'Goodbye to life, you will be killed': how detained protesters are bullied in Belarus

In Belarus, after the protest actions that began after the presidential elections, thousands of people were detained, arrested and abused. Many were beaten, humiliated and starved to death. Service BBC spoke with several people who were ill-treated in Belarusian police vehicles, prisons and police departments.

Photo: Shutterstock

Alina Beresneva, 20 years old

From August 9 to August 10, my friends and I were returning from the center of Minsk and fell under the distribution of riot police. They didn’t take part in the protest action, but they threw me to the ground anyway (there are still scratches on my hand), and everyone was packed onto a bus.

We were brought to Okrestina Street (to the isolation center for offenders of the Central Internal Affairs Directorate of the Minsk City Executive Committee. - Approx. BBC). There was a man standing at the entrance, he said: “Bitches, let’s go faster!” I ask: “Why are you talking to us like that?” He took me by the neck, kicked me into the wall and said: “Bitches, inspect the floor, you will know where to walk, where to walk.”

We, 13 girls, were put in a cell for four. We asked the employee: can we make a call or call a lawyer? He answered us: “Have you seen enough American films? This is not the United States, you are not entitled to anything.”

The night passed, and at about 12 noon they started counting us: they asked for our first and last names. We hadn’t eaten for more than a day—everyone’s stomach was churning, everyone was hungry. That’s why they asked for food and were even ready to pay. But they answered us: “No, bitches, you will know who to vote for.” We were in terrible shock that they answered us like that. It's horrible!

Then evening came, and we began to notice (we had a gap between the trough and the door) that people were taken out and forced to sign something, although they were shouting and indignant. It was our turn to sign these protocols. The girls and I agreed to give up what is attributed to us.

I tried to get acquainted with the protocol, began to read it, I said: “Please let me see what I am signing.” They answered me: “I’ll tell you now, bitch! Let’s sign quickly, otherwise I’ll ****** [rape] you and lock you up for another 20 days.” I was in shock, tears flowed, traces of which remained on that protocol. I signed “I agree”, put my signature, I didn’t even know what I was signing for.

They promised us that they would release us immediately. We thought that we would forget about everything like a bad dream, but that was not the case. We were taken back to the cell, then moved to another, where there were already 20 girls - in total there were 33 of us. It was a complete mockery.

Without food was the most terrible moment. I myself am a strong person. But in this situation I was broken. My stomach was so twisted that I didn’t know what to do. You sit and understand how your body is trying to cope with the situation, but it’s not working. And you are like a little child: embittered, but you have no strength, and no one will help you.

I didn't know what to do. I just sat curled up in a ball and broke out in a cold sweat, after which they called a doctor for me. I could barely stand up and through this feeding trough I said: “You see, I can’t stand, I feel bad, I’m dizzy.” In response I heard: “You will know where to go next time.” As a result, they gave me a validol tablet (on an empty stomach). Of course, I didn’t take it, so as not to make it even worse for myself.

Another night has passed. We decided that if food was not brought to us, then we would already start screaming and calling for help. By August 11, another paddy wagon arrived. Through the window they saw how the guys were being bullied. They were almost half-naked on their knees with their booty up, with their hands behind their heads. If someone moved, they beat them with sticks.

One of our girls got her period. She asked: “Please give me some toilet paper.” They told her: “Wipe yourself with your T-shirt.” She ended up just taking off her underwear, washing it, and walking around until it got dirty again. Then, when there was a shift change, a woman came and brought us paper. We simply idolized her.

The windows faced the street. We saw people shouting: “Let our children go!” In the next cell there was a man who was screaming loudly and had problems with his leg. They couldn’t call an ambulance for him for three days. So he couldn’t stand it and started shouting out the window so that people could hear him. But a police officer opened the door (it was clearly audible) and began to beat him, saying: “Bitch, stretch your ass, now I’ll push the blood back into your ass.”

If there was an opportunity to somehow punish those people, I would gladly do it. All this divided life into “before” and “after”. I used to want to join the Ministry of Internal Affairs, be a police officer, protect the people and human rights, but after I was there, the desire disappeared. Now I just want to leave this country, take all my relatives and friends so as not to stay here.

