VILNIUS: Siarhei Tsikhanouski is almost unrecognizable. Belarus’ key opposition figure, imprisoned in 2020 and unexpectedly released on Saturday, once weighed 135 kilograms (298 pounds) at 1.92 meters (nearly 6’4”) tall, but now is at just 79 kilos (174 pounds).
On Saturday, Tsikhnaouski was freed alongside 13 other prisoners and brought to Vilnius, the capital of neighboring Lithuania, where he was reunited with his wife, exiled Belarusian opposition leader Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, and their children. Speaking to The Associated Press the day after, Tsikhanouski tries to smile and joke, but struggles to hold back heavy sighs recalling what he endured behind bars.
“This is definitely torture,” Tsikhanouski told The Associated Press in the first sit-down interview since his release. Prison officials “kept telling me: ‘You will be here not just for the 20 years we’ve already given you.’ We will convict you again,’” he said. “They told me that ‘You would never get out.’ And they kept repeating: ‘You will die here.’”
One of Belarus’s most prominent opposition figures, Tsikhanouski said he “almost forgot how to speak” during his years in solitary confinement. He was held in complete isolation, denied medical care, and given barely enough food.
“If you had seen me when they threw only two spoons of porridge onto my plate, two small spoons …” he said, adding that he couldn’t buy anything anything in the prison kiosk. “They would sometimes give me a little tube of toothpaste, a little piece of soap as charity. Sometimes they would, sometimes they wouldn’t.”
A prominent voice of dissent
Now 46, Tsikhanouski, a popular blogger and activist, was freed just hours after Belarusian authorities announced that authoritarian President Alexander Lukashenko met with US President Donald Trump’s envoy for Ukraine in the Belarusian capital, Minsk. Keith Kellogg became the highest-ranking US official in years to visit Belarus, Moscow’s close and dependent ally.
Tsikhanouski, known for his anti-Lukashenko slogan “stop the cockroach,” was arrested after announcing plans to challenge the strongman in the 2020 election and shortly before the campaign began. He was sentenced to 19 years and six months on charges widely seen as politically motivated. His wife ran in his stead, rallying crowds across the country. Official results handed Lukashenko his sixth term in office but were denounced by the opposition and the West as a sham.
Lukashenko has since tightened his grip, securing a seventh term in disputed January 2025 elections. Since mid-2024, his government has pardoned nearly 300 prisoners — including US citizens — in what analysts see as an attempt to mend ties with the West.
Tsikhanouski credited US President Donald Trump with aiding his release.
“I thank Donald Trump endlessly,” Tsikhanouski said. “They (the Belarusian authorities) want Trump to at least, a little bit, somewhere, to meet them halfway. They are ready to release them all. All of them!”
Many are still behind bars
Tens of thousands of people poured into the streets in the aftermath of the August 2020 vote. Thousands were detained, many beaten by police. Prominent opposition figures either fled the country or were imprisoned.
At least 1,177 political prisoners remain in custody, according to Viasna, the oldest and most prominent human rights group in Belarus. Among them is Viasna’s founder, human rights activist and Nobel Peace Prize winner Ales Bialiatski.
Also behind bars are Viktor Babaryka, a former banker who was widely seen in 2020 as Lukashenko’s main electoral rival, and Maria Kolesnikova, a close ally of Tsikhanouskaya and charismatic leader of that year’s mass protests.
A surprise release and an emotional reunion
Tsikhanouski called his release “a dream that’s still hard to believe.” On Saturday, he said, guards removed him from a KGB pretrial detention center, put a black bag over his head, and handcuffed him before transporting him in a minibus. He and other prisoners had no idea where they were going.
“To be honest, I still can’t believe it. I was afraid I’d wake up and everything would still be the same. I don’t believe it, I still don’t believe it,” he said, pausing frequently and wiping away tears.
Tsikhanouski’s children — his daughter, aged 9, and 15-year-old son — didn’t recognize him when they were reunited.
“We came in and my wife said to my daughter, ‘Your dad has arrived,’” he said, crying. “At first she couldn’t understand, and then she rushed in — she was crying, I was crying ... for a very long time. My son too! These are emotions that cannot be described.”
Tsikhanouski, who says his health has deteriorated behind bars, plans to undergo a medical examination in Lithuania. He says cold and hunger were “the main causes of illness” that affected nearly all political prisoners in Belarus, who were subjected to “especially harsh conditions.”
“There were skin diseases, and everyone had kidney problems from the cold — and no one really understood what was happening,” Tsikhanouski said. “Blood came out of my mouth, from my nose. Sometimes I had convulsions — but it was all because of the cold, that terrible cold when you sit in those punishment cells.”
“There is no medical care in prison — none at all, just so you know …” he said.
Tsikhanouski said conditions slightly improved after the February 2024 death of Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny in a prison colony.
“When Alexei Navalny died, I thought, that’ll probably be me soon … And then something changed. It was clear that someone at the top said, ‘Make sure he doesn’t die here. We don’t need that problem.’ It got just a bit softer ... At some point, word came down: Tsikhanouski must be kept alive, not killed.”
Pointing the finger at Putin
Tsikhanouski blames Russian President Vladimir Putin for propping up Lukashenko, both during the 2020 protests and to this day.
Russia supports Belarus’s economy with loans and subsidized oil and gas. In return, Belarus has allowed Moscow to use its territory to launch troops and weapons into Ukraine, and hosts Russian forces and nuclear weapons.
Tsikhanouski expressed strong support for Ukraine, calling the Kremlin a common evil for both countries.
