OPINION:The grand-niece of a victim of the Katyn murders reflects how Poles have quickly become divided over how best to remember President Kaczynski, writes MAGDA JELONKIEWICZ
THE AIRCRAFT crash in Smolensk shook Poland’s foundations. We had not only lost our president and his wife but also our military commanders, MPs, the governor of the central bank and many prominent public figures. On hearing the news, I thought it just couldn’t be true. “Why is it happening to us? Are we cursed as a nation?” I wondered.
And there it was. I had fallen a victim to the stereotypical perception of Poland. Our history’s pages are written with heroic deaths. As children, we were taught that Poland’s suffering would help to redeem the sins of the evil world.
The idea of being a victim cemented us as a nation. However, I think it is dangerous to fall into the trap of old-fashioned thinking and view the crash in terms of yet another sacrifice.
The young generation of Poles do not want to wallow in suffering any more. They do not want to speak of fate, of God’s will and a curse of the Katyn Forest.
It is a tragic coincidence that President Lech Kaczynski died in an air crash on April 10th on his way to honour the 22,000 officers murdered by Stalin’s secret police in 1940. But let’s focus on the future, not the past – this is the common plea of my generation.
Having spent seven years in Ireland, I learned that not only tragic events can unite a nation. I will risk a blasphemous statement: if I were to choose between keeping an overnight vigil at the Unknown Soldier Monument in Warsaw or at Mac Turcaill’s Pub in Dublin on St Patrick’s Day’s, I would opt for the latter.
Yes, I know modern democracies do not benefit from citizens who reminisce endlessly on the past or who are drunk all the time.
This is the first time in my life that I am participating, with some bewilderment, in national mourning in Poland.
On the surface, the sense of community is deeply moving. National flags with black ribbons are fluttering in the wind from private homes, offices and public buses. People are considerate to each other. When I was queuing to light a candle at the presidential palace, I was pleasantly surprised there was no usual elbowing and pushing around.
Agnieszka Wlodarczyk (48) was cycling in Warsaw the day after the crash. Everybody was focused and quiet. At noon, Poles paid a silent tribute to the tragically deceased. “As far as I could see,” she told me, “cars pulled over, people got out and stood in silence for two minutes. It was a very special moment.”
Polish media is reflecting the national mood. Monika Olejnik, one of the toughest of our political journalists, fought her tears back when interviewing Jerzy Buzek, the president of the European Parliament. It is confusing to watch public figures speak warmly about their political opponents.
“Sometimes I am under the impression that they are talking about two different people – the living president and the dead president,” reflects Marcin Polewski (32).
Switch to the internet and then you’ll get an entirely different picture. Poland is divided. Facebook has become a battleground between groups like: “I am deeply saddened by the death of Mr President”, which, at the time of writing this yesterday, has 3,982 members, and “I am irritated when somebody expresses their mourning on the internet”, which has 6,108 members.
Monika Czyz (31), notes that Poles get united on a very shallow level.
“In no time, the national mourning will be gone and maybe some will be ashamed of their hypocrisy. Now, they are calling the late president the Small Knight, while not so long ago he was mocked and everybody couldn’t wait for the elections!”
Others argue that no matter what we may think of our head of state, he is owed respect because of the position that he holds.
Agnieszka Wlodkowska (48) says: “Kaczynski’s opinions may have irritated me but you cannot doubt that he was a great patriot and had very good intentions. His term was based on our famous Polish slogan, God, Honour, Nation.”
Krystian Szrama (33) considers himself a proud Pole, but as he puts it: “I am not a sheep following the flock.” He fell out with his girlfriend because he refused to join in national mourning. “I admit it was a tragic event in the history of Poland but to be honest, I was more moved when the Togo footballers died in a terrorist attack in Cabina on their way to the Africa Cup of Nations.”
Upon hearing similar statements, Anna Komasa (31), reflects: “What really upsets me is that total lack of responsibility for the country in which we live and benefit from. I cannot understand the modern couldn’t-care- less attitude to one’s country.”
The Smolensk tragedy has stirred some heated discussions. “Today I feel like a Pole” was posted on Facebook on the day of the accident. A comment followed: “Really? I feel sorry for you. I have felt Polish my whole life.”
Poles are typically interested in trivialities such as “who is a better patriot?” or “how can you tell a true mourner from a fake one?”
Suspicion, finger-pointing and criticism run deep in the Polish soul. If we cannot unite through such a tragedy, can we ever?
My great uncle lost his life in Katyn. Our family never really spoke about it at home. When I asked my mother why, she answered, somewhat irritated: “Because it was a tragedy beyond words.” She preferred to honour him quietly, solemnly, in her own way.
Young Poles reject the old school of patriotism as redundant and ill-suited to modern society. They do not present an alternative, though.
If we have erased our battles, heroic deaths, regimes and uprisings from our national memory – what are we left with?
Magda Jelonkiewicz is a freelance journalist and interpreter in Warsaw. After graduating from college, she lived in Ireland from 2001 to 2008, working in marketing for The Irish Timesand Metro Éireann