⚡️ Beaten with ten men, threatened to 'let go in a circle', put on their knees

The girl spoke about the attitude of the punishers to those detained in Belarusian prisons. pic.twitter.com/07xiJpmkps

— CORONAVIRUS ☢️Ukraine?? (@Virus19Korona) August 13

Sergey (name changed at the request of the hero), 25 years old

I was detained on the third day of the protests, August 11, near a shopping center. He worked not just in the riot police, it was the Almaz special squad - the elite that fights terrorists.

When we saw a convoy of special equipment approaching us, we realized that we could only hide. I sat in a secluded place, for some time they could not find me. It so happened that I saw people kneeling on the ground in front of the shopping center being beaten. One of them fell, a riot policeman leaned towards him, he raised his eyes, and we met. At that moment I thought I was ***** [the end].

I was also taken to the site. Those who said something were beaten. They put me down and beat me a little. I had a backpack with me with respirators and masks. One of the officers looked at him and said, “Oh, it’s some kind of organizer.” We started looking for the owner.

I decided not to confess - I understood that additional violence would be used. After several minutes of beating, they again asked me if the backpack was mine. I said it's not mine. Three special forces men took me around the corner of the shopping center. My hands were tied. They took out a live grenade (I know how they differ in appearance from flash-noise grenades) and said that they would now take out the pin, put it in my pants, I would blow myself up, and then they would say that the guy was blown up by an improvised explosive device. That no one will prove anything and nothing will happen to them.

I kept saying that the backpack was not mine. They put a grenade in my pants and ran away. Then they came back and said that I was ****** [insolent], and they started beating me again - in the groin, in the face. The backpack was ordered to be carried in the teeth. While we were walking to the paddy wagon, they continued to hit me in the face with their hands. If I dropped my backpack, they beat me. Now I have chips on my teeth.

They took me into a paddy wagon; there were about 20 people there. They threw us at each other. There was a riot policeman on top, walking around people. They put their feet on my neck and began to choke me. People's hands were swollen because of the zip ties - those who complained were beaten on the hands. There was an asthmatic in our car, he began to choke. The riot policeman approached him, put his foot on his throat, began to choke him and said: “If you die, we don’t care.”

When we were taken outside, paint was spilled on the ground. They smeared it on my face and marked it that way. Then they transferred me to another car. There were four officers there with batons: they put you on the floor and hit you on the legs, saying: “This is so that you don’t run!” I’ve already reached it!” I was there alone, perhaps others were taken there too. No girls were beaten in front of me.

Then I was returned to the general paddy wagon. There were two girls there, about 18 years old. Their offense was that they raised their heads and paid attention to the fact that someone in the salon was feeling ill. After several such appeals, a riot policeman approached one of them, started shouting at her, and grabbed her by the hair. He somehow shaved off part of her hair and said: “You are whores, we will send you to a pre-trial detention center, throw you in a cell with the men, you will be ****** [raped] there, and then we will take you to the forest.”

There was a guy who didn't want to unlock the phone. He was stripped naked and told that if he did not tell the password, he would be raped with sticks. He agreed, then they threw him to lie with the others.

On the subject: Protests in Belarus: 7 thousand detainees, female human chains, support from the US diaspora

We were taken to some crossing point. We got out of the paddy wagon. There was a corridor of 40 people to another bus. When you walk on it, you get hit. If you fall, they beat you until you get up (on your legs, on your head). When I got to the bus, I fell from the impact. The special forces again drew attention to me because I had a T-shirt of solidarity with Russian political prisoners. They beat me additionally, and then they took me by the arms and legs and threw me into the bus like a sack.

They yelled at me and told me to crawl to a certain point. I crawled slowly and they beat me again. When I crawled, I simply couldn’t move. Another employee came up to me, put his foot on my back and started hitting me on the head with a baton - not a simple rubber one, but with a metal rod. I understood this because after the first blow I was switched off. I stopped feeling anything.

He beat for a while. Then people piled on top of me, it was hard to breathe. Those on top continued to be beaten. It was not clear where it was worse - at the top, where you have air, but they beat you, or at the bottom, where you are suffocating, but they don’t beat you.

Then they dropped us off, there was another “corridor” where they beat us. We were transferred to the “glass” cell in the paddy wagon. It was designed for three people, but eight were pushed in there. I was pressed against the wall and saw blood - only then did I realize that my head was broken. At some point I lost consciousness, this happened several times.

