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A Temporary ThawBelarus' president reaches out to the West, but can we trust him?

By Ilan GreenbergPosted Wednesday, Oct. 1, 2008, at 7:11 AM ET

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So is this week's election an opportunity for the West to entice Belarus from some of its roguish behavior, perhaps loosening Russia's grip on one of its most steadfast allies?

Most Belarus-watchers say no. Lukashenko's feelers to the West are probably a means to seek leverage in his relationship with Russia, which has doubled the price it charges Belarus for natural gas and with which his relationship is generally more troubled than is frequently understood.

Ties with Russia have been more difficult this year than in the past, surmises Alex Brideau, an Eastern Europe analyst in the Tokyo office of Eurasia Group. Brideau points out that even though Belarus—and Lukashenko in particular—are highly dependent on the Russian government for support, there have been tensions for years, particularly in Lukashenko's relationships with senior Russian leaders. "The leadership in Minsk likely still sees Moscow as its main supporter over the long term, but the problems in the relationship this year may have led Lukashenko to try to send a message to President Medvedev and Prime Minister Putin that they need to pay attention to him," said Brideau.

"Lukashenko's move to free opposition politicians from prison suggests he is willing to ease tensions with Washington and Brussels, and the U.S. government's lifting of some sanctions suggest it is willing to acknowledge the steps he has taken," said Brideau. "The thaw may not go much farther than it already has, however, as the two sides are very far apart. I think it likely that the U.S. and Europe will be very cautious about overtures from Lukashenko, out of concern that he could at some point change course again."

In any case, it will take more than a mild warming of relations with the West to alter the enduring Soviet hangover that pervades daily life in Belarus. After a week in Minsk, I went to Vitsebsk, a hilly, forested, largely preserved city in the far northwest near Latvia remembered (when it is remembered) for sheltering Marc Chagall until early adulthood. Chagall opened an art school in Vitsebsk in 1919, and the town continues to claim the arts as a civic birthright.

In Vitsebsk, at last, Belarus steps away from its Soviet Forever fantasy and yields to its long Eastern European history. Cafes fill with art students. Couples stroll through well-tended parks, past men on benches concentrating on games of chess. The ballet and three theaters are booked solid for the night.

But to the eastern shore of the deep canyon sculpted by the Vitsba River, a carapace of crooked streets wind through neighborhoods of ancient, faltering little homes with sad metal roofs. Warmed by coal stoves responsible for the blackened trees, the houses huddle against tiny stores and small gardens; only a museum occupying Chagall's childhood house gives notice that this honeycomb of Eastern European outlier life was once a Jewish shtetl and is now home to Belorussians who appear no more moneyed, forced by a warped politics to inhabit a world just as small as a century before—and perhaps smaller.