"I'm not going to live on a pension just yet." Poet Siarhei Sys — about leaving "Viasna", working as a cleaner in Lithuania, love and sex at 65
Journalist and poet Siarhei Sys worked at the Human Rights Center "Viasna" for 17 years. He was once invited there by his old friend Ales Bialiatski, whom he has known since youth. Later, Bialiatski became his daughter's godfather and was a witness at Sys's weddings twice. Last year, Siarhei became a master in a cleaning company. At "Viasna", his departure was explained by the fact that he didn't want to work and started drinking.
In a large interview with "Belsat", he recounted how he struggled with losing his accustomed job and started life almost from scratch, what helped him overcome depression, and openly reflected on alcohol, betrayal forgiven by his wife, and the love that led him to a psychiatric hospital for the second time.
"It was hurtful for the first two months"
Siarhei Sys has been living in Lithuania since June 2022. Before that, there was an almost year-long journey from Belarus. In the summer of 2021, he left and hid in Russia for about two months. He didn't have a passport — the document, according to Sys, was confiscated during an interrogation at the Investigative Committee. He says he was on the wanted list, so even a normal trip could lead to problems. Life narrowed down to strangers' apartments and short trips for groceries.
"In the evening, you go out, put on sunglasses, a cap, run into the store, grab groceries — and then you're back in prison," he recalls. At some point, Sys began to fear that he would remain there for a long time.
Then he managed to get to Ukraine. Initially, Sys says, there was genuine euphoria, but after a few months, the accumulated stress caught up – depressive states began. Ukrainian human rights activists helped him find a doctor and medication. The start of the full-scale war found Sys in a sanatorium in the Carpathians. He could no longer return to Chernihiv, where he lived: the city was under siege, the bridge over the Desna was destroyed. Then came Poland, Germany, a creative residency in Pomerania, and finally Vilnius – where the "Viasna" office was located.
A significant part of Sys's professional life was connected with this organization. By education, he is a teacher of Belarusian language and literature, having worked in a school, served as a military instructor, and then went into journalism – working in regional press, "Homelskaya Prauda", FM radio, and television.
In 2007, Sys moved from Homel to Minsk and was looking for work. He had almost settled into a position as deputy editor of "Labour Protection" magazine when Ales Bialiatski called: a spot had opened up at "Viasna". Sys chose the human rights center.
His connection with Bialiatski went beyond work. They had known each other since their youth, studied together, and traveled extensively across Belarus. Bialiatski christened Sys's daughter and was a witness at both of his weddings – first at the initial one, and years later at his marriage to Halina Dubianetskaya.
After the second wedding, Bialiatski, according to Sys, joked: "Siarhei, there won't be a third time! That's enough, I can't be a witness at all your weddings."
Sys is now writing a memoir about his friend – mainly focusing on the times before "Viasna" and the Nobel Prize.
But after 17 years, Siarhei, he says, was fired from "Viasna". He claims that within the organization, this was explained by his unwillingness to work and his beginning to drink.
"The Council said, 'Siarhei is done, Siarhei doesn't want to work, Siarhei is drinking again...'. That's what 'Viasna' says," he recounts.
Sys disagrees with this assessment. He recounts how, shortly before his dismissal, he had a serious fall from a bicycle and split his head open. We ask if he was sober at the time.
"I drank beer," Sys admits.
After the fall, he spent two days in the hospital. Then, according to him, his head hurt and spun for a long time. Due to problems with insurance contributions, he didn't receive paid sick leave and effectively stayed at home without work for three months. It was during this period that his work at "Viasna" also ended.
"It was hurtful for the first two months. I was lying at home, no work. Lithuanians helped with food, because I couldn't really walk. My head spun a lot. And a lot of money went to medicine," he recalls.
He didn't discuss the topic of his dismissal in detail with Bialiatski.
"We don't talk about it," Sys says.
Friendship, he emphasizes, has been preserved.
After 17 years in one organization, Sys faced a much more mundane question: what to live on. Acquainted Lithuanians offered construction work – 60 euros a day. Cottages outside the city, trenches, foundations.
Sys agreed, but only lasted a month.
"My arms hurt, my legs hurt, my lower back hurts. I realized I would overexert myself here," he says.
He stayed at home for a few more weeks and wrote on Telegram that he was looking for a job. A cleaning company called and asked if he knew how to clean.
