Yanukovych’s Holiest Ally

Sviatogorsk – a small town in Eastern Ukraine, close to Donetsk, located in the delta of Donets river. Very green, full of forests and holiday resorts, the summer pearl of the Donbas region.

Although located close to the war zone, one can hardly notice any nervousness or fear on people’s faces. On the contrary, the beach is full of people swimming, playing around, drinking and swinging to the rhythm of loud techno music. Business is booming; the caravans for rental seem to be as popular as ever.

 Beyond the beach, in the forests and further on the banks of the river one can find peace of mind. Relax. And forget about the screeming kids from the beach. A happy middle aged couple are enjoying their time having a barbecue at the riverside wearing nothing but their joyful smiles. A lone fisherman is trying to catch his daily portion of protein, waiting patiently with dreamy eyes. A group of underage teenagers are enjoying their summer break, getting intoxicated with beer and their first romantic affairs. A typical day at the bank of Donets river.

But Sviatogorsk is known not only as the main summer resort of Donbas. It is also the location of one of the three holiest places for Orthodox Christianity in Ukraine, a so-called lavra, the highest type of monastery in the church hierarchy. And, since the beginning of the war in Donbas, it is also a popular destination for internally displaced people from the war zone, who found refuge within the walls of the holy site. People, who hope for a swift return to their former homes. And, as rumor has it, mainly those who support the separatists.

As the matter is rather sensitive, it would be hard to assess whether the rumors are true or not. But this alleged fact has been repeated by a number of people and has entered the sphere of local common knowledge. This is for two reasons: firstly, because it is close to Donetsk and allows the escapees for a swift return if the situation stabilises, which - with the growing anti-ukrainian sentiments in the area, may (or may not) suggest that the displaced share such sentiments.

Secondly, the history of the lavra has been closely connected with the Party of the Regions and, indeed, with the ousted President Victor Yanukovych.

Yanukovych was known for being superstitions and for his generous donations to the church. He needed the spiritual support of clergymen who would assure him that he makes the right decisions and who would support him with their precious prayers. 

One of his dearest spiritual leaders was sche-archimandrite Zozym, who solemnised the marriage of Victor and his wife Ludmyla in 1997 and who headed the Sviatogorsk monastery until he died in 2002. According to Yanukovych’s official biography, Zozym called him one month before he passed away and said that a difficult time is coming for Victor and the nation, but he should not fear, as he will lead Ukraine firstly as a Prime Minister and then as President.

Clearly, it is difficult to determine the validity of this account, but what can be confirmed is that due to Yanukovych’s support, the profile of the monastery has significantly improved and in 2004 it became the third lavra of Ukraine.

Renovated with impressive interior and, what is quite remarkable by Ukraine’s standards, a decent road infrastructure, the monastery has attracted pilgrims from all over the Orthodox world. Yanukovych has used his influences and power to make this place what it is and the monastery, as the rumor goes, has been supporting him till the very end.

Looking at Sviatogorsk makes one think that Yanukovych was either very fearful of God or very loyal to his religious allies. But whatever the reason for his generous support for Orthodox holy sites, and Sviatogorsk in particular, the alleged promise of fortune that this support was supposed to bring – was only short-term. Despite his support of the lavra, his good fortune eventually came to an end and he was ousted from power.

Which makes me wonder: does Yanukovych, in light of his ousting – and thus the failure of his prayers - still make donations to the church?

The Double Closet of Katia

Katia is Ukrainian in her late twenties. Not too tall and not too short. Her short blond hair and round blue eyes give her a very Slavic look. She is lively and cheerful, talkative and very open to others. A person everyone wants to know.

Dasha is Russian from Tatarstan in her late thirties. Rather tall, with black hair and beautiful dark eyes, which reveal traces of Tatar heritage. A bit wild and mysterious, stuck in a very European face. As if they didn’t belong to her. She is calm and quiet, distanced from the world, but surprisingly warm. A girl one feels secure with.

Katia is a patriot. She strongly supported the revolution on Maidan and, like most Kyivans, she has a small Ukrainian flag attached to her car mirror. She supports the direction her country is heading towards, and hopes that it will remain focused on the West.

