Living history: past, present and future
His name is Baltazar Łuba. He is 75 years old, and for the last nine years has been my father-in-law. Much more than this, he is a living example of Poland's recent history and a link back to the Second Republic, and further.
Through weather-beaten features, he talks about his childhood in a village not far from Warsaw, which used to be in the Russian sector under partition, recalling his father's complaints that the then government and civil service only looked after their own. His strongest memory of 1938 is the constant stream of beggars knocking on doors asking for money; among them, his father suspected, Germans surreptitiously making plans and notes to be used in planning the invasion.
His brow furrows a little when he discusses the war, becoming more animated as he relates particular vignettes that are not to be found in any history book. These include events like his father being forced to work on the Warsaw/Białystok road being built by the Nazis (but getting paid two zlotys a day); or that in the early days of the occupation, if Jews suspected they'd been robbed by Poles or Russians, it was the German police that investigated the crime.
He can also relate darker stories: hearing the machine guns in distant villages, and, with a teenager's curiosity, seeking and finding the freshly-filled mass graves. Pan Baltazar was himself imprisoned towards the end of the war, then forced to dig trenches for days for the retreating Germans. Afterwards, he slept in fields to avoid being abducted by the Soviet NKVD.
His mood lightens when we move on from the war. He recalls vividly the ubiquitous Russian propaganda, and his thick-set shoulders can still heave with laughter when he talks about how, in the early 1950s, Russian builders were fired from the construction of the Palace of Culture and replaced by Polish firms that put the work right. His gruff voice describes in detail the mixture of sand, lime and crushed glass they used to create the marble effect on the floors, which remains today.
In the 60s and 70s, Pan Baltazar built his own house. At that time, this was no mean feat, and he tells of the numerous visits to the local Gmina to order materials. When told that, for example, he was number 102 on the list for cement (meaning a wait of several months), it is no surprise that his home took many years to complete.
Through all this, and a life constantly underpinned by poverty, you might expect to find a trace of anger, resentment or even hatred.
Pan Baltazar's lined face and wisps of graying hair may betray a certain struggle, but his eyes reveal so much more. Stoicism is the overwhelming feeling; of a man to whom fate dealt not an easy hand, but who nevertheless more than coped with the challenges. Within the aged face his eyes can still sparkle with youth and good humor. When I ask myself if I could achieve as much with the same beginnings and still retain such an outlook, the doubts are many.
Now, however, Pan Baltazar finds his country embarking on a new adventure, and he sums up Poland's accession to the EU with a typically wonderful simplicity that hits the nail right on the head. Ask him if he thinks it's the right thing to do and he replies, "Well, at least for once we are joining rich countries, not poor ones."
It is a fool indeed who has no regard or respect for different cultures. Peoples, with their customs and traditions, have survived the generations for very good reasons, and, as the Americans are finding to their cost in Iraq, to dismiss tradition or trait simply because it is different is foolishness incarnate. Pan Baltazar has taught this foreigner the value and strength of Polish tradition and culture. Patriotism plays its part well here; but it is ironic that it does not cut across all spheres of society. Even today, 15 years after its collapse, Poles are still wont to blame numerous shortcomings on the communist tenet of 'power without responsibility,' instead of breaking the bonds and powerfully restating their own identity. From the most far-flung Gmina to the highest levels of government, and from the local food shop to the plush offices of international firms, individuals will show spite, pettiness and vicious bloody-mindedness to no one's benefit. Yet, come Wigilia and Wielkanoc, these same people will show a generosity of spirit and kindness of heart unmatched anywhere in Europe.
To such ironies, Pan Baltazar can only shrug his shoulders, preferring instead the pleasure his grandchildren give him in his autumn years. As it has been for the whole of his life, for us too the future remains a blank page, invisible ink slowly becoming legible second by second.
In this age of transition, it helps to take a broader view. Picture the following scene: Many centuries from now, a history student is studying diligently. She sits in a library turning the pages of a heavy volume. Presently, she comes across the following sentence: "After the fall of communism, Poland immediately took its place among the leading European nations."
Such words would not begin to describe the upheaval and dislocation through which Poles are now going. They would not touch on the enormous contradictions we can see around us everyday; the wealthy elite in their luxurious cars and houses, seemingly oblivious to the knowledge that even now there are still villages in the countryside that rely on the charity of the Red Cross to stop children from starving to death. Nor would they reflect the anxiety that organized Polish criminals are selling explosives to Islamic terrorists, presumably without regard to the suffering that may be inflicted.
Nevertheless, with every step of the Third Republic's tentative way, it becomes more and more likely that the last 15 years will be summarized for future generations in such a brief and empty sentence.
