Revolutionary
Revolutions and uprisings are part of the Polish character. At every revolution and uprising in the last 500 years there has always been a small group of Polish people standing at the front shouting: “We agree with whatever this revolution is about. Now let’s fight!” Poles seem to be fundamentally dissatisfied with the way the world is, and determined to go anywhere to do something about it — especially if this means they can charge around on horses and shout slogans.
Hosni Mubarak was very lucky that the thousands of Polish people taking their winter holidays in Egypt didn’t join the uprising against him. It wouldn’t have surprised me if I’d seen uncle Romek and aunt Alicia charging the presidential palace in their swimming costumes wielding beach umbrellas. I can see him beaming into a television-news camera shouting: “Best holiday ever!” As it was, most Poles stayed calmly on the beach reading Ken Follet novels. Perhaps there weren’t enough cavalry charges to get them really interested.
Of course, the very best uprisings are the ones that happen at home. Poles have certainly had plenty of practice over the past three centuries. There were so many uprisings that revolutionaries had used up all the good names by the end of the 19th century and had to start calling them things like The Tuesday-Afternoon-Just-After-Obiad Uprising.
The one defining characteristic of Polish uprisings over the centuries has been that they didn’t work — unlike the revolutions Poles took part in abroad. The one that did work, in 1989, ruined the game forever. Now there is no reason to have an uprising, the national instinct to build barricades and charge hopelessly into volleys of rifle fire is unsatiated. When I read Polish history I sometimes wonder if Polish rebels of the past were careful not to try too hard in case they actually won and spoiled the chances of having another one a week later.
The great thing about uprisings, especially unsuccessful ones, is that they create lots of martyrs and heroes. There is nothing more disappointing than a revolutionary hero who lives through the revolution to becomes old and embarrasing. Perhaps it is not a coincidence that, now we live in an age when no more revolutionary heroes are expected, the unofficial national pantheon in Krakow has announced that it is full. The fact that Poland is planning to build a new pantheon might be a sign of extraordinary national optimism, or of equally great national pessimism.
Of the 13 people entombed at Skałka, a good portion of them are described as “freedom fighter.” The last man buried there, and they are all men, was Nobel Laureate Czesław Miłosz, who wasn’t a freedom fighter. His elevation to the crypt of national heroes was controversial in some sections of society. If Poles are capable of complaining about Miłosz, an internationally recognised cultural icon, how are they possibly going to agree on who to put in the new pantheon? Is there anybody alive at the moment who most Poles would agree should be buried in a future pantheon? The only solution is to find something else to have an uprising about. I suggest the evil domination of Ikea.
Jamie Stokes