"What's there to know? Ha-ha-ha! What's there to know?" Sys recalls his reaction.
"Been in cleaning for a year"
It quickly became clear that there was a lot to learn. For the first two weeks, Sys worked with a more experienced employee. He explained the difference in professional chemistry, where acidic products were needed, where alkaline, what could be applied to a certain surface, and what would damage it.
Once, Sys almost destroyed an expensive window frame in a new cottage. Paint remained on the black surface. He took a solvent – the paint disappeared, but instead, white streaks appeared.
"Can you imagine: a new cottage, a gigantic window like that – three by six meters. And white streaks! And that's it! What have I done?!" he recalls.
He had to call the director urgently. He came and helped fix the situation.
Gradually, the fear of making a mistake turned into excitement. Sys liked that cleaning required not only physical labor.
Each object is a new task: how to remove glue, what to clean paint with, what chemicals will do to this surface, how to get a result without spoiling anything.
"Every day you encounter something new and you need to find a solution carefully, so as not to harm. Like some researcher, chemist, biologist," he says.
Now Sys himself knows well what to work with and where. There are new cottages with three dozen windows – after builders, glue, paint, mounting foam, plaster remain on them. There are consequences of floods and fires. After a fire, he says, soot is so ingrained in surfaces that special vacuum cleaners and chemicals are needed. There are also social orders – for example, to clean the home of a lonely person who can no longer do it themselves.
He had to enter apartments after deaths. Once – after a suicide, when almost everything had to be removed: furniture, belongings, to completely clear the premises.
"I do all the work with pleasure, any work. Because I immediately look at the result: that I've done it. And a lot of things are difficult to do, and I did it! And I have inner satisfaction," he says.
After about half a year, Sys became a master. Now he himself selects people for the object, distributes work, trains newcomers, and is responsible for deadlines. And here his first profession unexpectedly came in handy.
"You work yourself — you want to work, but here you have to walk around like a boss: take this, do that. Or every five minutes: 'Can this be done like this?' But it's also interesting to teach people. I am a teacher by profession," he says.
There is also another personal victory in the new job. Since his youth, Sys had a panic fear of heights. In 1983, he once climbed a high brick tower, ascended approximately halfway, looked down, and barely managed to descend.
"I was climbing down for 30 minutes and screaming, 'Help!', because my legs were shaking," he recalls.
In cleaning, high windows and ladders are a normal part of the job. He couldn't avoid them.
The new job also gave him something Sys says he didn't have before — a good salary. After taxes, it's more than two thousand euros, sometimes 2300-2400.
Sys even thinks now that in two or three years he could open a small cleaning company. Large firms are more interested in industrial objects, while private houses and small cottages, he believes, are a niche where one can work independently.
"Regarding depression - it works wonderfully"
Cleaning for Sys is not just about money. He repeatedly returns to the idea that the new job helped him psychologically.
He encountered depression after fleeing Belarus. In Vilnius, his condition worsened: he couldn't sleep, and in the evening, the same questions kept swirling in his head.
"I couldn't sleep. I had obsessive thoughts: when will I return home? And I'll die here... What will happen to me next?" Sys recalls.
Eventually, he ended up in a psychiatric hospital. There, Sys was particularly struck by the number of young Lithuanians. People aged 17, 20, 22, who study, work, sit with laptops, but still come for help, not waiting for a complete breakdown.
"They care about their mental health. And we wait until the rooster pecks us on the crown," he says.
There were sessions with a psychologist, light gymnastics, workshops. But now Sys believes that another powerful tool was work. When you have a concrete task, a deadline, a team, and responsibility, it's much harder to obsess over the same thoughts for hours. By evening, there's also ordinary physical fatigue.
Another antidepressant is walking. Sys loves to take long strolls through Vilnius, showing the city to others.
People are also important. In cleaning, he found himself in an international company: Belarusians, Lithuanians, Uzbeks, Indians, Georgians. At work, he had to speak more Lithuanian, as customers are predominantly Lithuanians. Muslims work nearby, who might unroll a mat and pray in the middle of the day.
"Well, he needs five minutes to pray to his Allah," Sys says.
For him, this is also part of a new life: after 60, you can learn a language, meet new people, and suddenly find a profession you never even thought of.
