How the people of Poland are kept from taking to the streets

While Poland loves to boast about westerners coming to earn money, it is less open about those from the eastern part of the continent. Propaganda serves to justify almost anything.

Anyone who wants to learn about the current economic situation in Poland will encounter curiously contradictory accounts. In the Polish mainstream media, only one image emerges: Poland has growth, has avoided the financial crisis and is up to its ears with new investment, of which the tacky skyscrapers rising up in Warsaw are proof.

Take a closer look – the investment was mostly in roads and stadiums for the Euro 2012 football championship which are now mostly unused and loss-making, while schools, libraries and school canteens are being closed. Health care is free only in theory – if you can’t pay the monthly insurance or are on benefits, it is restricted or has to be paid for. Donald Tusk and his neoliberal party, Civic Platform, have raised the pension age from 65 to 67 and recently, “to fight the crisis”, abolished the eight-hour working day. Last but not least, if it was a prospering country would two million of its people be economic emigrants?

It is true that so far Poland has introduced few overt austerity measures, benefiting from a strong industrial base closely connected to Germany, EU investment and less “financialisation” than, say, the Baltic states. However, if Poland were a land of milk and honey, the migrants would be returning after raising some money. They aren’t. So, instead, the Polish press runs frequent articles bemoaning how Spaniards, Portuguese and other citizens of crisis-ridden European countries are coming to the country to get a job – although the numbers are tiny compared to the volume of those emigrating.

While Poland loves to boast about westerners coming to earn money, it is less open about those from the eastern part of the continent: Roma, Chechens and Ukrainians are treated as second-class citizens. In Białystok, in north-eastern Poland, violent attacks on Roma camps and houses are common. A recent court case ruled that the swastika, written on the city walls and worn by neo-fascists, is legal because “it’s a famous Asian symbol of happiness”.

If the right has radicalised since the Smolensk plane crash, which killed 93 officials, including the president and many MPs, then the left is in a state of decrepitude. A “tenants’ movement” fights the evictions that blight the country and there was a very small Occupy movement. At a recent “congress of the left”, there was talk of “learning from the right” and an “alliance with the middle classes”. Yet the only large party of the left, the Democratic Left Alliance, formed by the ex-communist nomenklatura and the governing party in the 1990s and early 2000s, was reduced to 8.24 per cent of the vote in the last election. Even the recent self-immolation of a 56-year-old man in front of the prime minister’s office in protest against his and many others’ impoverishment didn’t especially shake the public. Nor did his subsequent death.

What has? When public transport fares in Warsaw went up by 60 per cent, there were protests and a petition demanding the resignation of the city’s Civic Platform mayor, Hanna Gronkiewicz-Waltz. But Poland is not yet taking a cue from the Brazilian protests – which, with their focus on hikes in transport fares and the costs of hosting the World Cup, resemble the problems Poland had after Euro 2012.

Here in Poland, propaganda serves to justify almost anything Civic Platform does – especially as we are ritually menaced with the possible comeback of the Law and Justice party. Split between neoliberals and rightwing populists, the people of Poland are successfully kept from taking to the streets.

The Warsaw skyline. Photograph: Getty Images

Agata Pyzik is a Polish writer publishing in Polish and English in many publications in the UK and in Poland, including the Guardian, Frieze and The Wire. Her main interest is (post) communist Eastern Europe, its history, society, art. She's finishing a book on postcommunism called Poor But Sexy for Zero Books. She lives in London and has a blog.

This article first appeared in the 08 July 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The world takes sides

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Cabinet audit: what does the appointment of Andrea Leadsom as Environment Secretary mean for policy?

The political and policy-based implications of the new Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs.

A little over a week into Andrea Leadsom’s new role as Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (Defra), and senior industry figures are already questioning her credentials. A growing list of campaigners have called for her resignation, and even the Cabinet Office implied that her department's responsibilities will be downgraded.

So far, so bad.

The appointment would appear to be something of a consolation prize, coming just days after Leadsom pulled out of the Conservative leadership race and allowed Theresa May to enter No 10 unopposed.

Yet while Leadsom may have been able to twist the truth on her CV in the City, no amount of tampering will improve the agriculture-related side to her record: one barely exists. In fact, recent statements made on the subject have only added to her reputation for vacuous opinion: “It would make so much more sense if those with the big fields do the sheep, and those with the hill farms do the butterflies,” she told an audience assembled for a referendum debate. No matter the livelihoods of thousands of the UK’s hilltop sheep farmers, then? No need for butterflies outside of national parks?

Normally such a lack of experience is unsurprising. The department has gained a reputation as something of a ministerial backwater; a useful place to send problematic colleagues for some sobering time-out.

But these are not normal times.

As Brexit negotiations unfold, Defra will be central to establishing new, domestic policies for UK food and farming; sectors worth around £108bn to the economy and responsible for employing one in eight of the population.

In this context, Leadsom’s appointment seems, at best, a misguided attempt to make the architects of Brexit either live up to their promises or be seen to fail in the attempt.

At worst, May might actually think she is a good fit for the job. Leadsom’s one, water-tight credential – her commitment to opposing restraints on industry – certainly has its upsides for a Prime Minister in need of an alternative to the EU’s Common Agricultural Policy (CAP); a policy responsible for around 40 per cent the entire EU budget.

Why not leave such a daunting task in the hands of someone with an instinct for “abolishing” subsidies  thus freeing up money to spend elsewhere?

As with most things to do with the EU, CAP has some major cons and some equally compelling pros. Take the fact that 80 per cent of CAP aid is paid out to the richest 25 per cent of farmers (most of whom are either landed gentry or vast, industrialised, mega-farmers). But then offset this against the provision of vital lifelines for some of the UK’s most conscientious, local and insecure of food producers.

The NFU told the New Statesman that there are many issues in need of urgent attention; from an improved Basic Payment Scheme, to guarantees for agri-environment funding, and a commitment to the 25-year TB eradication strategy. But that they also hope, above all, “that Mrs Leadsom will champion British food and farming. Our industry has a great story to tell”.

The construction of a new domestic agricultural policy is a once-in-a-generation opportunity for Britain to truly decide where its priorities for food and environment lie, as well as to which kind of farmers (as well as which countries) it wants to delegate their delivery.

In the context of so much uncertainty and such great opportunity, Leadsom has a tough job ahead of her. And no amount of “speaking as a mother” will change that.

India Bourke is the New Statesman's editorial assistant.