Pavel Latushka: Deputy Head of the United Transitional Cabinet of Belarus, Head of the National Anti-Crisis Management, Ambassador
A phone call. I'm picking up. It's Ural Latypov, then Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Belarus, calling me – at that time, in 2000, I was Head of the Information Department and Press Secretary of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He says, "We need to help Vasil Bykov get a passport so he can be received at the embassy. Do you think it's worth doing?" I replied, "Absolutely, he's a giant, a man deserving of honor – and much more." – "Okay," he said, "call Vladimir Skvortsov, our ambassador in Germany, and sort it out."
Vasil Bykov was invited to the Belarusian Embassy in Germany – and that's how my correspondence with the renowned Belarusian writer began. It was always conducted remotely, except for our very first encounter in Minsk.
As a young man, I was walking along Maxim Tank Street in Minsk. Remember that red building where Vasil Bykov lived? His apartment is still there, at 10 Maxim Tank Street. And as I walked, I saw Vasil Bykov, the Nationanl Writer of Belarus, walking towards me. I remember that moment vividly, the look in his eyes as we drew closer. I was just a young man, a student at Belarusian State University... and here was the celebrated writer, Vasil Bykov, approaching. The sun was shining, and as Bykov looked at me, he said hello. He even seemed to smile. And you know, it was the inherent intelligence of a man who, despite not knowing you, still politely acknowledges a stranger.
Years after that encounter, I became Belarus's Minister of Culture. I remember the evening of my appointment. A friend – I won't mention his name – and I were celebrating at a cafe, also on Maxim Tank Street. That street holds so many memories: my daughter's apartment, now seized by the regime, and my parents' former apartment, where I lived from 1986 onwards. We sat down in the cafe, and I asked my friend, "What's the first thing I should do as Minister of Culture?" He replied, "Honor Bykov's memory and fire Zametalin." I did, in fact, fire Zametalin shortly thereafter – but that's another story. The first letter I sent to Lukashenko's administration, however, was about commemorating Bykov. The response was negative, but I couldn't let the matter go.
In 2009, the director of the Belarusian State Literary Museum approached me. He asked if the Ministry of Culture could support an exhibition for the 85th anniversary of Vasil Bykov, the National Writer of Belarus. I believe it cost around 65 million non-denominated rubles. But the key decision wasn't financial; it was political. Bykov was Lukashenko's personal enemy. Organizing an exhibition under the Ministry of Culture's patronage, funded by the Ministry's budget, could be perceived as a provocation.
The exhibition went ahead at the Belarusian State Literary Museum. I even spoke at the opening. Lukashenko's administration, represented by the notorious Irina Driga, monitored the event closely to ensure nothing negative was said about Lukashenko. They were afraid of Bykov, both when he was alive and now, after his passing. Lukashenko is still afraid of him. Even though Bykov no longer lives on Tank Street in Minsk, he remains a threat to Lukashenko. That is the power of the man. This outstanding Belarusian writer left such a mark that Lukashenko remains fearful to this day.
After the exhibition, I kept a reminder of Bykov on my desk in the Minister of Culture's office: an invitation to the exhibition at the Belarusian State Literary Museum, with a photograph of the renowned Belarusian writer.
For over three years, throughout my tenure as Minister of Culture, it remained on my desk in my office. Some people display photos of Lukashenko, others of loved ones... I had a picture of my daughter, but it wasn't for public display. It was kept to the right side, out of sight. I didn't feel the need to share my daughter's picture with everyone; it was personal. But Bykov's photograph was front and center, on the left side of my desk, so that everyone entering the Minister of Culture's office would see it – a picture of the renowned writer, Vasil Bykov, on the desk of the Minister of Culture of the Republic of Belarus. It was my signal, a political message, if you will, much like the painting of Kastus Kalinouski, the fighter for our independence, that I later hung on the office wall. My successor removed that artwork within days of taking office.
I recall speaking in Belarusian at the opening of Belarus Day at the Slavic Bazaar music festival in Vitebsk. There were 6,000-7,000 people in the audience, and it was broadcast live. I spoke about the cultural richness of Ushachchyna, the region that birthed many Belarusian poets and writers. And, of course, I spoke about Bykov. He will be remembered historically as a significant figure. Both then and now, uttering the name of the National Writer of Belarus in public is a risk. Imagine that – the National Writer of Belarus, a renowned Belarusian, a celebrated Belarusian author, a war veteran... Yet, to even mention Bykov or Hilevich is considered risky. It's absurd, barbaric even, but that's how a dictatorship operates. It instills fear, forcing people to reject aspects of their culture that don't align with the regime's ideology.
On June 22, 2003, Vasil Bykov passed away. I was serving as Belarus's ambassador to Poland at the time. I couldn't publicly express the grief I felt, so I told my driver not to fly the flag on the ambassador's car for three days. When I attended receptions, the car would be without a flag. That was my way of mourning, because I knew we had lost an exceptional individual, a towering figure in Belarus, whose legacy would be analyzed and debated for years to come. Sadly, I believe most Belarusians will only come to fully appreciate his significance in time. Bykov was laid to rest in Minsk's Eastern Cemetery. A vast procession followed his coffin, draped in our national white-red-white flag, many carrying their own white-red-white flags.