For myself, it is enough to take a drink of vodka with, and greatly admire, a very grand old man. And one of Poland's true survivors.
Through weather-beaten features, he talks about his childhood in a village not far from Warsaw, which used to be in the Russian sector under partition, recalling his father's complaints that the then government and civil service only looked after their own. His strongest memory of 1938 is the constant stream of beggars knocking on doors asking for money; among them, his father suspected, Germans surreptitiously making plans and notes to be used in planning the invasion.
His brow furrows a little when he discusses the war, becoming more animated as he relates particular vignettes that are not to be found in any history book. These include events like his father being forced to work on the Warsaw/Białystok road being built by the Nazis (but getting paid two zlotys a day); or that in the early days of the occupation, if Jews suspected they'd been robbed by Poles or Russians, it was the German police that investigated the crime.
He can also relate darker stories: hearing the machine guns in distant villages, and, with a teenager's curiosity, seeking and finding the freshly-filled mass graves. Pan Baltazar was himself imprisoned towards the end of the war, then forced to dig trenches for days for the retreating Germans. Afterwards, he slept in fields to avoid being abducted by the Soviet NKVD.
His mood lightens when we move on from the war. He recalls vividly the ubiquitous Russian propaganda, and his thick-set shoulders can still heave with laughter when he talks about how, in the early 1950s, Russian builders were fired from the construction of the Palace of Culture and replaced by Polish firms that put the work right. His gruff voice describes in detail the mixture of sand, lime and crushed glass they used to create the marble effect on the floors, which remains today.
In the 60s and 70s, Pan Baltazar built his own house. At that time, this was no mean feat, and he tells of the numerous visits to the local Gmina to order materials. When told that, for example, he was number 102 on the list for cement (meaning a wait of several months), it is no surprise that his home took many years to complete.
Through all this, and a life constantly underpinned by poverty, you might expect to find a trace of anger, resentment or even hatred.
Pan Baltazar's lined face and wisps of graying hair may betray a certain struggle, but his eyes reveal so much more. Stoicism is the overwhelming feeling; of a man to whom fate dealt not an easy hand, but who nevertheless more than coped with the challenges. Within the aged face his eyes can still sparkle with youth and good humor. When I ask myself if I could achieve as much with the same beginnings and still retain such an outlook, the doubts are many.
Now, however, Pan Baltazar finds his country embarking on a new adventure, and he sums up Poland's accession to the EU with a typically wonderful simplicity that hits the nail right on the head. Ask him if he thinks it's the right thing to do and he replies, "Well, at least for once we are joining rich countries, not poor ones."
It is a fool indeed who has no regard or respect for different cultures. Peoples, with their customs and traditions, have survived the generations for very good reasons, and, as the Americans are finding to their cost in Iraq, to dismiss tradition or trait simply because it is different is foolishness incarnate. Pan Baltazar has taught this foreigner the value and strength of Polish tradition and culture. Patriotism plays its part well here; but it is ironic that it does not cut across all spheres of society. Even today, 15 years after its collapse, Poles are still wont to blame numerous shortcomings on the communist tenet of 'power without responsibility,' instead of breaking the bonds and powerfully restating their own identity. From the most far-flung Gmina to the highest levels of government, and from the local food shop to the plush offices of international firms, individuals will show spite, pettiness and vicious bloody-mindedness to no one's benefit. Yet, come Wigilia and Wielkanoc, these same people will show a generosity of spirit and kindness of heart unmatched anywhere in Europe.
To such ironies, Pan Baltazar can only shrug his shoulders, preferring instead the pleasure his grandchildren give him in his autumn years. As it has been for the whole of his life, for us too the future remains a blank page, invisible ink slowly becoming legible second by second.
In this age of transition, it helps to take a broader view. Picture the following scene: Many centuries from now, a history student is studying diligently. She sits in a library turning the pages of a heavy volume. Presently, she comes across the following sentence: "After the fall of communism, Poland immediately took its place among the leading European nations."
Such words would not begin to describe the upheaval and dislocation through which Poles are now going. They would not touch on the enormous contradictions we can see around us everyday; the wealthy elite in their luxurious cars and houses, seemingly oblivious to the knowledge that even now there are still villages in the countryside that rely on the charity of the Red Cross to stop children from starving to death. Nor would they reflect the anxiety that organized Polish criminals are selling explosives to Islamic terrorists, presumably without regard to the suffering that may be inflicted.
Nevertheless, with every step of the Third Republic's tentative way, it becomes more and more likely that the last 15 years will be summarized for future generations in such a brief and empty sentence.
For myself, it is enough to take a drink of vodka with, and greatly admire, a very grand old man. And one of Poland's true survivors.