Dasha was sceptical of the revolution from the beginning. She did not think that it could bring any good, just disarray in the country and a new nationalist government, no less corrupt then the ousted President Yanukovych. She resents the general Ukrainian dislike of Russia and President Putin. After the revolution, Ukraine, the country she chose to be her home, has dramatically changed and she does not feel welcome there anymore, especially when people, hearing her Russian accent, call her ‘kacap’ (a pejorative for “Russian”).

Katia and Dasha love each other.

They met through their former partners and fell in love. When Katia broke up with her girlfriend, Dasha supported her, helped her find a new place, a new job, a new life. She made her feel secure again. And loved. She would wake up in the morning to walk Katia’s dog, so that Katia can sleep a bit longer. She respects her choices and gives her strength to believe that her dreams can come true. She empowers her and lets her be herself.

When we’re sitting at Katia’s family’s home, Dasha stays quiet. This is the first time she is visiting Katia’s grandparents, which makes her a bit nervous. No one in the family knows about their relationship.

A couple of years ago, when Katia told her parents that she was a lesbian they asked her to go to a doctor, because they believed it was an illness that can be cured. She refused, but never spoke to her parents about her love life again. They don’t have to know. No one has to know.

Sitting next to Katia’s family Dasha doesn’t talk much. Katia’s uncle, who just came back from the front where he was training younger soldiers, is sharing stories from the training camp. His open distaste towards Russia, due to the country’s actions in the Donbas, must have been difficult to handle by Dasha. When he finally asked how she was and where she comes from, Katia answers instead:

“She’s our girl.”

No one knows that Dasha is Russian. And they don’t have to know. No one does.

Ever since the revolution, Katia and Dasha have rarely talked about politics. That could lead to arguments and maybe even a split in the relationship. And they don’t want that. Sometimes Katia, influenced by the tragic reports from the front, tries to change Dasha’s opinions. She talks for a while trying to convince her darling that Ukraine is fighting against Russia. For freedom.

Dasha usually stays calm. She listens and keeps quiet. When Katia finishes, she replies:

“No.”

Her “no” is calm, full of understanding, respect and love. But definite and categorical. Strong and sensitive at the same time. Just like Dasha. Just like their relationship.

Katia and Dasha will stay together, as their love is bigger than the politics that divides them or the society that doesn’t accept them. Such love that no one has to know about. A love kept in a double closet.

Two Soviet Towns and the War of Donbas

Sloviansk, a city with a population of 117,445 inhabitants, 113 km north of Donestk. Founded in 1676. With a fairly developed machine building industry.

Kramatorsk, a city with a population of 164,283 inhabitants, 98 km north of Donetsk. Founded in 1868. An important industrial and mechanical engineering centre for Ukraine. Divided into two parts, old and new, with the new being a perfectly planned soviet town for soviet workers. With lots of green spaces.

Sloviansk and Kramatorsk. Two sleepy towns in Eastern Ukraine. If one thinks of a Soviet legacy they imagine towns like these. They are not special in any sense. And not much different from their twin sisters spread around the post-Soviet space.

However, Sloviansk and Kramatorsk became victims of history. In April 2014 the whole world focused their attention on these two towns.

On 12 April they both came under the control of the forces of the Donetsk People’s Republic. In Sloviansk, a group of men armed with Kalashnikovs, led by the infamous Igor Girkin ‘Strielkov’, an FSB agent from Moscow, captured the city administration building. The police station and the Security Service’s (SBU’s) building followed soon after.

In Kramatorsk, a group of the self-proclaimed Donbas People’s Militias captured a police station and replaced the Ukrainian tryzub with the flag of the DPR.

The War in Donbas has begun.

The government forces soon launched a counter-offensive and after four months of heavy fighting, at times in populated areas, the separatist forces retreated from the area on 5 July.

But the two towns have remained the symbols of the war in Donbas.

By 18 April, Sloviansk became the hottest spot in the region, and by June an estimated 40 per cent of the population had left the area. Kramatorsk suffered a bit less and in October 2014 became the provisional capital of Donetsk Oblast under the control of the government in Kiev.

                                                                         ***

One year on from the fighting, both towns seem peaceful and calm. Life has gone back to normal and only the checkpoints of the Ukrainian Army constitute a painful reminder that the war is still going on. Very nearby. 60, 90, 100 kilometers away.

