That was certainly true in the autumn of 2020, during the mass protests that followed Alexander Lukashenko's rigged presidential re-election.
Back then, cab drivers were often better informed than the state-censored internet.
They knew where demonstrations were unfolding, which streets were blocked by police, where beatings and arrests had taken place—and they spoke freely, even defiantly, about the regime.
Today, it’s a different story.
On a recent ride, I tried to talk politics. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror and said grimly: "You probably don’t know, but the company forced us to install microphones and cameras in our cars. We now have to turn in the memory cards to management."
We spent the rest of the journey in silence.
That hush extends to public transport. Trains and minibuses—once lively arenas of political debate—have gone quiet. Most passengers wear headphones and keep their eyes fixed on their phones.
The wave of repression that began five years ago has not let up. Few are willing to risk becoming the next victim of the system.
It might seem Lukashenko has silenced the nation. But even under a thick layer of ice, rivers still flow.
Purge of civic groups
Since the crackdown, nearly 1,900 independent civic organisations have been forcibly dissolved, according to Belarusian human rights groups
The purge began with independent media and rights NGOs, then moved on groups led by high-profile activists.
Even nature conservation groups weren’t spared. Viktar Fenchuk, head of BirdLife Belarus, received a two-and-a-half-year sentence in a high-security prison for taking part in protests.
Eventually, even hobby and community groups were dismantled.
The goal: eliminate any platform for civic engagement outside direct state control.
Ideology as policy
That ideology now permeates every level of state enterprise. Each government-run company is required to have an on-site "ideology officer"—often a former KGB agent or retired military officer.
They no longer hold Soviet-style political education sessions. Instead, they screen job applicants for past political involvement.
Anyone who protested or criticised the regime is barred from state employment. A centralised database holds personal data on at least 100,000 "ideologically suspect" Belarusians.
Private firms are being pressured, too.
A friend who owns a mid-sized company recently got a call from the local ideology department, urging him to appoint his own in-house ideology officer.
When he asked if it was mandatory, the official replied: "Not yet. But companies that do so will be treated… differently by the state."
Borders and surveillance
Belarusians can still cross the border, but many must surrender their phones or laptops to KGB-controlled guards. Travellers are forced to unlock devices.
A single "ideologically incorrect" social media like can land someone in jail—first a night in a cell without a mattress, then a rushed court hearing, followed by 15 days’ detention or a heavy fine for "supporting extremist activity."
Those in the database risk criminal charges for "organizing or participating in riots," punishable by up to four years in prison.
Nearly 1,200 people are officially recognised as political prisoners.
Lukashenko recently claimed—without evidence—that he had offered to release some in talks with the Americans, but "they didn’t want them." Few believe him.
Exile and resistance
Since 2020, about 400,000 Belarusians—out of a population of 9 million—have left the country. Many have formed opposition hubs abroad. Inside Belarus, resistance continues underground.
Hope recently flared when Belarusian "Cyber-Partisans" and Ukraine’s Silent Crow hacker group breached and temporarily disabled servers belonging to Russia’s flagship airline Aeroflot.
Everyone here knows: without Vladimir Putin’s backing, Lukashenko's regime would likely have collapsed by now.
Spectre of communism
After years of watching Belarus drift deeper into autocracy, I’ve concluded authoritarian systems have only two futures: totalitarianism or collapse.
Today’s Belarus resembles the grim twilight of communist-era Poland—repressive, absurd and subservient to Moscow, which is waging a brutal war in Ukraine.
I see Belarusians every day. There’s little joy in their faces. But five years on, they haven’t fully surrendered.
Lukashenko’s Belarus recalls Poland under martial law: secret police, informants, censorship, a crushed opposition. But eventually, all that ended. Things changed.
If the winds from the West blow just right, they could bring change here one day, too.
Jan Krzysztof Michalak in Belarus