city, taking a few more people on board.

Five minutes later, they took me and escorted me to some room where other officers were sorting our things and putting them in bags with names. I saw my stuff and my wife's things among them.

They tried to plant a black balaclava and a white-red-white flag in my bag. I said, "Guys, I can see what you are doing." It was against any logic: why would a journalist go to an event with a flag and a balaclava? I said that I could see everything, and they would be held liable for such things. They turned away and told me to turn away as well.

However, when I was leaving, I was given that balaclava and the white-red-white flag. I said, "This is not mine, you planted it!" I gave it back to them at the entrance.

They escorted me for interrogation through a courtyard. There were 30 officers there. Everyone was wearing a mask, only a few were not. They looked so cool in their black T-shirts with batons in their hands. I told them I could not walk, lay down on the ground and said, "Guys, I am a Grodno journalist Ruslan Kulevich. You read my books, you read my articles. You all know me very well. Help me get there." They started laughing. Two or three people came out of this laughing crowd, took me by the arms and pulled me. One was wearing a mask, the other one was not. They had kind faces. I don't know them, but they pulled me to the room.

I didn't expect to be treated like that. I used to think they would treat me properly because I was an educated person, a journalist.

I was taken to the third floor where I talked with the investigator. At first, he was disrespectful too, spoke obscenely. He was a captain, I don't remember his last name. I said, "Take a look at my stuff." He looked through my documents, including an international press card, a certificate, a piece of paper reading "call the mayor of the city in case of arrest" with the mayor's mobile number. He went out and talked to someone. When he returned, his attitude changed a little. Another masked man came, also speaking rudely at first, "Hey you, stand astride, quickly!" Someone told him, "He is a journalist." I was not completely stripped of my clothes, unlike the others.

They drew up a protocol saying I had participated in an unauthorized mass event. How could I have participated? I was told to sign it, but I refused. And that was it. I was escorted through a hallway to the detention center.

While they were escorting me, everyone was laughing too. I remember one officer passing by, twirling his truncheon, I guess he was a riot police officer, and saying, "You got caught, huh? You will not take pictures anymore!" I answered, "Damn, I'm a journalist. I was doing my job." They laughed and walked me further to my cell, where a guy was sitting. He had been detained while leaving a store with some beer on his way home from fishing, and the fish still lay in the car. There were also two other guys, a builder and an engineer. People had been just going home. Can you imagine the level of lawlessness if they had detained bystanders?

I didn't know what had happened to my wife. It turned out that she had been released at night for health reasons: she had felt sick.

Five minutes later, they took me and escorted me to some room where other officers were sorting our things and putting them in bags with names. I saw my stuff and my wife's things among them.

They tried to plant a black balaclava and a white-red-white flag in my bag. I said, "Guys, I can see what you are doing." It was against any logic: why would a journalist go to an event with a flag and a balaclava? I said that I could see everything, and they would be held liable for such things. They turned away and told me to turn away as well.

However, when I was leaving, I was given that balaclava and the white-red-white flag. I said, "This is not mine, you planted it!" I gave it back to them at the entrance.

They escorted me for interrogation through a courtyard. There were 30 officers there. Everyone was wearing a mask, only a few were not. They looked so cool in their black T-shirts with batons in their hands. I told them I could not walk, lay down on the ground and said, "Guys, I am a Grodno journalist Ruslan Kulevich. You read my books, you read my articles. You all know me very well. Help me get there." They started laughing. Two or three people came out of this laughing crowd, took me by the arms and pulled me. One was wearing a mask, the other one was not. They had kind faces. I don't know them, but they pulled me to the room.

I didn't expect to be treated like that. I used to think they would treat me properly because I was an educated person, a journalist.

I was taken to the third floor where I talked with the investigator. At first, he was disrespectful too, spoke obscenely. He was a captain, I don't remember his last name. I said, "Take a look at my stuff." He looked through my documents, including an international press card, a certificate, a piece of paper reading "call the mayor of the city in case of arrest" with the mayor's mobile number. He went out and talked to someone. When he returned, his attitude changed a little. Another masked man came, also speaking rudely at first, "Hey you, stand astride, quickly!" Someone told him, "He is a journalist." I was not completely stripped of my clothes, unlike the others.

They drew up a protocol saying I had participated in an unauthorized mass event. How could I have participated? I was told to sign it, but I refused. And that was it. I was escorted through a hallway to the detention center.

While they were escorting me, everyone was laughing too. I remember one officer passing by, twirling his truncheon, I guess he was a riot police officer, and saying, "You got caught, huh? You will not take pictures anymore!" I answered, "Damn, I'm a journalist. I was doing my job." They laughed and walked me further to my cell, where a guy was sitting. He had been detained while leaving a store with some beer on his way home from fishing, and the fish still lay in the car. There were also two other guys, a builder and an engineer. People had been just going home. Can you imagine the level of lawlessness if they had detained bystanders?

I didn't know what had happened to my wife. It turned out that she had been released at night for health reasons: she had felt sick.

After the parcels and the lunch, we felt better. We talked, played word games. We prepared our minds to spend a long time there. My lawyer came and asked if I would file an appeal or something else. I replied that I could not write, my hand ached. Both hands, actually, I couldn't do anything with my left hand either. The lawyer wrote an appeal to the detention center instead of me.

Dinner was brought, when they came abruptly and said, "Pack your stuff, you are leaving." Who is leaving and where? We thought we would be taken to Volkovysk, to some penal colony there. We asked, "Where are we going?" only to hear, "You will probably go home." We could not understand what was going on, "How is that even possible? We have been sentenced to 10, 15 days… I have to spend seven days here." We were given our personal stuff, told to sign some papers, I guess, regarding our food, and escorted out.