"I'm already afraid to fall in love"
Sys talks a lot about his family, and very personally. He has four children – three daughters and one son. Three of them were born within marriages. One daughter was born outside of marriage; he only learned of her existence five years after her birth.
In emigration, only his youngest daughter, born from his marriage to Halina, is with Siarhei. Sys took her in when she was 15. He says that the very necessity of caring for someone greatly helped him during his depressive state.
Now his daughter is 20 years old. She simultaneously completed high school in Warsaw and a gymnasium in Lithuania, then worked in a wholesale warehouse, labeling imported goods. Having saved money, she decided to travel around Europe. When her money ran out in France, she went to work in the fields. Then she went to the Netherlands and decided to stay there.
His daughter is involved in art. One of her paintings, according to Sys, sold in the USA for $400. She has a Dutch boyfriend and a cat.
"The cat is already a symbol of some community between them. They wouldn't abandon it," Sys jokes.
Halina, meanwhile, lives in Belarus and visits her husband in Lithuania once a year. Last time, she spent all the allowed 90 days in Vilnius.
"I was simply the happiest man in the world. Family appeared," he says.
When they are in different countries, they text almost all day.
"Both night and day. 100-150 messages, we exchange photos. She's not just a wife, she's also a friend. We have no secrets. None," Sys says.
But in the history of their marriage, there is also betrayal, which journalists ask the poet about. In emigration, he fell deeply in love with another woman.
"My love for this woman was very strong. I want you to write that," he says.
At the same time, he emphasizes: he loves his wife and never stopped loving her.
"I love my wife very much. I adore her. She's not just a wife, she's also a friend," he explains.
Is it possible to love one person and fall in love with another?
"It is. Yes, of course," he answers.
Halina knew about the affair and, according to Sys, forgave him. For a while, they talked mostly about everyday life and their daughter, after which intimacy gradually returned.
"She forgave me, damn it. I pray to her, I didn't expect it," he says.
Sys calls his relationship with that woman "chemistry." She could suddenly drive several hundred kilometers from Poland to Vilnius and call already near the house.
"What are you doing?" — "Sitting at home." — "Grab your swim trunks, a towel, we're going to the sea." I say: "What's going on?" — "I'm already at your entrance," Sys recalls.
At that time, he wrote a lot – dozens of poems, almost a separate book.
And then the relationship ended just as abruptly. On the eve of his birthday, Sys was going to Poland. He was expected there, gifts were already prepared. At night, a short message arrived: "Don't come back ever again." After that, he ended up in a psychiatric hospital for the second time.
"I thought of nothing but pain. I couldn't sleep, I had terrible physical pain! Not even moral, but physical. And that's how the gear in my head locked up — and that was it," he says.
He took antidepressants. It took about a year for it to truly let go.
"Now I'm afraid to fall in love. Very afraid. So that nothing happens again," Sys admits.
And a few minutes later, the same person says:
"Love will save this world, only love."
For Sys, love is not necessarily just a grand romance. It's the ability to take someone's hand, walk together through the city, show a favorite place, know that someone is waiting for you.
"Spending time with a woman together – that's a very powerful antidepressant," he says.
Sys also talks about sex after 60 without much embarrassment.
"It exists. Everything's normal. And with years, I even want it more, I don't know why. Now, of course, it happens less often, but it's there! By the way, that lover opened up a lot to me in this regard, because until about 50 years old, sex was 'Komsomol-style' for me, and after that, everything changed," the poet answers.
Sys is almost 65 years old; he will soon apply for a pension in Lithuania. According to him, from his Belarusian work experience, only the years worked before Belarus's independence are taken into account in Lithuania. He doesn't yet know the final sum, but it certainly won't be large — a few hundred euros.
"For now, I'm not going to live on a pension. And when I no longer have the strength — I still have literature," Sys says.
He continues to work, thinks about his own cleaning company, and writes books. "Perelet-trava" (Wander-grass) was recently published – about forced emigration from Belarus through Russia, Ukraine, Poland, Germany, and Lithuania. In the novella "Behind the Palisade," Sys writes about the mental states of emigrants – anxiety, guilt, panic attacks, and depression, comparing the experience of psychiatric care in Belarus and Lithuania. The book also includes short stories and life narratives.
When the author's new job forces him onto a ladder and his old fear of heights still reminds him of itself, Sys has a simple rule.
"Now I just look at the sky, not at the ground. Or at the windows," he concludes.
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