When I started reading Voskresensky’s Gambit, my wife looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Like, do I really have nothing better to do with my time than read something like this. Because it was obvious that this creation has no documentary value whatsoever.
First, a few words about the author of this “book.” Yuri Voskresensky has been in politics for a long time: he served as a district council member in Minsk’s Pervomaisky District, he was involved in business (there are plenty of questions there too, but that’s not the point), and later he joined Viktor Babariko’s campaign team—until Babariko was arrested on fabricated charges in 2020 and thus removed from the presidential race in the Republic of Belarus.
Yuri Voskresensky himself was arrested as well; he spent some time in the “Amerikanka,” the Belarusian KGB detention facility, and then changed his views and set about building a supposedly democratic and positive opposition under the name “Round Table of Democratic Forces.” He also actively helped (by his own claim) secure the release of several political prisoners (who, in the view of the official Belarusian authorities, are not political prisoners). And the charges against Voskresensky himself were never fully dropped and still haven’t been to this day—which, however, doesn’t stop him from engaging in politics and publishing books that receive glowing reviews in the very first days after publication.
It so happens that I’ve known Yuri and his activities for much longer than since 2020, when his name suddenly became known to many Belarusians. So I had no illusions about his book from the start. Still, I wanted to hear what the other side of the Belarusian conflict has to say—the side that seems to present itself as smart and educated, rather than what we see now from the so-called Belarusian media.
I could describe the book in two words and not ramble on, but I still want to show what exactly the author presents, and how. A quick note: Yuri and I are the same age—he’s about a month younger than me—so we watched the final years of the USSR, its collapse, and the abrupt change in the way of life almost simultaneously, from the perspective of the same age, and even while living in the very same district of Minsk.
And Yuri begins his story precisely with an account of how he ended up where he is. How he watched the USSR collapse, and what led to it (from Yuri’s perspective as someone who is already a politician). At the same time, in his assessment of events he lays things out quite one-sidedly, blaming Gorbachev for the breakup of the country, while sort of forgetting that it wasn’t Gorbachev who spent seventy years building the country’s development strategy and economy. Talking about Kebich’s loss in the 1994 presidential election, he writes: “By the way, Vyacheslav Frantsevich lost with dignity. He didn’t use any dirty methods of political struggle—neither before nor after, nor during his political peak.” And that is, how should I put it, not exactly true. Because it was precisely because Kebich started dirty intrigues against Stanislav Shushkevich that their combined forces ended up divided—which played right into Alexander Lukashenko’s hands. Would Kebich have won without those intrigues? That’s unknown now. But that he was “pure as the driven snow”—that’s not true.
I bring this up to show how, later on, Yuri constantly uses the truth—but not all of it. In every event he ends up involved in, he tries to present himself as a noble hero, while nobody around him appreciates it. He casually takes swipes at practically all his former bosses and comrades, marveling at why they don’t want to deal with him afterward. And really—why ever would they?
And while putting this own nobility on display, the author for some reason writes an enormous chapter about his remarkable great-grandfather, who after the Revolution became “the general director of several Russian ballet troupes in France, the largest promoter of Russian art abroad.”
The story is interesting in itself, but none of it has anything to do with the author. A wonderful great-grandfather—so what? What does Yuri have to do with it, and what do the events in Belarus have to do with it? He isn’t writing a family history. Once again, it’s there to show off his own nobility. So why were you, the descendant of a White colonel who fought the Reds and fled to France, such a fervent communist? Didn’t your great-grandfather spin in his grave?
What’s even more interesting is something else. Yuri begins this chapter by saying that there were no traitors in his family. But abandoning your wife and son in Tiflis and taking off for Paris forever—that’s a truly noble act. Not betrayal, no. A role model.