And the holes. Little holes in fences, thousands of little holes. And damaged walls, buildings. Not so much in Kramatorsk, which was mercifully saved from the vicious arms of both the militia and the army. But Sloviansk was not as lucky and the damage is still very visible. A shelled bus stop, shelled hospital, school and a newly-built house. This is all yet to be rebuilt. Or will remain as a painful reminder of the war. A war that is still going on. 60, 90, 100 kilometers away.

Victor is a friendly man in his sixties with bright blue eyes and a solid moustache. Unlike many other people one can meet in the streets of Kramatorsk, he is cheerful and open to visitors. He talks about last year’s events and their consequences as if he was telling a story from far away. As if it didn’t happen in his hometown and as if the war was over.

Victor is a Russian speaker who loves Ukraine. He doesn’t know the Ukrainian language, as he never had a chance to learn it. But it doesn’t matter to him, he believes that such things as language should not determine one’s political views. When I ask about the reasons for the war in Donbas, he needs a couple of seconds to think.

“It’s obvious: Maidan. And the fact that people can’t compromise. I understand that some of us wanted to be closer to Europe and some of us – to Russia, but couldn’t they just sit at the table and talk? What is all that for?”

From the beginning Victor strongly supported the protests at Euromaidan, which he saw as a fight against corruption and a way to restore the nation’s dignity. So did the majority of people in Kramatorsk and Sloviansk. According to Victor, only about 15 per cent of the local population supported the separatists, usually the unprivileged ones, who could not find themselves in the new reality after the collapse of the Soviet Union. But encouraged by the promises of the Donetsk People’s Republic’s forces, often with an additional inducement in the form of money or vodka, they made it to the streets of both of the twin towns to express their disagreement with the aspirations of the pro-European Maidan.

When it comes to the separatist forces, Victor has few illusions.

“They are 90 per cent Russians. They have support in Donetsk and Luhansk, but they’re mainly Russians. And their weapons are Russian too. It’s simple, where would our people get all the equipment from? You can’t get such weapons in the shops.”

As we drive towards Sloviansk, Victor shows us the location of a Chechen checkpoint and then the positions of the Ukrainian army during the heaviest fighting, which, according to him, mostly comprised of bare fields. The separatists, on the other hand, were situated within the inhabited areas. The fighting left a number of buildings in pieces, a view hard to describe.

Victor doesn’t want to talk about the fighting itself. He is glad that the separatist forces have retreated and that his town is again under Ukraine’s control. But Victor’s trust in the post-Maidan establishment has ended in disillusionment. He supported the candidature of Petro Poroshenko in the presidential election but, a year into his candidate’s time in office, Victor regrets his decision.

“Poroshenko promised to fight corruption, but nothing has changed so far. People don’t pay taxes and everything is in the hands of the oligarchs, as it was before. Maidan didn’t fulfill its promises and the only difference is that we have a war in the country.” As we pass two policemen on the road, he says: “They are worse than the separatists.”

When I ask what he sees as Ukraine’s biggest problem, Victor replies, without a second of doubt: “Corruption. And tax evasion. We shouldn’t aim to be a part of Europe or a part of Russia. Instead we should take care of and think for ourselves. In order to be in the European Union, you need to have European laws, mentality and salaries. And Ukraine doesn’t have any of these. And will never have.”

But Ukraine has already began its war on corruption and, at the time of writing, on 14 July, Kyiv’s new police forces (which have replaced the discredited, corrupt “Militsiya”), in US-style uniforms, have already become a part of the picture in the capital. The completely new reformed forces, which are now going to be overseen by an apolitical commandant and much bigger in numbers, are meant to be introduced across Ukraine. But it is hard to say when they will reach remote Kramatorsk in the Donbas.

For himself, Victor only wants the happiness of his family. His daughter, who lives in Russia and has Russian citizenship, now needs a visa invitation to visit her father. His brother, the only relative he has in Ukraine, lives on the territory controlled by the separatists. In order to receive his pension, he has to travel to Kramatorsk, as the government in Kyiv does not provide social payments in the rebel-held areas. Victor would like his brother to move in with him, but they would then lose their housing benefit, without which it would be difficult to make ends meet. So his brother continues to visit him once a week, which has become more problematic since the rebels destroyed the only bridge connecting the area with Donetsk.

Victor, as with both Kramatorsk and Sloviansk, is waiting for better days to come. He is hopeful that one day, but probably not in the next five years, the war will be over. The one nearby. 60, 90 and 100 kilometers away.

