Only about 40 kilometres lie between Vilnius, Lithuania’s bustling capital, and Belarus, the long-time personal fiefdom of President Aleksander Lukashenko. But the swamps and forestland that straddle the two nations’ border – coupled with the Baltic country’s reassuring Nato and EU membership – rather resemble an ocean. As of today, over 60,000 Belarusians have found refuge in Lithuania, with most of them emigrating after the harsh crackdown that followed the 2020 presidential election. Many deem that vote as stolen from opposition leader Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, herself exiled in Vilnius.

Since February 2022, their plight has been largely overshadowed by Russia’s full-out invasion of Ukraine – a country to which Minsk’s fate is now tightly intertwined. 

Ahead of Belarus' 2025 presidential election, bne Intellinews met with some prominent opposition figures and NGO volunteers in the Lithuanian capital to better understand how things developed over the past few years – and where they may be heading. Bringing Belarus back into the spotlight helps remind everyone in the West about the human tragedy unfolding in this patch of land sandwiched between Russia, the Baltics and Poland, which de facto finds itself under Moscow’s political, cultural and economic occupation since August 2020.

Back then, in an unprecedented show of dissent, hundreds of thousands of Belarusians took to the streets nationwide after a disputed vote to protest yet another usurpation of power by Lukashenko, who has ruled the country uninterruptedly since 1994.

It was, indeed, not the first time the autocrat had rigged elections: it happened repeatedly since the early 2000s, as he progressively tightened his grip on power. But this time was different. The historically fractious opposition had managed to rally behind Svetlana Tikhanovskaya – an English teacher and mother of two, whose politically involved husband was banned from running and thrown into jail, where he remains as of today.

“She had no political ambitions of any kind. I helped her conceive her message, which was clear and simple: if elected, I will stop repression and organise free and fair elections,” says Yauhen Krasulin, a Belarusian historian close to Tikhanovskaya’s team who fled the country in late 2021 citing increased harassment over his cooperation with independent media.

“Unlike in past elections, where many feared being reported by neighbours or colleagues, people realised that the majority disliked the incumbent and wanted him out,” he adds.

Lukashenko, Krasulin argues, allowed Tikhanovskaya to run only because, being a chronic misogynist, completely dismissed the idea that a woman – let alone a housewife – could become president.

“They [the regime] did not even carry out background checks on her. They plainly ignored her.” This proved to be Lukashenko’s biggest mistake, as Belarusians en masse backed Tikhanovskaya, galvanised by the idea of change and brimming with hope that the detested dictator could be unseated. The opposition says she has won at the polls by a wide margin. However, the official results granted her only a “generous” 10%, with Lukashenko claiming re-election with over 81% of the votes.

The outcome came as a shock to the embittered 30-year ruler, who “by living in a delusion surrounded by henchmen, genuinely thought he was popular,” Krasulin observes.

Streets in the capital quickly filled up and people embraced the long-discouraged Belarusian language as a form of resistance against the regime, but things did not turn out as many hoped. Unsure about his own military’s loyalty, Lukashenko called in reinforcements from his big neighbour; troops dispatched by Russian President Vladimir Putin appeared overnight and violently quashed protests. Thousands were badly beaten and ended up behind bars. Relations between the two strongmen were far from idyllic and had further deteriorated in recent years, but faced with the prospect of removal the Belarusian leader put disagreements aside and rang Putin – well aware that the Kremlin’s help would come at a cost. 

Less than two years later, the Russian leader would call back asking to settle the debt, forcing Belarus to become a launchpad for his failed attempt to seize Kyiv.

Pro-democracy demonstrators were put on file by the Secret Service, which in Belarus still bears the ominous name of KGB, but not everyone was immediately arrested. While the bitter reality sank in, many returned to their resigned lives. “We tried [to remove Lukashenko], we failed, we carry on, until the next opportunity arises was what many thought at the time,” Krasulin says.

As autumn swept in and the unrest subsided, some protesters were given a choice through informal means: leave the country of their own will, or be ready to go to jail.

Tatsiana Ihnatsyeva was one of them. In October 2020, facing such a threat, she rushed to the Lithuanian border along with a throng of political exiles, many of whom have since been convicted in absentia on “extremism” charges. They face up to 20 years in jail and hefty fines if they return home.

Today, Ihnatsyeva volunteers for Dapamoga, an NGO established by real estate entrepreneur Nataliya Kolegova after the events of 2020.

The foundation, which helps Belarusian – and since the start of the war, also Ukrainian – refugees to settle in Lithuania, survives through private donations and does not receive public funding. “This allows us to operate independently and helps us push back at accusations of foreign interference by the regime at home,” Kolegova says.

Dapamoga has rescued over 3,000 people since 2020, providing free accommodation and helping escapees find jobs and navigate bureaucracy, which intensified after the start of the Ukraine war as Belarusians became subject to intensified security screening by Lithuanian authorities. The organisation, whose name means “aid” in Belarusian, operates out of an outlandishly decorated villa on the outskirts of Vilnius, built by gypsies in the early 90s, which the volunteers fondly refer to as “the castle.” People from all walks of life today call Dapamoga home – from chief doctors to IT specialists and factory workers – after falling in the crosshairs of the regime. Some had to flee their homeland by swimming through icy rivers or crossing forests at night.