Honestly, while reading this book I made more notes than I ever have for any other book in my life. I wanted to argue with the author on almost every page; I slept badly; I worried about the vile things he writes and how casually he slanders everyone in sight—including a huge part of the Belarusian people, for whose sake he supposedly went into politics in the first place. But at some point I realized that all my complaints were repeating themselves, and the author, too, was trying to say the same thing over and over again, just in different words.
After the story about his noble origins, Yuri Voskresensky starts describing in detail the events of 2020 and what he and his team did afterward. Naturally, from the only “correct” point of view—meaning the state’s (not even his own).
As I said, I could quote almost the entire book and add just as many comments of my own. But there’s no point. Because pretty much all my thoughts fit into just a few paragraphs of my personal, evaluative opinion.
The whole book is propaganda in its worst form. Compared to this, the notorious Azaryonok and all of Belarusian state media are practically taking the day off. Because Voskresensky is trying to pass himself off as intelligent, to build some kind of logic. And yet for everything he wrote in this book—about former colleagues, about the opposition, even about neighboring countries—I can’t find any other words for it except “scum” and “asshole.”
The kind of scum you don’t just not want to shake hands with—you wouldn’t even spit on him, because it would be beneath your dignity, you wouldn’t want to soil your spit on him.
He constantly criticizes the entire opposition (in a really nasty, vile way) for having no political experience, and praises himself for having it. But when all is said and done, aside from self-glorification he doesn’t provide a single solid fact about what he, as an “experienced politician,” has actually done for people. Not for his PR or his pocket—for people. Anyone can run their mouth.
The authorities’ favorite tactic is to smear their opponents as much as possible and cover them in shit. Voskresensky is in a league of his own here. He’s constantly dumping filth on his political opponents’ heads, fully aware that they can’t respond to him—either because they’re in prison right now, or because one reply to him could land them there. And he can’t talk about his opponents openly: in every description there has to be some nasty dirt. Even when he’s given a chance to speak, he plays at being “politely correct,” but doesn’t answer a single question that’s put to him (I watched a few of his videos).
At the same time, Voskresensky’s Facebook is still accessible. True, the last post is from August 2020, before his arrest. And everything written there is the complete opposite of what he says in the book. There he’s singing the praises of the new candidates and the brave women who rallied together after the candidates were arrested. And in the book he trashes those same people in the harshest terms. He did a complete about-face. Which means his new words aren’t worth a damn if he can abandon his old ones that easily.
On top of that, it’s worth emphasizing that his goal is to discredit the opposition as much as possible—to drive a wedge between them and society. And in parallel, to present himself as noble and honest, the only one who stayed and is “helping Belarusians.” But only those who support the current authorities; everyone else are “the wrong Belarusians,” who went to rallies for money from their Western handlers and Ukrainian Nazis. Voskresensky keeps hammering the point that the opposition abandoned everyone and betrayed them. Whereas the current authorities—and Alexander Lukashenko personally—are the best thing that ever happened to Belarus. Yes, Yuri was mistaken up until 2020, but the days he spent in the KGB detention facility helped him understand just how wrong he’d been. And now he sees the true path. He practically tells everyone outright that they should spend some time in KGB custody, so they can get smarter and appreciate the blessings of the current regime. Apparently that’s exactly why, these days, in Belarus people get jailed by the dozen every day for any reason at all—so they’ll become smarter, cleaner, and more respectable. Following Voskresensky’s example.
In the second half of the book he’s simply retelling the authorities’ narrative, seasoning it as heavily as possible with his own “noble deeds” (I can’t call them anything else), constantly insulting everyone around him and then acting surprised that people don’t love him, such a noble man.
Hypocritical, vile, and cowardly. Maximum flattery toward the current authorities, maximum effort to smear all opponents in the nastiest way possible—while still pretending to be an intelligent, noble person.
Treating this creation as a real reflection of the situation in Belarus is about as sensible as forming an opinion about Belarusians based on Nazi leaflets from World War II.
Strongly not recommended. I already read it for you—don’t put yourself through it for no reason.
My rating: 0.000…0001 / 5
