The publication in 2024 of a book about the white-red-white flag — or, as it is often called, the BChB (from the Belarusian bel-chyrvona-bely) — is rather symbolic. Once again, numerous myths and layers of dirt are being thrown at it, just as has happened periodically throughout its existence.
As an introduction, it’s worth noting that the white-red-white flag was the official flag of the Republic of Belarus from 1991 to 1995, as was the coat of arms “Pahonia,” rendered in the same colors (since, according to the approved designs, the red of the flag was meant to match the red of the coat of arms). Moreover, to this day these symbols are not formally banned in Belarus. However, in present-day Belarus one can receive a very real prison sentence for displaying them — and even for something as accidental as a white-and-red color combination, whether it’s socks or an LG TV box left on a balcony.
The book “Bel-Chyrvona-Bely” (published in Belarusian) is arguably the first full-fledged scholarly study of the origins of both the flag and the coat of arms, as well as of the color combination itself, released in the form of a substantial volume. I wouldn’t call it popular science — it is genuinely a thoroughly researched work by an entire collective of authors (who, unfortunately or perhaps fortunately for themselves, remain unnamed in the book). It is rich with illustrations, and all conclusions are supported by an extensive array of references, as one would expect from serious academic research.
For that very reason, this is not a book for those expecting lively anecdotes. At the same time, the authors convincingly demonstrate that until recently there had been very few comprehensive studies in vexillology — the scholarly study of flags and banners — devoted specifically to the white-red-white flag. And that such research is essential if we want to better understand our own history and national identity. They also address, in considerable detail, many of the well-known myths that opponents of the flag and the coat of arms continue to repeat.
The book traces how different colors appeared and became established among the Slavic tribes following the adoption of Byzantine Christianity. White and red were far from the only colors used, including on the territory of present-day Belarus. Yellow (gold)blue (or light blue) were also present. The modern flag of Ukraine incorporates the latter two colors, while white and red were actively used both in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania and in the Kingdom of Poland. Later, Latvia adopted the same color combination for its own flag as well.
The authors then show how, over time, the colors and the imagery of the eagle (in Poland) and the mounted knight (originally a personification of the prince) gradually evolved from symbols of rulers into symbols of the people and the nation inhabiting those lands. At the same time, the cross on the shield of the knight-defender clearly pointed to Orthodoxy, distinguishing it from Polish traditions rooted in Catholicism, since it was precisely this form of cross that was associated with the Byzantine branch of Christianity.
As a symbol of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth — the union of the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania — the coat of arms was widely used during the uprisings against the Russian Empire in the 19th century. The rebels’ flags varied in design, but were almost always either white, red, or some combination of the two colors.
For a long time — essentially until the end of the 20th century — there were no solid studies explaining how the specific three-stripe version of the flag (white, red, white) emerged. Its creation was attributed to several different people, but in the book the authors argue quite convincingly, on the basis of documented facts, exactly when (1917) and by whom this variant was created: Klaudy Duzh-Dusheuski. Alongside the story of the flag’s creation, the authors provide detailed material about its designer: why and how he created the flag, what he did later, and how his difficult life ended (sadly, with a trajectory that is all too predictable once repression enters the picture).
It’s also worth noting that in its white-red-white form, the flag is indeed only a little over 100 years old — and the authors are not afraid to say so. Because what matters is not the age of the flag, but how it took shape and what it meant to Belarusians. Here they devote a great deal of attention to tracing how, starting with World War I, the three stripes — and then the flag itself — gradually became a symbol of Belarusians recognizing themselves as an independent nation. It was under this symbol that they tried to establish Belarus as an independent state, first in 1918, and later for many years in exile.
Modern opponents actively spread the claim that under this flag collaborators and Nazi auxiliaries allegedly carried out punitive operations, and therefore the flag is “fascist” and cannot represent a nation. Similar methods were used in the Soviet era to obscure the flag’s national history. To me, this line of argument seems unconvincing at the very least, if only because other nations are not expected to renounce their symbols because of comparable historical episodes. (Russia, for example, does not abandon its tricolor on the grounds that General Vlasov’s Russian Liberation Army fought for Nazi Germany under the same flag.) But good historians work with evidence rather than emotion.
The book brings together a wide range of archival materials showing, first, that there is no direct documentary evidence that punitive actions in Belarus were carried out under these particular symbols; and second, that from 1941 to 1944 the bureaucratic apparatus of the Third Reich conducted correspondence between Minsk, Riga, Kraków, and Berlin about national symbols for the Belarusian territories. After more than three years of deliberation, recognition and official use of Belarusian national symbols in any form were ultimately denied.
Wilhelm Kube, the Reichskommissar of Belarus during the occupation, personally allowed the white-red-white flag and the Pahonia emblem to be used during certain national commemorations — and was reprimanded by his superiors even for that. It is also worth noting that for three years the Germans considered not the Pahonia at all, but the cornflower as a possible symbol (which, incidentally, is today the official symbol of the Belarusian airline Belavia). Yet even the cornflower was rejected, as Hitler had designated it as a symbol of the Volksdeutsche. Taken together, this material makes a strong case that attempts to label these national symbols as inherently “fascist” do not hold up under close historical scrutiny.
After World War II, many Belarusians ended up in exile, and the book compiles evidence of how the white-red-white flag and the Pahonia emblem were used by émigrés in different countries — even in communities where people disagreed on politics, methods, and even on their attitudes toward Soviet power.
A separate section covers the late 1980s and the first years of the 1990s, when the Soviet flag was replaced by the national one. Even then there were debates about which symbols should represent an independent Belarus, and many historians pointed to the appropriateness of the white-red-white flag and the Pahonia emblem (though there were opponents as well). Moreover, after the 1995 referendum — and later, when attacks on the flag resumed — those same historians insisted that their view of the 1917 flag’s suitability had not changed.
In short, I’ve only briefly outlined the main focus of this very thoughtful scholarly work. Yes, it’s not bedtime reading for entertainment, but the book provides a solid foundation for understanding the historical roots of Belarus’s national flag — and why the generation of the late 20th century (I was fourteen in 1991) came to see it as the flag of independence, just as many young people had a century earlier. It also helps explain why in 2020 the flag once again became a symbol of resistance — not a banner of “enemies of the people,” but of those who consider themselves independent Belarusians.
I would recommend it to all Belarusians who want to learn real history rather than biased retellings. For non-Belarusians it may be a bit more challenging, as the book is available only in the Belarusian language.
My rating: 4/5
