A Croatian who moved to Warsaw from Croatia two and a half years ago recalls the moment of surprise when the realization hit that Lech Kaczyński still does not have a street named after him in Poland’s capital. The author had already formed an opinion about the Civic Platform, aware of its political stance, yet the level of perceived arrogance still managed to astonish. The memory of the late president, a statesman who died in service, a veteran of the anti-communist movement, and a former mayor who oversaw numerous significant projects, is not honored with a Warsaw street by two Civic Platform presidents. Political self-interest and personal considerations end up overshadowing a sense of national memory and its symbols.
Even for a Croatian, this stance is hard to grasp. The Croat nation, familiar with sharp political divisions, shares a similar experience with Poland and other Central European countries grappling with the legacy of communism. A vivid example comes from Croatia’s capital. Franjo Tuđman, the first president, always faced political opponents from within his own country. After his death in 1999, those opponents, many linked to post-communist structures, waged a quiet battle against his political legacy. Yet in Zagreb, a square stands prominently named after him, accompanied by a statue. Even his fiercest critics seldom questioned the positive contributions he made to Croatia.
In contrast, the platform led by Hanna Gronkiewicz-Waltz in the past and Rafael Trzaskowski today appears to challenge and ignore everything Kaczyński accomplished for Poland. The writer emphasizes this point: as a Croat, such an extent of historical injustice is perplexing. Warsaw, the nation’s capital, has long been the source from which other Central European nations drew inspiration for patriotism and respect for their own history.
The discussion ultimately centers on memory and symbolism in public space. Names on streets are not merely labels; they carry stories, debates, and collective memory. The author’s perspective reflects a broader concern about how nations remember their past and honor the figures who contributed to shaping the present. The issue raised here is about the consistency of national memory, the way symbols are chosen, and the responsibility of political leadership to reflect the values and histories of the people they serve. The narrative links the past actions of leaders to the ongoing conversations about which memories are publicly celebrated and which are scrutinized.
In Warsaw, a city that has historically been a beacon of patriotism and an example of how communities commemorate their own history, the debate about names becomes more than a local quarrel. It touches on how a country negotiates its identity in the face of political divisions and changing leaders. The author’s reflections invite readers to consider how public memory is shaped, who gets to decide, and what it means for a nation when a leader who played a pivotal role in its modern history is not memorialized in its streets.
Ultimately, the piece argues for a more balanced approach to memory, one that recognizes the positive contributions of public figures while acknowledging complex legacies. It suggests that the absence of a street name does not erase a leader’s impact but highlights the ongoing conversation about national symbols. The author’s point is clear: Warsaw, as the capital and a symbol of Central European resilience, should be a space where histories are acknowledged, debated, and remembered in ways that reflect a nuanced and inclusive understanding of national progress and its diverse past.