A Nation in the Making

Kyiv’s Maidan Niezalezhnosti was peaceful and quiet. One year on from the revolution, which removed the corrupt president Victor Yanukovych from power, the main location of these events, a beautiful square in central Kyiv, does not look anything like a combat zone. At the first glance, there is little to suggest that Ukraine is in a state of war, fighting the Russian-sponsored rebellion in the Donbass. The pictures of the victims who died during the revolution and the flowers and candles placed by people in various parts of the square are the most visible signs of collective memory, yet they somehow reinforce the quietness of the place.

But something is different and the city has changed since I last visited it in 2011. It seems like another place with a new spirit, a newborn identity.

Walking down the streets helps one make sense of what has happened.

The national colours of blue and yellow and patriotic symbols have taken over the space and dominated people’s minds. Kharkov and Dniepropietrovsk, cities in the East of Ukraine, which we visited later, are also filled with the ever-present blue and yellow, but none of them as much as Kyiv. Even the traditionally nationalist Lviv did not seem half as coloured as the capital, whilst Odessa remains relatively unadorned with yellow and blue.

The blue and yellow bicolour, according to one explanation, has its roots in pre-Christian times, symbolising water and fire. In the more popular account, however, the bicolour represents yellow fields of wheat and a blue sky. Often used by Cossacks, it was officially placed on the flag of the Main Ruthenian Council in Lviv after the 1848 Spring of Nations, and then used in 1918 by the Ukrainian People’s Republic. Banned during the Soviet era, the bicolor flag was reintroduced following Ukraine’s independence in 1991. The Tryzub, the national coats of arms of Ukraine adopted in 1918, also significantly present in the new post-Maidan landscape of the country, is believed to be a medieval depiction of a falcon, and originates in the Kievan Rurik dynasty.

The presence of the symbols in the landscape of Kyiv is a visible manifestation of the nation’s patriotic revival. Fences, buildings, lamp posts, cars and bridges all now proudly depict the yellow and blue symbols. Almost every car has a little Ukrainian flag attached to the mirror inside and the nationalist slogan ‘Slava Ukrayini!’  (Glory to Ukraine), originating from the Ukrainian War of Independence (1917 – 1921) is noticable on the walls in many places in the capital.

Young and old can be seen wearing t-shirts with national symbols or provocative slogans mocking up Russian propaganda, and, most notably, the so-called Vyshyvankas, traditional linen blouses with ethnic embroidery. Cossack-styled hair and tryzubs tattooed on legs and arms are also present, although not as much.

The Ukrainian language can now be widely heard in the streets of the capital as it’s gained even more political meaning. It has become a statement, an element of a modern national identity and even Kyivan Russian speakers have started using it in official communications. Although this process began before the 2014 revolution, the events have nevertheless helped to intensify it.

The whole picture may seem a bit strange to western viewers, who came to terms with their national identities long ago and who no longer need to express them so visibly. In Ukraine, the national revival comes as a result of crisis, but also, as a consolidation of common national identity, which has long been a matter for discussion, often challenged in the pro-Russian media and seen as varying from region to region.

What we see now is a whole nation of Ukrainians coming to terms with their nationhood and a resulting national pride.

Clearly, it is not free from radical elements and the infamous tattoos with swastikas do exist – I saw one. But the spirit in the streets of Kyiv is one of positive, open and progressive patriotism, rather than backwards and conservative nationalism.

The most interesting conclusion to the topic came a bit later from Yaroslav Hrytsak’s, a well-known Ukrainian historian’s, account of 19th century Lviv. In a book-long brilliant conversation with Iza Chruslinska (published in Polish by Krytyka Polityczna, 2009) Hrytsak explains the birth of Ukrainian nationalism in Galicia as influenced by the parallel formation of a Polish national movement in the relatively liberal area, the writings of Taras Shevchenko and the spirit of post-1848 Europe. The formation of the myth of Cossack Ukraine was both a revolution in a collective view of the world and a religious revival, which resulted in Ukrainian youths not only rejecting Polish language as oppressive, but also demonstratively wearing Cossack hats as a sign of their Ukrainianess.

Reading these lines, one can’t help the feeling that this is what is happening now in Kiev and other cities of non-Galician Ukraine; a national revival that came almost two centuries later, but a somewhat natural reaction in these times of uncertainty. An answer to the assault of a country. A fully conscious and modern nation in the making.

