Editorial Foreword

Each year, readers receive a new edition of the Belarusian Yearbook — a publication with two flags on its cover: the red-green banner, named the official state flag, and the white-red-white one, identified as the historical or national flag. The temporary halt in the release of these annual volumes was due to circumstances beyond the control of its authors and participants in the project.

Originally, the Belarusian Yearbook was conceived as a way to summarize Belarus’s progress over the year. Time flows, people work, and the country develops. It is essential to try and analyze the effectiveness of this work and explore potential pathways forward. We must examine how and under what influences the situation within Belarus and its external environment have evolved. Additionally, understanding how specific decision-makers have impacted these changes and the factors that shaped their choices is essential.

In analyzing these processes, we have invariably operated under the presumption of individual innocence. It is almost unfathomable to consider a politician or public figure genuinely acting according to the principle “the worse, the better.” Errors attributed to them by their opponents are often seen as actions motivated by their belief in what benefits the state and society — unless, of course, these mistakes are driven purely by personal interest and gain. Sadly, many individuals tend to assume that their perspective is the only valid one and that the course they support is the sole path to progress, rather than stagnation.

Indeed, it soon became apparent that people’s actions do not always promote the country’s development; in some cases, they are intentionally aimed at obstructing progress. This is even reflected in the dominant rhetoric of state media. Speakers claiming authority — or often attempting to appear as representatives of it — assert statements like “we have preserved,” “we have protected,” or “we have prevented destruction,” referring to an almost distant past, the Soviet era.

Thirty-five years have passed since the Soviet Union’s collapse, and a new generation has arisen that, for well-known reasons, cannot remember that epoch. Nevertheless, the state continues to take pride in surviving on its ruins, which are carefully preserved as the only viable conditions for current and future existence rather as museum artifacts. Instead of a future, young people are offered a time that linguists refer to as the past perfect tense — a distant, bygone age. Initially, the country simply froze in place, and then it began to regress actively. This decline has permeated all areas of life — politics, economics, culture, and sports. Political struggle in Belarus has thus become a battle between the past and the future.

This is precisely why the Belarusian Yearbook, which we initially designed to be politically neutral and non-partisan, soon came to be viewed by the authorities and their affiliates as an opposition publication. Their “praise” was frightfully high: two of the project managers, Valeria Kostyugova and the author of these lines, Alexander Feduta, were sentenced to lengthy prison terms. Many of the contributing authors were forced into exile; some faced convictions and imprisonment. A few, including Vitaliy Silitski, Sergey Pankovsky, Oleg Bogutsky, Konstantin Skuratovich, Roman Yakovlevsky, and Boris Tasman, are no longer with us — premature death spared them a similar tragic fate.

A crucial element of our analysis relied on independent opinion surveys, which consequently occupied a prominent position in our yearbooks. These studies acted as thermometers, enabling us to gauge how quickly and passionately Belarusian society responds to various developments. Independent sociological laboratories in Belarus were among the first to be dismantled. The objective results of their surveys became the concern of security services and the top echelons of power. Fear of those findings only intensified pressure on research centers which refused to serve anyone voluntarily or under coercion. The infrastructure of what is known as “think tanks” was demolished, and within Belarus, their place was filled by imitators who openly displayed their bias.

Nevertheless, the idea of independent analysis of the events unfolding in Belarus and involving Belarusians, as well as the necessity of such analysis, remains real and pertinent. You can break an unflattering mirror, but you cannot erase the distinction between the truth and the new image — whatever the direction of its distortion. Living in self-deception is possible, but eventually, circumstances will evolve in a way that makes the peril of wishful thinking obvious to everyone. At that stage, it becomes impossible to rectify the situation.

This is why we believe it is vital to continue publishing our Belarusian Yearbook. Its mission remains incomplete until the diversity of analysis in Belarus is fully restored, which can only occur through the revitalization of all democratic institutions. Independent analysis depends on independent sociology, free media, and the freedom of NGOs and political parties to operate. Belarusian society must have not only an independent evaluation of its actions but also the opportunity to address and correct its mistakes, regardless of their severity or long-term consequences. Accurate diagnosis alone is insufficient — equally important is providing the necessary tools to effectively remedy the situation.

We are grateful to the analysts who generously shared their insights with the Yearbook — despite all circumstances, free from any pressure, including from us. Over the many years since the publication of the first volume, a new generation of political scientists, sociologists, economists, journalists, and philosophers has emerged, guided by fresh approaches and their own perspectives on what and how to analyze. Today, readers have access to not just a single narrative capturing the main trends of the past year, but multiple viewpoints that collectively provide a deeper understanding of what truly happened to the country and its citizens, around Belarus, and in the lives of each one of us. We believe this diversity of perspectives is fundamentally important.

Only external observers with no direct, stable connections to those still living in Belarus might think that life there has come to a halt, that time within the country has frozen. Only those viewing life solely through personal circumstances might believe that the bond between 21st-century emigrants and their homeland has been permanently severed. Belarusians continue to be a united people, even though they live under different laws, flags, and de facto under different heads of state. The symbol we placed on the cover of the very first issue of the Yearbook — the two national flags — remains relevant; the division within national consciousness has not been overcome by either side involved in the political conflict. However, this division does not mean that Belarusian identity is lost forever. There are not two Belaruses — there is only one, regardless of the markers that may suggest shifts in either direction. There is one Belarusian people.

Therefore, we believe it is impossible to consider the processes occurring within the country and in the temporarily displaced segments of civil society as separate entities. No matter how opinions are promoted that the “diaspora,” “emigration,” “fugitives,” or “deported” — whichever term is used — have no influence on the situation inside Belarus today, it does not mean that this influence will not be palpable tomorrow. While we cannot say exactly when this “tomorrow” will come, we are certain it is inevitable. Our project continues to speak to all Belarusians, regardless of where they are today or what viewpoints they hold. As analysts, we remain objective in our assessments.

That is what we live by.