"Commander, have you fed the guys?" How media manager Kanstantsin Zalatykh trolled the security forces

Polish doctors diagnosed Kanstantsin Zalatykh, the former director of "Euroradio" and the weekly "Belarusians and the Market," with an oncological disease. To get through a long examination, surgery, and rehabilitation, the ex-political prisoner asked for help.

The fundraiser has been launched on the BySol platform.

Kanstantsin Zalatykh has gone through a path quite typical for representatives of the independent press: a successful media manager, a hostage of the regime, a forced emigrant. And also in his personal background are spontaneous improvisations not for the faint of heart. Without mercy for tormentors and dictators.

The last time we met in Minsk was on May 7, 2022, at a memorial service for the first leader of Belarus, Stanislau Shushkevich. After paying respects to the politician and scientist, we talked for a long time in front of the Cathedral, discussing my professional pause and possible cooperation with the newspaper.

It didn't work out: literally a week and a half later, KGB officers came for him.

Initially, he was charged with "abuse of power or official authority," but during the investigation, the list of charges significantly expanded: from insulting government officials to inciting hatred. The verdict, announced by the Minsk City Court in a closed trial, was four years of imprisonment for the sum of "crimes." With inevitable inclusion in the extremist and terrorist lists.

Back then, I couldn't imagine that we would have a chance to meet again soon – the same KGB agents came for me in July 2023. However, we just missed each other: I entered cell 32 of the so-called "Valadarka" prison exactly into the vacant spot freed by Kanstantsin Zalatykh (after an unsuccessful appeal, he was sent to penal colony No. 1 in Novapolatsk). His cellmates long remembered the stories he generously shared with his fellow inmates.

Павялічыць

The Hypnotized Lieutenant Colonel

Even a brief acquaintance with Kastus is enough to understand that you are in front of an unrivaled jester and talker. He himself admits: many problems arise precisely because of his long tongue. And the fact that he eventually attracted the attention of the special services might have started at the height of the 2020 political campaign. I don't think anyone else would have come up with the brilliant idea to mock the "men in uniform" – especially at a time when the security forces had already tasted blood.

During one of the marches, the "prankster" decided to joke – thankfully, he even attended the rally in a strict suit with a red tie à la Trump. And his commanding voice was perfectly fine. Why not an undercover agent?

— It was one of the first women's marches, early September 2020. Since I lived on Victory Square, everything was literally under my windows. That day, my wife and I went to a friend's celebration. I still had a beard, a lion's mane. And a suit, a tie, everything as it should be. We drove back after lunch, but everything was blocked because of the rally. We had to walk a certain distance. There were already tons of buses with "men in black" waiting for orders. Not the beaten OMON officers, though, rather a mixed group from district departments. But in full gear, armed. And this whole armada was literally in a pocket right in front of my house.

Павялічыць

We were walking alongside the column, and I told my wife: "Wait, I'll be back soon." Of course, she started shouting: "Where are you going, why are you asking for trouble!" I waved her off and got onto the nearest bus. In a quiet but confident voice, I asked: "Who's in charge?" A whole lieutenant colonel reported. Some Bondarev.

— Greetings, Bondarev (a handshake as informal top-down communication). How's the situation generally?

— Well, it seems normal. Nothing is happening yet. We're waiting for orders.

— Understood. Been on duty long? Have you fed the guys lunch at all?

— Since six in the morning… No, not yet, they haven't been fed.

— Well, you're reporting that everything is fine. But I've already had breakfast and lunch. So, it turns out the guys haven't eaten since morning, have they? This is, of course, our oversight, we'll deal with it. You can't treat personnel like that…

And I wasn't noticeably drunk, but I had a pleasant feeling of having eaten a very hearty lunch. And, as they say, I got into the swing of things.