When we were taken to the facility, due to injuries and stuffiness, I simply could not stand and fell out of the cell. They said, “I think this one is ready.” I was thrown out of the paddy wagon and abandoned. The doctors immediately came to me, they said that my head was cut, everything was bruised, as if I had a concussion. I felt nauseous and drooled from my mouth. After that they didn’t touch me anymore. The riot police themselves stood and discussed whether I would die or not.

There weren’t enough ambulances to take everyone out, I lay there for an hour. In the end they came for me. In the ambulance, I asked to be taken home, and not to the hospital, because the protesters were taken from there. But due to a broken head and a suspected broken leg, I was still taken to the hospital.

The doctors understand that people are being tortured, they try to take out whoever they can. In total, they put 12 stitches on three wounds, did operations, and photographs. A few hours later my friends took me out of the hospital. Due to the fact that I had neither a passport nor a telephone, my identity was never established.

While they beat me, I didn't think about anything most of the time. I was scared, I did not expect such violence. I thought about how to group in order to stay healthy. To be honest, I also thought about emigration. That if nothing changes, I will be scared to live in a country where you can be killed at any moment and no one will be punished. It is scary to think that employees of these structures live next to us, torturing people and continuing to live their normal lives.

Oleg, 24 years old (name changed at the request of the hero)

I am a trucker, I have nothing to do with politics, not an enemy of the people. Came a week ago from a flight from Siberia. I looked at what was happening on the Internet. I saw the children go out, grandmothers. I thought: I, a young guy, will sit at home? And he went too.

I was detained [on the night] from 10 to 11 August, closer to midnight. There was cotton not far from me. I was stunned. I saw a guy lying on the ground. I wanted to help him up, but his leg was practically ripped off. A flash-bang grenade hit him directly in the cup, his knee was gone.

The phone fell somewhere, I ran to look for an ambulance. One was passing by and asked the doctors to come over. They asked me and a few other guys to stay and help. Riot police officers stood about twenty meters away - with shields, weapons, machine guns.

They didn’t take us, they handed us over to others not to touch us. And then they ran up from behind, quickly put me down, and hit me on the legs. They put their hands behind their heads and kicked them. The doctor tried to explain, shouted: “What are you doing, we can’t cope here, people are helping!”

First they lifted us up, and then a minute and a half later they ran up again and beat us with batons. On the way to the paddy wagon they beat me, in the paddy wagon they also beat me, shouting: “Oh, you are complete creatures.” There were kicks, arms, it flew all over the body. A man of about fifty, a disabled person of the second group, sat with us. He asked for a pill and said he felt bad. He was constantly beaten.

When the large cell in the paddy wagon was full, they began to sort us into small ones—six people each. There was nothing to breathe because the window was very small and there was only one. We sat in this smoke stove for an hour and a half. After that we were taken to Akrestsin. When we ran out, a corridor of police and riot police officers lined up. We ran to the fence - they beat us. They smiled and said: “Did you want change? There will be changes for you!”

For an hour and a half we stood with our heads bowed on our knees in front of a concrete fence. There were stones there, my knees are still all blue. If someone was indignant, they beat them. One man shouted that he was an FSB officer. They surrounded him, punched him in the solar plexus, and five men beat him with batons. A reporter from Russia was beaten, he simply screamed in horror. They beat me for any question.

I stood still, not thinking about anything. I felt very sorry for the people who were beaten. I also flew periodically. Then they took us into the building, while we ran to hand over our belongings, they continued to beat us with truncheons. After we were driven into the exercise yard, there were about a hundred and thirty people, everyone was standing one on top of the other. Once every two hours, ten people were taken to the toilet and once again an hour they were given two two-liter bottles of water. Some did not have time to look at them, as they were already over.

Then they took us out into the street again, beating us along the way—they forced us to our knees and interrogated us. Then everyone was sent to a cell: while we were running there, they kept flying to us. There were 120 people in the cell; during the day they were given only water and one loaf of bread for everyone.

The next morning there were trials, by that time there were about 25 of us left in the cell. At the trial they agreed to release me, but no arrest was ordered. But after that they kept me there until the evening. My personal belongings were never found, they promised to give me back later. They took me outside and I saw a crowd of guys lying face down. They were beaten, they screamed. And their relatives stood across the fence.

The policeman himself, who stood with us, said that this was horror, this was scary. As we were being led out through the backyard, we were told that if we approached the crowd, where there were relatives and the press, we would be taken away and we would be blue. But when we came out, people ran up to us like heroes - they offered us cigarettes and let us call our relatives. As a result, my legs, back and shoulder blades were completely broken.

