ELECTION morning in Minsk on Sunday hardly held the thrills of the American election season, or the attention from media and public that upcoming votes in Georgia or Ukraine may command. As expected, it was far from a shining display of democracy. Independent observers condemned the process as unfree and the count as widely fraudulent. Two opposition parties boycotted the vote. Others were unable to stand as candidates, as they are political prisoners or prevented from registering by a criminal record as such. The result of the vote, filling parliament with those loyal to President Alyaksandr Lukashenka's autocratic rule, was a surprise to no-one. Various junctions in the Belarusian capital on the day featured entertainment pavilions emblazoned with the name of that electoral district, with singers--unpaid and all but obliged to attend, one claimed--performing to draw out crowds in the rain. Cheap food and alcohol was a feature near some of them. The unspoken purpose was to achieve the minimum turnout of 50% that is harder to falsify than the vote itself. Most residents were unimpressed. "There's no point in voting," said one, "we can't change anything." This familiar story does not mean that Belarusians have given up hope to fix the problems that plague them including corruption, alcoholism, low wages, soaring inflation and constrictive visas. Opposition politicians are known if they are not free. Mr Lukashenka is mocked behind closed doors. And organisations both above and underground engage with politics and culture. One of the most prominent of these abroad is the Free Theatre, whose plays and events in exile or in unpublicised venues within Belarus address what can't be expressed openly, often directly attacking the repressive regime. A recent performance in the suburbs of Minsk, a contemporary dance routine with clear resistance symbolism (pictured above), took place in a private home with the wall between two rooms knocked through to create space for an audience of just 18. One spectator praised the Free Theatre for its bravery but complained that "less than 1%" know about it inside Belarus.

Cultural expression, often with an implicit anti-regime subtext, is not only found in hiding. At Minsk's Gallery ў and its adjoining bar and bookshop, there are performances, plays and book readings that promote Belarusian culture and language as distinct to Russian. That is also the mission of budzma.org, a website that supports Belarusian bands, artists and writers. Many such artists struggle after being banned by the authorities. Krambambula, a blacklisted band, was prevented from playing its last public gig after the Belarusian KGB visited the organisers.

Concert-goers who went to see Placebo play in Minsk on Saturday, the eve of the elections, were also reminded that they are not forgotten abroad. An hour into the gig, the light system flashed "Democracy – Farce" in red and white, the colours of the unofficial Belarusian flag used as a symbol of opposition. The gesture was met by a cheer of recognition from the crowd. If the riot police who were providing security for the concert also noticed, don't look for Placebo's next visit to Belarus.

A regrettable sentiment among many Belarusians is that they have been abandoned, not only by their state but also by the international community. Yaraslau Kryvoi, editor of the English language news and commentary website Belarus Digest, said "People think it's impossible to do anything for Belarus, that it's like North Korea. But there is plenty that can be done." Or as web developer Gleb Kanunnikau put it, "The only thing connecting Europe and Belarus now are acts of individuals."