A Little Act of Rebellion

It was a lovely summer afternoon and Masha was sitting at her dacha at the outskirts of Minsk. The small piece of land with a little house built in the 60’s is among the dearest things in her life. She usually spends her summers here working in her little vegetable garden, growing her beautiful flowers and enjoying the sweet life at the countryside; a life so far from the usual greyness of her flat in a block in one of the soviet-style concrete areas of Minsk.

When she smiles, her blue eyes light up, accentuating the enduring beauty of her face. She’s in her late sixties, but she could easily be fifty or seventy, a woman of no age.

She’s sitting at a bench under a big, old walnut tree, sipping champagne from a long crystal glass. She’s taking a deep breath to clear her thoughts, a bit addled by the too early opened bottle, before she is ready to speak.

Masha believes in God, which is not very common among her generation, who are traditionally atheist. During communist times, religion was seen as an unnecessary distraction from real life, an element of oppression originating in the old system, a bourgeois myth, and such institutions were highly dependent on the changing moods of the Party. Although it is now acceptable to go to church in Belarus, Masha sees her faith as a little act of rebellion against the system, the government, the greyness of life and the Belarusian society.

She doesn’t have many friends and she doesn’t stay in touch with many of her relatives. She doesn’t watch TV. She doesn’t vote.

“Why would I do that?” she asks, “None of my candidates have ever won or even had a decent result.”

For that reason, a couple of years ago she decided to sign up for a job at her local electoral commission. She wanted to find out how the system works and why her candidates always lost by a huge margin. She was accepted. Her role was to make sure all voting procedures are upheld.

“After the close of voting, a chief of the commission brought a big box full of votes, all in favour of president Alexander Lukashenko.”

That was the moment when Masha decided she would never vote again. And that she would rebel against the system. Not openly. Not in the streets. In no organised way. But in her mind, in her heart, at her dacha.

After what happened in Ukraine, which the media in Belarus portrayed as an US-inspired coup and the collapse of state institutions, people give even more support to President Lukashenko, the government and the state system. It is stable and trustworthy, and the authorities would not allow for a second Donbass to happen in Belarus. They would not allow for such bloodshed.

In her rebellion against the system, Masha is alone. She doesn’t know many like-minded people, or at least she is not aware of them. She rarely talks about politics, assuming that everyone will disagree with her, especially now, after the fascist junta allegedly took over neighbouring Ukraine. Therefore she won’t speak and she won’t complain.

But she also won’t vote in the upcoming presidential election, with – rigged or not – only one possiblle winner. Her little act of rebellion.

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The cover of a notebook found in a shop next to a well-known quasi-opositionist hipster ‘Uy’ café, reads: ‘Minsk – a city of hospitable zombies’. It took meeting Masha for us to make sense of it.

The Mystery of Belarus’ Wealth

‘Do not leave money or any other valuables in your passport’ informs a sign on the border between Lithuania and Belarus, suggesting that petty corruption will not be tolerated. Or that it simply won’t work. Indeed, Belarus, unlike its Eastern European neighbours, seems to have dealt with the issue, at least on the low administrative level. High penalties have successfully eliminated the deeply human lust for money in this ‘last dictatorship in Europe’.

But this is not the end of differences between Belarus and Ukraine, Moldova or even Russia. Somehow controlled chaos, usually bad roads, overrepresentation of vehicles, which would not be considered as anything else than scrap-metal in Germany, as well as homelessness, apparent poverty and social problems, are virtually absent from the urban landscape of Minsk. On the contrary, the city surprises with table-straight, wide roads, reminiscing more of Germany than Eastern Europe, super-clean pavements and pedestrians patiently waiting for the green light before crossing the road, despite the ridiculously low traffic. As for the cars, the amount of expensive vehicles is intimidating, and it is more than a little surprising that this small closed nation of barely 4 million can afford such luxury.

What is more, recycling has also become a rule, whereas in neighbouring Poland, which joined the EU in 2004, habitual segregation of litter remains a distant dream of eco-warriors.

Such description stands in stark contrast to the common view of many Europeans about their eastern neighbours.  In Poland, a Belarusian is usually a middle aged man or a woman selling smuggled vodka, cigarettes and petrol, often of suspicious provenance, at Bialystok’s Madro, the half-legal market in the north-eastern Poland. For the money earned, the same person usually buys electronics, clothes and other luxury goods in Poland or Lithuania to sell them with good profit back in Belarus.