A brutal attack on a civilian and proof for where it was filmed#LiveBelarus#Go away #LukashenkoGoAway @nexta_tv pic.twitter.com/uccEWRd1xw

- Burt (@burtstengl) August 12

Marylya, 31 years old

On August 12, after 23 pm, my friends and I were returning home by car along an empty avenue - there were no longer traffic jams in Minsk, as in the first days of the protests, when cars were blocked. And not far from the Stela, where people gathered on election day, a traffic cop stopped us and ordered us to pull over to the side of the road. In addition to the traffic police car, there were several “buses” (minibuses. - Approx. BBC). People in black protective uniforms and black balaclavas approached - it seems they had MIA stripes, but I can’t say for sure - I couldn’t see it. There were a lot of them, only three people fell on our car. They didn’t introduce themselves and told us to get out of the car.

We were told to unlock our phones, then the employees began to look at what photos and videos we had. They took me aside, and the guys put their hands on the car. The guys opened their phones, and in the gallery they all had videos from previous nights - how cars were stuck in traffic and honking, and so on. We know that by law we are not obliged to show this, but when a bunch of black people are standing next to you with machine guns or some other weapons... They started swearing, shouting: “Did you want change? We will now show you the changes!” They started discussing what to do with us and decided to take us to the police department.

They took the keys to our car and took us into the bus; we didn’t see the driver’s face either. Two people with guns got in with us, and someone was driving behind us in our car. Then they remembered me and told me to dial the phone password. I say: “My hands are shaking.” One of them even said: “Leave her alone, why do you need this?” The second one - the most aggressive one - still took the phone from me and also began to say: “Here, there is a video from the protests...”

We were taken into the courtyard of the police department - there were already guys lying on the asphalt from the car that had been brought in front of us, and a girl was standing near the wall. I was placed not far from her, also facing the wall, and the guys were placed along the other wall. And I heard blows and realized that they were beating my husband - because the one who beat him said: “Why do you need a white bracelet?” It was a white rubber bracelet on my husband’s hand - a symbol that we are for Tikhanovskaya and for peaceful changes. I wanted to look, but those who stood behind me said: “Don’t move your head.”

We came to rewrite the data. An officer, apparently from the police department, came up to me, without a mask and in civilian clothes - I couldn’t see his face either, because I was facing the wall. He told me to enter the password on the phone, but he said: “Mashenka,” “If you need anything, please contact me,” such a super kind policeman.

On the subject: Protests in Belarus: police opened fire on people to kill

While I unlocked the phone, I managed to delete Telegram and something else from it, because I heard them say that they would look at our subscriptions. He said: “I’ll now look at what you deleted,” but he didn’t succeed.

The guys and the girl from another car were taken somewhere and then they also started calling us by name. While I was walking, someone who looked like a riot policeman began shouting at me to lower my head. And the employee in civilian clothes says: “Don’t interfere with her, everything is fine.” And then this story happened. We were already told to pick up our things, given our phones - but one of our friends kept calling his wife, and his ringtone was set to Tsoi’s song “Change!” He was told to turn off the sound, and someone behind him said: “Don’t take them away, they haven’t learned their lesson yet.”

They took us and placed us facing the other wall of the courtyard. The guys had their hands behind their heads, I just kept my hands behind my back. Because he chuckled, they hit my husband on the legs and told him to spread his legs wider. At first they told me that I could stand as I wanted, but then another riot policeman came up and told me to also put my legs wider. They gave different commands all the time and it was difficult to understand what they wanted. One riot policeman allowed the guy, whose legs were numb, to do some squats, and another came up, kicked him in the legs and ordered him to stand against the wall again.

They stood behind us and mocked us, saying: “We should stay at home.” Our friend’s hand went numb, he was forbidden to move it, but they began to say: “Why are you hanging around protests if you’re so frail.” They spoke basically the same phrases that I had already heard from friends who were detained: “You are throwing Molotov cocktails at us,” “It is the West that pays for everything.”

At the end, we heard another guy being brought in, and the rhythmic sounds of batons on his body - several people were beating him very brutally. He asked not to hit, but they swore and hit. This was really scary. Then they took him away, and they told us that we would stand until seven in the morning, the end of their shift. Then someone came up and asked: “Who is the most violent here? Not a girl." His colleagues started laughing and pointed at our friend. And they forced him to do push-ups, counting, they told him to freeze in the most uncomfortable position, and they promised that if he didn’t do push-ups properly, they would beat him - all with mockery and obscenities. Then they told me to squat.