What binds them is a shared ordeal stemming from their participation in the 2020 pro-democracy protests and opposition meetings, where they were identified by security forces.

“Those who took part in the demonstrations will never be safe: some have been arrested after 3 or 4 years, police just show up at your apartment and knock down the door with no warrant whatsoever. Then people basically disappear, often relatives are not even notified of the arrest,” Ihnatsyeva says.

Her Italian Assistant Professor at Minsk University, Natalia Dulina, ended up behind bars just for giving an interview to an independent Belarusian radio channel enrolled on the list of “extremist mass media”, she recalls, stressing how no one – regardless of their status – can rest easy; even 2015 Nobel Prize Svetlana Alexievich was chased out of the country due to her criticism of Lukashenko. “People in Belarus today must be extremely careful as the regime has eyes everywhere. You can get sentenced to 5 years for displaying Ukrainian flags, or even banners saying ‘peace’,” Ihnatsyeva warns.

But NGOs and opposition members operating from the perceived safety of Lithuania cannot afford to lower their guard, either. Last month, Vilnius’ Regional Court handed down a 9-year prison sentence to Mantas Danielius, a lawyer who posed as a volunteer to spy on Lithuania-based Belarusian humanitarian organisations and fed back intelligence to Minsk. Danielus was particularly interested in Tikhanovskaya’s whereabouts, investigators claim, as he meticulously collected and passed on information about opposition groups’ activities, members and funding sources.

“He also tried to approach us, but something about him did not feel right and we distanced ourselves from him,” Kolegova recounts.

Still, despite a few sinister accidents in recent months such as a shooting at a Belarusian church in central Vilnius and insulting graffiti painted in front of Dapamoga’s shelter gate, “Lithuanians have been very welcoming towards us,” the volunteers emphasise. They recall how “There was some disappointment in 2020, as they thought things in Belarus would change quickly and people would return home.”

Not only did this not come to pass, but two years later a new wave of migrants from Ukraine started to flock in, further straining the small Baltic nation’s reception capabilities.

Lithuania, however, remains unwaveringly committed to Belarusians’ fight for democracy, as demonstrated by the recent Justice Ministry request to the ICC in The Hague "to open an investigation into the crimes against humanity committed by Lukashenko's regime – forced deportation, persecution of persons and other cruel behaviour". Minsk is not a party to the Rome Statute, but Vilnius’ prosecutors claim the ICC jurisdiction applies as some crimes such as “forced displacement” have directly impacted Lithuania’s security.

Tsikhanouskaya praised the move, pointing out that over 300,000 Belarusians have left the country since 2020.

“Our people here dream of going back home, but only to a liberated and free country,” Kolegova says.

That elusive wish is unlikely to come true with next year’s presidential election. Krasulin and Dapamoga’s volunteers agree that there will not be a repeat of the 2020 events with any sort of credible opposition. “There is not going to be an election. It will be an announcement of yet another victory of Lukashenko,” Krasulin quips, predicting that the ballot will be filled with fake candidates of the “systemic opposition” who de facto back the incumbent, as it happens in Russia.

Perhaps “some people in Moscow may soon start considering replacing the ageing Lukashenko with someone less unpopular,” he adds, but they would still be figures loyal to Putin. Indeed, Krasulin argues the ruler is so disliked that “the main reason Belarus did not join Russia in invading Ukraine is that no one in Minsk or the Kremlin knows for sure where Belarusian troops would turn their arms if deployed on the battlefield.”

Even though the top brass is rumoured to be largely pro-Moscow, he points out that middle and lower levels of the military are believed to be strongly against Russia’s war on Ukraine.

As the world’s eyes are firmly focused on the conflict raging down south and Lukashenko’s grip on power shows no signs of loosening any time soon, exiled Belarusians can only hope for Kyiv’s swift victory, which would inevitably bring the autocrat’s downfall.

Meanwhile, they send a plea to EU leaders: “Absolutely close all remaining ties to the Belarusian regime, sanctions should be targeting all Lukashenko-linked businesses with no loopholes to bypass them,” Ihnatsyeva says. “This way, the regime will be compelled to release the [over 1,400, as per recent estimates] political prisoners who languish in jail.”

Lukashenko has played this game before: let out some captives in exchange for sanctions relief. He has recently done so again, freeing around a hundred inmates on what he called “compassionate grounds.”

Coincidentally, perhaps testing the waters for a future without Putin, he released a statement claiming to be “open for dialogue with the West.”

This time, however, the EU will not likely take the bait, as the “co-aggressor” status still weighs heavily on Lukashenko in the wake of Moscow’s invasion of Ukraine.

Meanwhile, many more innocent civilians remain locked up in dire prison conditions, kept incommunicado and denied basic medical care. At least six have succumbed to untreated illness since 2021, but as with all things in Belarus, reliable data is hard to come by.

For the victims of the regime whose tragic fate is known, “Every week, we gather for a vigil in front of the Belarusian embassy in Vilnius, lighting candles to commemorate them,” Kolegova says.