But the lieutenant colonel was completely bewildered; he clearly hadn't expected such an inspection. Especially since it's foreign agents who walk around however they please — with wild hair and sideburns. There are no such people in Belarus. Back then, I generally looked more like a priest — long hair, a beard, just without a chain and a cross. However, it wasn't even my appearance that paralyzed him, but my tone — quiet, calm, unquestionable. And when I left the vehicle, everyone silently watched me until I disappeared from their sight.

Perhaps someone might have expected that after this, the doors would close, and the commander would rush to the departmental canteen — to urgently feed his subordinates. But the mysterious "messenger" made it clear: where necessary, they would sort it out themselves, without a fuss. So, there was nothing left but to wait and continue to stoically endure the "hardships and deprivations." And my wife didn't let me watch the military-style performance to the end, she forcibly dragged me to a safe place…

Special Operation "Battery"

Even earlier, in mid-August of the same 2020, Kanstantsin Zalatykh showed ingenuity during the prompt resolution of an issue with technical support for a live broadcast for "Euroradio." And again, it was not without trolling people in uniform.

— August 14, an attempt at a general strike – thousands of workers from MTZ, MAZ, and other enterprises moved to the center of Minsk. I am still proud to have participated in that backstage for "Euroradio" – we spontaneously decided to do a live broadcast. We cobbled it together almost on the fly: an iPhone, a lavalier microphone, a synchronizer, a transmitter. We literally taped it with electrical tape, and surprisingly, everything worked. True, not on rechargeable batteries, but on crown-type batteries. And those quickly wore out until they completely died from hours of broadcasting.

Павялічыць

And before the strike, a sort of whirlwind swept through: all the shops and stores closed "due to technical reasons." Completely empty. I scratched my head and remembered that the "Minsk" hotel had a kiosk with various small items. But everything there was also blocked: OMON cordons around the perimeter of Valadarka, letting no one through. And then I saw a lonely briefcase leaning against a column of the "Tsentralny" cinema. Whose, from where – unknown. Without much thought, I headed towards the chain of special forces, demanding "the senior officer." Someone without insignia approached. I didn't let him collect himself, just poked an old journalist ID right under his nose (I made it myself, a good one).

— Don't turn around, pretend you're checking my documents. See the briefcase? Just don't look so obviously and don't point your finger in that direction. Given the events, a provocation cannot be ruled out; we need to sort this out urgently. It's a serious matter, of national importance…

While they stood wide-eyed, I calmly pushed through the black rows and, swaying slightly, went into the hotel lobby. I bought as many batteries as needed and then took the same route back to the "Euroradio" office.

Meanwhile, on Independence Avenue, there was a serious "buzz" — near the cinema, a special "Demining" vehicle with flashing lights, sappers running back and forth, searching for traces of "political provocation." It's unlikely they found anything; at least nothing appeared in criminal reports on this matter. Although, judging by everything, someone eventually lost a briefcase. "He could have received a letter of gratitude from the Ministry of Internal Affairs. For vigilance," sighs Kastus Zalatykh.

The Shadow of Turkmenbashi

In Kastus Zalatykh's professional biography, even before delving into media projects, there is a period of intermediary sales of Minsk Automobile Plant products through the once-famous commercial company "Genti." With a natural ability, excuse me, to talk a dead man into something, an irreplaceable trait. Among the many business trips preceding contract signings, without exaggeration, a truly spectacular one was a visit to Turkmenistan during the presidency of "bay" Saparmurat Niyazov.

As is customary in those regions, the guest from Belarus was received lavishly: fed, watered, entertained. These chosen nouveau riches. And upon reaching a certain state, they lost self-control, allowing themselves to doubt the divine election of their Turkmenbashi. To be fair, I first heard this real-life pamphlet, acted out, from our mutual friend Zmitser Bartosik. Everything turned out to be pure truth.

Павялічыць

— Turkmenbashi died in 2007, so this happened in the early 2000s. I came under a strange scheme: ostensibly to an American company that was buying cotton there, and I, in turn, supplied them with our MAZ trucks. Turkmen controlled everything, and I was also received by an influential uncle with patronage at the very top. In short, legalized bandits.