Then they told us that they would release us without a protocol: “We hope you will not participate anywhere else.” We returned home at about 2 am. The guys have big bruises from rubber sticks. But we are not going to stop, because this was their main goal - to intimidate, but they themselves are afraid of us and perceive us more as enemies.

Nikita Telizhenko, journalist Znak.com, 29 years old

I went to the store, I needed to buy clothes, because after the previous promotions my old one was worn out. I took a package with things. I reached the Palace of Sports Street and halfway saw that all the young people who got off the bus were immediately transferred from the bus stop to the paddy wagons. I began to describe this for the editorial board. At the moment when I was doing this, a bus pulled up to me, people ran out from there, grabbed my hands.

They grabbed my phone. We decided that since I am writing something and I have the Internet, I am the coordinator. They saw photographs of special equipment and previous actions. They loaded me into a car and took me to a paddy wagon, in which I just sat for two hours. I tried to explain that I am a journalist, but this did not fascinate them.

The brutality began near the Moskovsky district police department, where we were taken. The paddy wagons are opened and people's hands are wringed. If the head is higher than necessary, it immediately hits the back of the head with either a baton or a shield. They are dragged along. I saw that the guy who was being led in front of me, just for the sake of a joke, had his head smashed into the door frame as hard as he could. He screamed, raised his head, he got more.

Then what struck me most was the “human carpet.” We were taken to the floor and the first thing I see are people just lying on the floor. Not only riot police are walking along them, but you are forced to too. I had to step on the man because when I tried to get around him, I got hit again.

Blood on the floor, stool. You are thrown on the floor, you cannot turn your head. I was lucky to have a mask. Nearby there was a guy who tried to turn around, he was hit on the head with full swing with ankle boots, although he had already been badly beaten before. There were people with broken hands who could not move them.

People were forced to pray. They brought in a guy who begged: “Guys, don’t hit me.” They told him that they were going to kill him and start counting his teeth. A few hits. He is already choking on blood, and the riot policeman tells him: “Read Our Father!” And so you sit and hear a guy with a broken mouth reading: “Our Father, who is in heaven.”

The scariest moment is when you are sitting and people in the corridors, on the floor below, are beaten to such an extent that they cannot speak and howl. You turn your head - there is blood on the floor, people are screaming, and on the wall there is a board of honor with smiling policemen who are doing this. You realize that you are in hell.

After the shift change, it turned out that two of the detainees had disappeared. They realized that they were already confusing people, so they put us in solitary confinement - each with 20-30 people. There is no ventilation, you could stand near the wall. An hour later everything was wet from the fumes. Those who were older felt bad; one guy lost consciousness.

Then, about 16 hours after arriving at the police department, they began to very harshly take us out and throw us into a paddy wagon. Sitting was prohibited; people were stacked in three layers. Some injured people ended up downstairs, unable to breathe. They screamed in pain - they simply approached them, beat them on the head with batons, and humiliated them. It was reminiscent of Gestapo torture, because in ordinary life it is unrealistic to imagine that this is possible.

It was impossible to go to the toilet. Those who asked were told to walk under themselves. As a result, people really went along with themselves, including in big ways. By that time, everyone had already stopped asking for something - even at the police department they understood: there would be no help. Those who complained were beaten most severely.

When the paddy wagon moved, people were allowed to disperse. But if anyone tried to lean on the seats or raised their head, they immediately flew down. Then the riot police got bored and told me to kneel down and sing the Belarusian anthem. This was filmed on a phone. As the paddy wagon drove, surrounding cars honked. But if the drivers knew what was going on inside, they wouldn’t honk—they would storm these paddy wagons.

Lost my composure after an hour and a half. I said: “Sorry, I’m a Russian journalist, what did I do?” I started getting pain in my kidneys, neck, and head. I never received an answer. There was a guy with me who said: “Please shoot us, why are you torturing us.” And they told him that they wouldn’t shoot anyone, because even more pain awaited us in prison and they would shoot us one by one.

When we were brought to [the detention center] Zhodino, we were told: “Say goodbye to your life, they will kill you here.” But, to our surprise, we were received well there. The colony employees showed cruelty only until the SOBR officers left. People were glad that they went to prison - most of all they were afraid that they would be taken back to Minsk in paddy wagons.