That was it. We could go wherever we wanted. It was weird. I went up to a passer-by and said, "Please give me five rubles for a taxi, I have no money. I'll give it back to you later." He said, "I know you, Ruslan. It's okay. Here's the money." I forgot to ask him to use his phone, so I went up to another person on the street and said, "Please give me your telephone for a call." I was wearing shoes without laces, I was dirty – no wonder the woman ignored me, but then she came back and said, "I am sorry, I know you. Here is the phone, call whoever you want." I called a taxi and got home.

15 minutes later, my colleague came to make a breaking interview about me, journalist Ruslan Kulevich, being released. Our dog had run away just before he came, so we caught it, and I held it in my arms during the interview.

Later, the propagandists would use this fact against me. They made a screenshot from the video as if to say "look, he is holding a dog: how can his arms be broken?" But what they failed to mention was that in the video, I also showed swollen hands, lifted my T-shirt and showed the blows from the batons. They did not show that. Yes, I could write, but I had closed fractures of my wrists.

In the morning, we went to make X-rays and have the injuries verified. The X-rays showed that my hands were broken, and I needed casts. We scanned the skull to find out a mild traumatic brain injury. They said I needed hospitalization because I was very stressed. I was admitted for five days.

There, in the hospital, I started my Hospital-News column, in which I recorded victims' stories. There was a bass player from the DZIЕCIUKI band who had been beaten on the first day; some IT guys beaten on August 10 and 11.

I remember watching the live broadcast when 50,000 people came out in Grodno, and the mayor addressed them on the square; I saw the workers of the Azot plant ask the head of the police department about me; I felt so proud of the people, because they stood in solidarity. There were tens of thousands of people on the square, and I got a call from there right to the hospital; someone put a microphone to the phone, and I thanked people for their support and regretted that I could not be with them at the moment, that I had no camera and was in hospital.

When I was discharged from the hospital, we had to pay more attention to my wife's health – she had developed some complications. One day, when I was sitting in the hospital and waiting for her, I started receiving messages and calls to WhatsApp, Telegram, Instagram, Facebook, Viber. I couldn't understand what was going on. I read, "Hide! They want to detain you! Leave!" What was that? A fake? Then I got a screenshot showing that some Telegram channel had published all my data, my wife's identity, our addresses. We started calling home, calling my mom. I had not been prepared for this: I was shaken, worried about myself and my family. The information was published on the 'Yellow Plums' Telegram channel. I think that the administrator of the channel is the press service of the Ministry of Internal Affairs or the KGB, because they are the only ones who could have such data.

We went outside the city. A few days later, I got a call that we had been shown on TV, the ONT channel, together with the same material that was published in these 'Yellow Plums'. The security forces had started publishing our personal data on television. I was shaking trying to figure out what to do.

We returned to the city. Everything seemed to have calmed down. But soon the calls and the texts resumed; we were also shown on another TV-channel, the BT.

This went on for a month. They broadcast something, they wrote something. I didn't respond to anyone. I remained silent until the end of August.

I continued writing and working, but various threats poured in.

They started calling home, asking for my wife to show her breasts for donations. They started monitoring her Instagram page. This is probably the worst thing – the exhausting pressure.

They can currently detain any person and then come up with a case, make a search or something else. We are not protected at all. No law works in the country. Lawyers cannot defend, because they also get imprisoned. There is a war going on: a war against the people of the country.

The police do not want to understand that the people taking to the streets have peaceful intentions. Journalists want to show the truth; and they are ready to cover the other side of the story – to show it. I texted some riot police officers asking them to tell their story, to open up about the pressure they experience, so that they don't think the journalists only show one side. I was ready to show the other side as well. But they said, "Oh, we are considered criminals anyway. It's too late to say anything." Nobody has contacted me yet.

I used to be invited to various press conferences, to shake hands; not any more, though. They give no comments. Nothing.

I don't even know whether I will greet the mayor when we meet. I no longer call the press service of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Independent journalists have probably been labeled enemies, enemies of the state. Genuine journalists, that is: who are completely devoted to their work.

A riot police commander once told me, "Go write your books!" I replied, "I would love to write books if the situation in the country were not so bad."

I want to continue writing books. I don't know whether I will write one about the current events. Probably. However, I'm not the only one who should do this. Perhaps, Hrodna.life editorial board can make a book about this period.

Nowadays, many journalists cannot work with a cool head. I am afraid of losing people, sources, contacts from the pre-war period. I wanted to publish a third book based on their memories. Now I cannot approach them.

Many events are similar to the 1930s – repressions, war against the intellectual class. It also resembles 1939. Grodno residents defended the city from the Soviets and communists; the youth went to defend the city. I feel something similar happened on August 9-10. People took to the streets peacefully to defend the city, and they were shot at. Moreover, all the major events took place in the same locations as decades before: the city center, the narrow streets, the old bridge. Everything was the same as 80 years ago. It's a shame that I can lose connection to the people who are 90-95 years old because of all these events – the people who can tell something about those historical events that they haven't yet told anyone in their life. Their memories…

They were born in our city, they witnessed the arrival of the communists in 1939, the change of power, the first Soviet period, the Germans, the second Soviet period, the formation of independent Belarus. They have something to compare everything with. We must now speak to them and listen to them, because they have faced all this before – the changing eras, the countless occupations.