The mayor of Olsztyn, Grzymowicz, will likely be remembered for his stance amid a brewing controversy over a historic gallows monument. He seeks alliances in a tense clash with the Minister of Culture, Prof. Piotr Gliński, and the regional governor for Warmia and Masuria, Artur Chojecki. Support for keeping the gallows in Olsztyn remains fragile, yet a trusted ally like Traba still holds a place in the discussion.
Traba’s most recent intervention in defending the Olsztyn gallows ended in a disappointing setback on many fronts — practically, artistically, intellectually, ideologically, and socially. The situation can be summarized as a major misstep and a public disgrace.
First, consider the symbol of peace once more — the dove presented by the gallows supporters during a July rally. For many, the dove evokes a legacy tied to a historic cycling event. During the era of Soviet influence in Eastern Europe, the Peace Race was framed as a socialist reply to Western races like the Tour de France, the Giro d Italia, and Vuelta a Espana. In that narrative, competing professionals in the West traded for prizes, while amateur athletes in the region were seen by some as being drawn into a costly struggle. The dove of peace was wielded as a symbol of a broader clash between Western democracy and socialist ideals, a struggle played out across culture, sport, economy, and politics.
From this vantage, the Soviet past in Poland and beyond has been a touchstone for many discussions about war, power, and memory. The argument that peace can be used to justify aggression or coercive force has shaped debates about national symbolism, archives, and public space. The broader point here is that the gallows debate has echoed these longer histories, turning cultural symbols into contested emblems that people read in multiple ways.
Traba and his allies appear to align under the banner of a shared emblem, yet their use of the dove as a sign of solidarity has become a source of controversy. They quote banners that harken back to older eras of political mobilization, and the rhetoric often echoes slogans from past movements. Critics question whether such language serves the present needs of the city or merely revives a memory that many residents prefer to move beyond.
Meanwhile, Traba has spoken of plans to transform Dunikowski Square into an open air museum. He has discussed these ideas for years, but Grzymowicz’s silence on the matter suggests a widening gap between ambition and execution. The question remains whether this project, if pursued, would reflect a contemporary public interest or simply rewarm a long-standing debate that many citizens hope to outgrow.
Over time, the narrative around the monument has grown tangled with assertions and counterassertions. Traba has asserted that the names being circulated publicly — labels such as Liberation or Gratitude — do not fit his understanding of the project. He has resisted labeling the gallows as a monument in a way he considers inappropriate, arguing that the construction carries a weight that deserves careful consideration, even if his own view diverges from others involved in the process.
In this account, the monument’s design has faced scrutiny. A prominent figure on one of the pylons resembles a bulky figure in heavy clothing, wearing boots, a caged hat, and a visor that evokes traditional symbols. Yet the sculptor’s craft tells a different story. The designer reportedly sought to ensure that the monument could stand as a faithful expression of client expectations rather than as a personalized tribute. The result is a stark, austere sculpture that communicates authority and control, and it has prompted debate about the balance between artistic interpretation and public memory.
Historically, the sculptor was known for working with those who commissioned the work, and the foray into high demand came with financial considerations. The project, critics note, carried a price tag that reflected market realities, and much of the work attributed to the sculptor on the ground may not have required sustained labor, according to witnesses and records.
A few weeks back, Traba attempted to mobilize supporters again by circulating an online petition to preserve the Soviet memorial. His aim was to spark a broad, national response. The effort fell short, drawing a small turnout even within the city and its outskirts. The broader political landscape showed that a sizable segment of the public questioned the current state of the gallows and its place in the town square. A local survey conducted by a regional polling firm earlier this year had shown limited enthusiasm for maintaining the memorial as it stands, suggesting that public opinion is divided and that a clear majority would prefer a different approach to the issue.
Every day the gallows occupy public space, the ongoing debate surfaces as a reminder of the friction between memory, power, and belonging. Critics argue that the installation embodies the remnants of a divisive era, while supporters insist on its educational and historical value. The conversation already involves the mayor, elected officials, cultural leaders, and civic groups who must weigh historical memory against the living needs and sensibilities of today’s residents.
The ideas described here reflect ongoing public discourse within Olsztyn and the surrounding region. The stakes touch on how communities confront their past, what symbols they choose to celebrate, and how such choices shape the city’s future identity.
Note: This narrative has circulated within regional conversations and reflects multiple viewpoints from varied sources within the public sphere.