I stayed there for three or four hours. The colonel came for me, they took me out, went to look for my things. Those with whom I was, were glad that they let me go and I could tell about what was happening. At the exit we were met by a representative of the consulate. I was deported from Belarus with a ban on entry for five years and taken to Smolensk.

If there was no ban, I would return to work in Belarus. There are unique people. They perceive change with a plus sign and are united by one goal.

"It was scary when you take out a child covered in blood, and the child screams:" Mom, I don't want to die! "

An interview with the parents of a five-year-old girl from Belarus, who was wounded when the security forces began beating the car in which they were sitting with truncheons: pic.twitter.com/iiet6Wutwg

- Present Time (@CurrentTimeTv) August 13

Natalia, 34 years

We walked down the street without incident with our friends. Then a crowd of people running away from the riot police appeared behind us, and then they themselves appeared. Several of them ran past us, and one, apparently tired of running, clung to me and my friend. He said: “Why are you laughing? I see you're having fun. And the fact that a policeman’s face was cut today with a broken bottle is funny to you too, right?” But I didn’t laugh, I wanted him to leave us in peace.

But for some reason this made him angry, he dragged me into the minibus. There were already people in the minibus. They asked us: “What, do you like being meat? Where is your Tikhanovskaya? Where is your Tsepkalo?

We arrived at the Sovetskoe district police department. On the street, everyone was placed facing the fence, with their hands on the fence. And we stood near this wall until the next morning. We were periodically moved around. They took me to the basement, where they confiscated my things, took my phone, and sent me back to this wall.

Someone [behind the wall] drove up in a car and tried to turn on Tsoi’s “Changes.” And we heard the police talking among themselves that we need to drag them here too - along with the “changes”. Some girl was looking for a guy. She must have stood on the roof of the car, because we saw her face behind the fence. And the cops were talking among themselves: “Look, there’s some kind of mare standing there, go get her out of there!” This is how they talk about people.

The guys were beaten. One of them apparently had a broken rib. The girl had a broken leg - apparently she was [injured] when they took her. The most daring ones got it first. Soon the paddy wagons arrived and began loading the guys there. Someone was obviously beaten there. Apparently, a lot of people were loading there, and I heard: “Get your feet under you! Get your feet under you!”, blows and screams were heard from there. They were taken somewhere in paddy wagons.

There are girls left. They started calling us to the police department building and asking us to sign a protocol. The protocol contained nonsense: that I took an active part in the rally and shouted slogans “Stop, cockroach!” I decided for myself that I would not sign anything. Those who signed were sent straight home. Those who refused were taken to Akrestsin to the Center for Isolation of Offenders (IOC).

In fact, not everyone there is a freak. We came across a “kind policeman” who said: “Well, well, while no one is watching, you can write a text message home.” I don’t know if it’s just his role or if he’s really good, but I’d like to think that there’s something human in them.

Due to the influx of huge numbers of people, there was complete confusion there. We were supposed to be placed in a detention center, but it turned out that there was no room there, and they decided to place us in a temporary detention center. There was no room in the temporary detention center either, and then we were temporarily assigned to the so-called glass - a room a little less than a meter in size. The four of us were put there.

On the subject: Protests in Belarus continue: EU and US plan to impose new sanctions against Minsk

Then we were placed in a cell for two people. We were given one mattress. Among the surfaces, in addition to the beds already occupied by two women, there was a table, a bench and the floor. We slept in different places: some on the table - one might say on a bookshelf, others on the mattress across. We probably didn’t eat for a day, but then we started feeding him.

When our third day came to an end and we said that we should be released, they answered us: “No one here owes you anything.” They talk to you there as if you are some kind of animal. Is this even possible with animals? This is some other format of people who communicate with us, as with criminals, and with each other.

74 hours later, on the night of August 13, we were told to leave the cell, taken outside, and made to face the wall. They said that they wouldn’t give me my things - but in my case it was my phone, passport, license, money. For some, these were the only keys to their apartment. The two girls continued to be indignant, then they were hit and told that they were going back to the cell.

I turned to them and asked: “What are you doing?”, for which I received a blow to the face with my hand and a baton to the legs. The angry cop asked: “Who needs more stuff here?”, then told me to run away. Everyone has shoes without laces, but you need to run to the exit. They told us: “We have a cordon there, if you get into it, you’ll come back.”

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