“If it weren’t for Putin, we would already be living in a different country. Putin recognized Lukashenko’s victory in the election, he called black white. That is, he refused to see the falsifications,” Tsikhanouski said. “They help each other. Because of Putin, this illegal government is still in Belarus.”
Some analysts have speculated that by releasing the charismatic and energetic Tsikhanouski, Belarusian authorities may be trying to sow division within the opposition. But Tsikhanouski insists he has no intention of challenging his wife’s role as the internationally recognized head of the Belarusian opposition, and he calls for unity.
“Under no circumstances do I plan to criticize any Belarusians, condemn or complain about anyone,” he said.
Tsikhanouski says he will not stop fighting and wants to return to active work as both a political figure and a blogger. But he is skeptical that Lukashenko, now 70, will step down voluntarily, despite his age.
“I don’t know anymore — will he go or won’t he?” Tsikhanouski said. “Many people say nothing will change until he dies. But I’m still counting on democratic forces winning.”

BATON ROUGE: Marine Corps veteran Adrian Clouatre doesn’t know how to tell his children where their mother went after US Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers detained her last month.
When his nearly 2-year-old son Noah asks for his mother before bed, Clouatre just tells him, “Mama will be back soon.” When his 3-month-old, breastfeeding daughter Lyn is hungry, he gives her a bottle of baby formula instead. He’s worried how his newborn will bond with her mother absent skin-to-skin contact.
His wife, Paola, is one of tens of thousands of people in custody and facing deportation as the Trump administration pushes for immigration officers to arrest 3,000 people a day.
Even as Marine Corps recruiters promote enlistment as protection for families lacking legal status, directives for strict immigrant enforcement have cast away practices of deference previously afforded to military families, immigration law experts say. The federal agency tasked with helping military family members gain legal status now refers them for deportation, government memos show.
To visit his wife, Adrian Clouatre has to make an eight-hour round trip from their home in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to a rural ICE detention center in Monroe. Clouatre, who qualifies as a service-disabled veteran, goes every chance he can get.
Paola Clouatre, a 25-year-old Mexican national whose mother brought her into the country illegally more than a decade ago, met Adrian Clouatre, 26, at a southern California nightclub during the final months of his five years of military service in 2022. Within a year, they had tattooed each other’s names on their arms.
After they married in 2024, Paola Clouatre sought a green card to legally live and work in the US Adrian Clouatre said he is “not a very political person” but believes his wife deserved to live legally in the US
“I’m all for ‘get the criminals out of the country,’ right?” he said. “But the people that are here working hard, especially the ones married to Americans — I mean, that’s always been a way to secure a green card.”
Detained at a green card meeting
The process to apply for Paola Clouatre’s green card went smoothly at first, but eventually she learned ICE had issued an order for her deportation in 2018 after her mother failed to appear at an immigration hearing.
Clouatre and her mother had been estranged for years — Clouatre cycled out of homeless shelters as a teenager — and up until a couple of months ago, Clouatre had “no idea” about her mother’s missed hearing or the deportation order, her husband said.
Adrian Clouatre recalled that a US Citizenship and Immigration Services staffer asked about the deportation order during a May 27 appointment as part of her green card application. After Paola Clouatre explained that she was trying to reopen her case, the staffer asked her and her husband to wait in the lobby for paperwork regarding a follow-up appointment, which her husband said he believed was a “ploy.”
Soon, officers arrived and handcuffed Paola Clouatre, who handed her wedding ring to her husband for safekeeping.
Adrian Clouatre, eyes welling with tears, said he and his wife had tried to “do the right thing” and that he felt ICE officers should have more discretion over arrests, though he understood they were trying to do their jobs.
“It’s just a hell of a way to treat a veteran,” said Carey Holliday, a former immigration judge who is now representing the couple. “You take their wives and send them back to Mexico?”
The Clouatres filed a motion for a California-based immigration judge to reopen the case on Paola’s deportation order and are waiting to hear back, Holliday said.
Less discretion for military families
Department of Homeland Security spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin said in an emailed statement that Paola Clouatre “is in the country illegally” and that the administration is “not going to ignore the rule of law.”
“Ignoring an Immigration Judge’s order to leave the US is a bad idea,” US Citizenship and Immigration Services said in a June 9 post on X which appeared to refer to Clouatre’s case. The agency added that the government “has a long memory and no tolerance for defiance when it comes to making America safe again.”
Prior to the Trump administration’s push to drive up deportations, USCIS provided much more discretion for veterans seeking legal status for a family member, said Holliday and Margaret Stock, a military immigration law expert.
In a Feb. 28 memo, the agency said it “will no longer exempt” from deportation people in groups that had received more grace in the past. This includes the families of military personnel or veterans, Stock said. As of June 12, the agency said it has referred upward of 26,000 cases to ICE for deportation.
USCIS still offers a program allowing family members of military personnel who illegally entered the US to remain in the country as they apply for a green card. But there no longer appears to be room for leeway, such as giving a veteran’s spouse like Paola Clouatre the opportunity to halt her active deportation order without facing arrest, Stock said.
But numerous Marine Corps recruiters have continued to post ads on social media, geared toward Latinos, promoting enlistment as a way to gain “protection from deportation” for family members.
“I think it’s bad for them to be advertising that people are going to get immigration benefits when it appears that the administration is no longer offering these immigration benefits,” Stock said. “It sends the wrong message to the recruits.”
Marine Corps spokesperson Master Sgt. Tyler Hlavac told The Associated Press that recruiters have now been informed they are “not the proper authority” to “imply that the Marine Corps can secure immigration relief for applicants or their families.”