Towards the end of my time as Minister of Culture, I revisited the idea of establishing a Vasil Bykov Museum. It was something I remained passionate about. I had a conversation with Alexander Lukashenko in his office, where I discussed my meetings with Irina Bykova, Vasil Bykov's widow, and what was happening with the Belarusian National Writer's legacy. You see, I believe I managed to pique Lukashenko's interest when I told him that people were coming from Russia, offering exorbitant sums to buy anything and everything from Bykov's apartment. That people were coming and simply taking things. I told him that we were at risk of losing this important heritage.
Lukashenko, being the "owner" that he is, wants to possess everything himself. So the idea of losing something caught his attention. We spoke for an hour – a full hour discussing Bykov. Lukashenko brought up the white-red-white flag, the coffin, the funeral. I don't believe it's worth repeating what he said about Bykov – he's not worthy of speaking about him, of passing judgment. But during our conversation, I made three requests: first, we needed to catalogue Bykov's entire estate; second, we needed to transfer it to the State Literary Museum for preservation; and third, we needed to create a Vasil Bykov museum.
At the end of our conversation, Lukashenko said, "Okay, write to me again." I drafted a concise report, just three sentences. Next to the third sentence, he wrote, "We'll revisit this later." I immediately instructed the General Director of the National Library of Belarus at that time– Roman Motulsky – to purchase computers and laptops. I wanted him to send National Library staff to work with Bykov's widow, to catalogue everything comprising the Belarusian people's heritage: the manuscripts, the books with Bykov's inscriptions – a wealth of literary treasures. They diligently documented everything, securing this legacy for the Belarusian people. I later brought up the issue of the museum again, and eventually, Lukashenko agreed.
I remember visiting Bykov's summer house. We'd arranged to meet with his widow and drove out to Zhdanovichi. As I arrived, I noticed a large, imposing building to the left, clad in green tiles. It was quite grand – almost excessively so, I thought. But then, Bykov was a National Writer, a Hero of Socialist Labor, a laureate of USSR prizes. His books had sold millions of copies. Perhaps this was his house? But I was mistaken. "No, Mr. Latushka," they said, "look to the right." And there, behind a simple wire fence – the kind you see around gardens and cottages – stood Bykov's summer house. It was a modest, single-story building made of sand-lime brick. This was the home of Vasil Bykov, a man who lived a simple life.
We stepped inside, and Irina Bykova showed us around, sharing Bykov's belongings with us. There was even a car, a Volga – but that's another story. At one point, she handed me a book to hold. It had belonged to Uladzimir Karatkevich, another giant of our culture, and had been given to Vasil Bykov. Inside, Karatkevich had inscribed a handwritten message to Bykov. Holding that book, I realized that I was touching something that both Karatkevich and Bykov had held. It was a powerful feeling. At that moment, I understood the privilege of being Minister of Culture. It wasn't just about the honor of holding such a book; it was about being connected to these remarkable individuals who had touched it before me.
"We'll create this museum," Irina Bykova said. She donated the summer house to the Belarusian State Literary Museum to serve as a branch dedicated to Vasil Bykov. "But there's one thing you probably won't be able to include in the museum's exhibition," she added. "What's that?" I asked. She looked at me and said, "The white-red-white flag that draped Vasily's coffin." I paused and replied, "You're right, that flag is unlikely to be displayed in the museum today. But as they say, manuscripts don't burn, and neither do artifacts. Preserve that flag. Perhaps the time will come when it can take its rightful place in the museum." It was a somber conversation.
Lukashenko's administration insisted that no public funds be used for the museum. I'll admit, I bent the rules a little. We did use some public funds. Finding sponsors was challenging, although some were willing to take the risk and support us. But it was always a risk, even for those genuinely committed to supporting our culture. Nevertheless, the museum was established. Sadly, it's not open year-round. And while I believe a more comprehensive museum dedicated to Vasil Bykov is needed, I had fulfilled the promises I made to my friend and myself on that first evening as Minister of Culture.
My final memory of Bykov's legacy takes me back to my time as general director of the Yanka Kupala National Academic Theater. On Bykov's birthday, we went to his summer house and planted cornflowers – Kupala Theater members, cultural professionals, all of us together. We planted cornflowers and shared a cup of tea. And you know, no matter how difficult things are today, no matter how disheartened we may feel, I believe those of us who carry the pain for our country, those who believe in a vibrant future for Belarus, those who cherish our culture, our heritage, our literature, those who recognize Bykov's importance in Belarusian culture and history – we will gather again at Bykov's summer house in Zhdanovichi. We will remember these dark times and celebrate our eventual triumph. We will plant cornflowers, Vasil Bykov's favorite flowers.
Long live Belarus!
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