Sofia Sapega, ex-girlfriend of former Belarusian opposition journalist Roman Protasevich, recounts her time in prison and his testimony against her after the 2021 Ryanair diversion

The Belarusian news outlet Zerkalo has published the second part of an extensive interview with Sofia Sapega, the former girlfriend of Roman Protasevich, a former editor-in-chief of the opposition Telegram channel Nexta. In May 2021, Belarusian authorities used false pretenses to force a plane flying from Athens to Vilnius to land in Minsk so they could arrest Protasevich. Sapega was detained along with him. Since then, she has lived under house arrest with Protasevich and broken up with him, been sentenced to six years in prison, spent a year in a penal colony, received a pardon, and returned to her old life in Lithuania.Unlike Protasevich, Sapega kept a low profile after her detention and release. This is her first in-depth interview since her arrest. Yesterday, we compiled the most interesting quotes from the first part. Today, we’re sharing excerpts from the second.House arrest with Protasevich[After a month in a cottage outside Minsk, they moved us to Roman’s apartment to continue our house arrest] at Roman’s apartment — his parents were in Poland. A few days before we moved in, they [the security officers] took his keys and set everything up so they could watch us 24/7. The apartment had a living room and a bedroom. Officers from the KGB’s Alpha special forces unit took the living room, and Roma and I had the bedroom.***Life under house arrest was pretty monotonous. […] We were still allowed to drink alcohol then, and every so often we used it to escape reality, even if just for a little while. I couldn’t take antidepressants or sedatives, see a psychologist, or talk openly about what was happening to me. And alcohol seemed like the only way we had to quiet our thoughts, at least for a while.Suicide attempt and breakupGradually, things between Roman and me got much worse. Then something terrible happened. It was late October. It was morning, Roman was still asleep, and I woke up and decided to scroll through Instagram. I picked up his phone (we shared one) — his account was open, and I saw his messages with his ex-wife. I’m reading her replies to his messages, seeing the pictures she’s sending him of underwear, herself, her body… In normal life, I would’ve just packed my things and left. But here, I’m a hostage.***I lost control and drank quite a lot [that day], silently, alone, with a blank expression. […] Then I did something unthinkable, something I’d never done before. The window was open (and this was the sixth floor). I sat on the windowsill, swung my legs outside, and was ready to jump. I guess I have the people walking past to thank. They were cutting across to another courtyard — a mom, a dad, and a child. And I realize I don’t want them to see this, to have the child watch me fall. So I waited for them to pass. But they were walking so slowly. And that’s when someone pulls me back in through the window.***After that suicide attempt, they [the security officers] realized it was too dangerous to keep Protasevich around me. […] From late October on, I lived [in my parents’ apartment] in Lida. They still only let me out for an hour-long walk each day. It must have looked pretty absurd: me in a bulletproof vest, a woman and a man with pistols beside me, two more police officers a little farther away, and a police SUV behind us. Can you imagine that kind of security? Like I was the president’s wife or some especially dangerous criminal.At first, I thought, “How humiliating!” Especially since this was my own courtyard, the street where I grew up. But over time, I got used to it and started seeing the funny side, almost treating it like a joke.The trialThere wasn’t a single victim at the trial. Protasevich did show up, though — as a [prosecution] witness. What a disgrace. By then, I’d lost all respect for him. They called him into the courtroom, and I could tell he was nervous, but he kept saying everything I’d already learned from the volume of the case file devoted to me. He didn’t even dare look at me. Only after he’d finished testifying did he glance in my direction.***The security officers [whose personal information had been published in Black Book of Belarus] filed civil claims seeking compensation for emotional distress. I’m so grateful to my family: My loved ones took on that financial burden and paid about $70,000 to cover the claims.The penal colonyTo them [the security officers at the penal colony], I was a personal enemy, because my job had been to expose them and publish information about what they did. Of course they didn’t like that.I remember one of the women at the colony talking to the warden — Colonel Denis Tolstenkov at the time — and putting in a word for me: “Please leave her alone. She’s behaving herself.” […] Tolstenkov’s reaction to that request was completely unexpected. He made a gun with his fingers, pretended to fire it, and said, “If Sapega ever comes to my home, I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.” I still don’t understand why I’d ever go to his home in the first place — to have tea or something?