Although this is part of the picture, you will hardly find such stereotypical Belarusians in the centre of Minsk. On the contrary, you will find young, good looking, well-built male hipsters wearing long beards, covered in original tattoos and pretty girls in flowered dresses famous for their Eastern European beauty. You find beautiful people walking down beautiful, clean streets, hanging out in the cool cafes of the capital, enjoying the sun of the early summer.

“Where is the catch?” you may ask. I asked myself the same question. Minsk seemed surreal with its cleanness and perfect people. It seemed like a mock-up of a perfect city, created for the purposes of foreign visitors. Except for the fact that apart from us there were hardly any foreigners in the streets.

Another thing which is noticeable is the surprisingly small number of people and cars; in a city of 2million inhabitants, in an area a bit bigger than Krakow (which has just over 300 thousand inhabitants), Minsk should be crowded, drivers should be stuck in traffic jams and underground commuters sweating in the metro. But they aren’t - this comes as a surprise and one asks oneself: where are all the people? Where are the dogs? And why does everything look so perfect?

According to Sasha, a young man from Grodno we met during our stay in Ukraine, Belarusians, just like their western neighbours used to, usually spend their free time at home with family and friends, or at dachas - allotments at the outskirts of the city, and they rarely hang out in bars and cafes. One of the reasons is of course financial; few people can afford the relatively expensive restaurants and clubs of central Minsk, preferring to put their savings into pricy cars, apparently seen as a synonym for wealth. This also explains why 99 per cent of the people that hang out in the city centre seem well-off.

But it still wasn’t enough to answer the question of why there are hardly any homeless or socially disadvantaged people in the streets, seemingly part of the picture in every European capital. Even though, as the UNDP report explains, Belarus has fully implemented the target "to reduce, by more than three times, the share of population living below the national poverty line between 2000–2015" (although it’s difficult to say how accurate this data is), the virtual lack of disadvantaged people was quite suspicious.

Vala, Adam’s distant relative from Minsk, shed some light on the topic, ‘homeless people and drug addicts are usually quickly removed from the centre of Minsk by security services. As far as I know, they take them to a monastery and the monks take care of them’.

But being homeless and unemployed in Belarus can prove to be problematic for more reasons. People officially registered as unemployed receive unemployment benefit only as long as they get involved in public works, such as cleaning the streets or parks, maintaining public gardens etc. This is not ideal for many people, who, as already mentioned, live off half-legal or fully illegal cross-border trade, and who are relatively well-off despite declaring no income. Many of them have been operating outside of the system for years, failing to register for unemployment benefit, and at the same time not contributing any taxes to the state.

Being fully aware of the scale of this phenomenon and in order to fix public finances, president Lukashenko has recently introduced the so-called ‘idleness tax’ (Налог на тунеядство), a Soviet-style solution requiring people with no official income to pay the equivalent of 250 dollars a year (for a comparison, a monthly unemployment benefit is 11 dollars) in tax. Among the groups excluded from the new rule are pensioners, people with disabilities, single mothers with a child up till 7 years of age or three underaged children, and priests. Still, the law affected many people, which resulted in a number of new fictitious work places being created for the purposes of tax evasion, which further allows small businessmen to enjoy the fruit of cross-border exchange of goods.

But does that all mean that Belarus is a well off developed state and the usual portrayal of the country in western media is a sheer propaganda? Not quite. Despite the fact that Belarus has clearly made a huge development jump in recent years and its roads, cars and people may look surprisingly rich to a western eye, many people are still stuck in poverty, and living conditions outside of the city centre are quite poor compared to western standards.  Added to which, jobs offered are very often part time, which means people struggle to make ends meet. Because of high prices for clothes, electronics and home equipment, Belarusians still prefer to shop abroad in Poland or Lithuania. The economy is also highly dependent on Russia and the recent crisis has highly affected the economic performance of both countries.

Thus, Minsk is a bit of a mock-up, but nevertheless beautiful, friendly and pleasant. Highly worth a visit.

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And how about the dogs? There are no abandoned dogs in Belarus. If the owner doesn’t report the disappearence of their pet within a certain number of days, relevant services responsible for trapping homeless animals are allowed to euthanise it. However, according to EGIDA animals rights group, euthanasia is often an euphemism, as outside of Minsk animals are being shot to death.