We are sitting after the deal, relaxing culturally, with the TV broadcasting in the background. A local KGB officer, my companion's "roof" (protector), and about five spies in identical jackets. On the screen is the "sun-faced" Saparmurat Atayevich. A piercing gaze, perfectly styled hair, on each finger — a massive diamond ring, which he points directly at the monitor. We've been drinking for the third hour, and he's been reprimanding someone all this time. In his native language, so I don't understand. And the lackeys in the background are diligently writing something in their notebooks. I couldn't stand it: what kind of show is this?

My drinking buddy, already well-loaded, eagerly translates. The woman, dressed like a hotel doorman, on whom the camera periodically focuses, is the Prosecutor General. She did nothing bad, but "showed immodesty," for which her leader "slightly reprimands" her. She had previously complained to the Eternally Great one that her family had grown, she couldn't fit in her small apartment, asked him to put in a good word for a modest house, and so on. The "bay" waved his rings, and she built herself a palace of a couple of thousand square meters. That is, like several football fields with peacocks, pheasants, and other livestock. And while the hostess was at a conference in Germany, five bulldozers arrived, razed the "house," and laid a neat lawn over it. As if nothing had happened. So, for all three hours on live TV, the president shamed her, saying that for such a good specialist, personal matters had outweighed public ones.

She cried bitterly, tirelessly thanking the wise leader for stopping her in time, and that in reality, the old "apartment" was not so small; three generations could easily be accommodated.

Since these were clan squabbles, it was none of my business. But the assigned spy suddenly flopped onto the sofa, pointed importantly at the TV in response, and with a characteristic accent began to utter sedition. In the presence of his own sycophants.

— Kostya, just look at this fool. In his head, there's not just no brains, there's not even meat. An empty drum, that's what he carries on his shoulders. Even a donkey is smarter…

It was not my place to join the discussion, as they say, "they had their own mustaches" (meaning they could handle it themselves). But the piquancy of the situation was that, as I was later told, he himself was a colonel of the National Security Committee. It turned out awkward, combining pleasure with business. If someone from his entourage had reported him to those even closer to the top, it would have ended much worse than it did for the Prosecutor General.

So, in the morning, I had just woken up when my business partner was already at the door. In a fawning voice, he began to inquire whether we had a pleasant evening, whether we had delved into unnecessary discussions, and whether I had a good sense of humor.

— Kostya, you understood, right, that I joked a lot yesterday? I'm a joker, understood? Whatever I say — it's all a joke. You get it, right? I didn't say anything serious at all. Good job, Kostya, for understanding that…

And since the "praise" from the special services officer was not so unambiguous, it was best to retreat as quickly as possible. Which I gladly did…

***

Kastus Zalatykh was not lucky enough to be included in the lists of hostages for exchange with the Americans, so after serving his full term, he remained in Belarus for some time – with all the expenses of preventive supervision. This year, not without adventures, he joined his wife and son, who had left for Poland during his imprisonment. Here he is trying to start anew.

However, it was not without unforeseen circumstances. During an in-depth medical examination, doctors discovered a number of diseases, including kidney cancer. Surgery was scheduled for September, but the medical council canceled it literally the day before – there was a risk of losing a vital organ. In early October, he was sent for a repeat biopsy, also without definitive results – the tumor was too close to arteries. Finally, he was sent to a specialized clinic in Wrocław, where specialists will determine further treatment methods based on new examinations.

In addition, the former political prisoner has other problems which, he is convinced, are a result of his imprisonment. These include cardiac disorders and damage to leg blood vessels. According to the media manager, treatment and medicines are free, but daily family needs require expenses: funds are lacking after the forced relocation. Financial support is needed to get through the coming months. After rehabilitation, Kanstantsin Zalatykh plans to return to his profession.

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