***I was already in the colony when the officers told me the news [about Protasevich’s wedding] with obvious delight. They were gloating: “Ha-ha-ha, look at this!” It really hurt. Not that I still cared about Roman. It was more about my own pain. I felt sorry for myself and couldn’t understand how someone could treat another person so horribly.***Warning: The next paragraph contains profanity.[In the colony, I was in a unit where] the girls tormented each other, practically tortured each other. One day, a girl with a yellow tag was put in our unit. She openly defied the system: She refused to work and simply didn’t want to obey or accept the rules. […] It all came to a head when, one day, she called our officer a fucking moron and a useless idiot in front of everyone. One of the women told him what she’d said. That same evening, the girl was beaten. I still remember her screams.ReleaseOn the day [I was released], Tolstenkov called me by my first name for the first time. Instead of “Sapega,” “bitch,” “animal,” and his other favorite names. I knew I was going free, but I felt no joy, no euphoria. I felt empty inside. I was just waiting for them to let me out at last. […] That same day, I flew to Moscow, [and from there] through the UAE to Thailand, because my father has lived there full-time for more than 10 years.I spent about nine months in Thailand. It was amazing there. It was as if I’d just walked out of one door and through another — stepped over the threshold, and that was it. No particular emotions, no distress.***For the first six or seven months [after returning to Vilnius], I felt fine. Then it hit me. Everything that had happened seemed to catch up with me all at once. I had severe depression. I felt like I was all alone with my pain, with everything I’d been through. I didn’t understand what was happening to me or how to cope with any of it.Life afterwardI used to think constantly about who might see me, what people would say about me, and what might happen as a result. […] I was afraid people would start accusing me of things I hadn’t done. Of supposedly being the one who’d informed on people. I was afraid people would spread stories about me, that all of it could affect my parents and they’d end up having problems because of me, too. So I tried to keep as low a profile as possible, to avoid appearing in public any more than I had to or drawing attention to myself. But at some point, I realized I couldn’t spend my whole life afraid of what other people might think or say about me.***I can’t say I’m living some perfect dream life now. Life as an immigrant comes with plenty of difficulties: the language, paperwork, finding work, having to build a life all over again practically from scratch. But all of that is much better than living in a country where you can’t even get together peacefully with other people and clap your hands without being afraid of the consequences. I don’t want to go back to that kind of life.How she sees ProtasevichIn my view, he’s a victim of his own weakness. I feel sorry for him because he made a decision that I believe turned out to be fundamentally wrong. And I’m sorry he couldn’t find the strength to accept his fate. If he’d come to terms from the start with what he thought was in store for him, if he hadn’t tried at any cost to avoid the fate he’d imagined, maybe he could have come through it with some dignity.***I don’t think he can put anything right anymore. I once tried to imagine myself in his place. And the way I saw it, you’re an outsider here, and there, in Belarus, you’re an enemy and an outsider, too. So where do you belong? Nowhere. You’re not accepted in Europe or in Belarus. And I don’t think that can change now. No matter how hard you try, how much you maneuver, how carefully you choose your words, or how much you tell people what they want to hear — none of it will change anything. You’ll still be an outsider.At Meduza, we are committed to transparency about our use of artificial intelligence in the newsroom. The story you’re reading was written by one of our living, breathing journalists and translated from Russian using an AI model configured to follow our strict editorial standards. This translation process is the result of extensive testing and refinements to ensure our English-language coverage is timely and accurate. A Meduza editor reviews every draft before publication.If you find any errors in this translation, please contact us at [email protected].To read Meduza’s exclusive content in English, please subscribe to our newsletter.