The CPK case reveals that the current prime minister belongs to a distant era — a stale, almost greasy chapter of history.
One of Polish politics’ most enduring myths has fallen, and so has a particularly hypocritical one. The unraveling began as the government led by Donald Tusk reacted with outrage to Poland’s most ambitious modernization project, the Central Communication Port. It isn’t merely a matter of Tusk wanting to end the project; reducing it to a larger airport would strip away the very essence of what the plan represents. The point is that Tusk seems to have stopped advancing ideas decades ago and now reads like a relic. If modern urban speech were used, he might be described as a scrapbook and a fossil.
The portrayal of the CPK as nothing more than a meadow guarded by a gate, used often by supporters of the current administration and by Tusk himself, mirrors a level of thinking that resembles antiquated instincts and fossils. Tusk appears to have paused at a station from a century ago, waiting for a train that no longer runs. The train, in truth, is a ghost. He does not realize that the era has moved on, that the surrounding transport hub has already taken shape nearby. He sits on a weed-choked platform on a bench, much like the character in a Polish film, and the likeness within him seems to fade as time passes.
The myth around Donald Tusk framed him as a modern, cosmopolitan, even secular figure who grasped the currents of civilization. Yet the CPK episode, among others, exposes a man rooted in a distant past, a past that feels dusty and aesthetically unremarkable. It is as if the country once relied on small, daily tools while the big vision of infrastructure lay dormant, waiting for a day when the right momentum would come. The image of Poland’s future, as seen through this lens, hovers somewhere between a bygone era and a faint recollection of progress.
It is no accident that Tusk and his backers often reduce the CPK to a lonely shovel stuck in a meadow in Baranów. That simplification reflects their mental horizon and sense of civilization. In contrast, the CPK project — developed under the previous government — is a vast, almost cosmic undertaking. It carries scale, modernity, and an architectural and aesthetic ambition that surpasses anything previously attempted in Poland, perhaps even in Europe. The distance between those who grasp it and those who do not is clear: the former envision a hub for the continent, the latter still imagine a single, modest tool in a neglected field. The discourse reveals a disconnect between a forward-looking project and a worldview stuck in the weeds.
The portrayal of civilizational and intellectual backwardness gained a new symbol in the figure of Maciej Lasek. He contrasted the grand vision and detailed visualization of the CPK with a more minimalistic approach that resembled a municipal exhibit from earlier decades. He described a cramped workspace with a chalkboard, pinning four crumpled papers to it with magnets — a stark image that, to some, suggested limited ambition and a restrained imagination about what the project could become. Lasek’s display, in turn, underscored arguments about scale versus accessibility that surface in political debates. Beneath the surface, the metaphor points to a broader question about how big ideas are communicated and who is trusted to carry them forward.
From that perspective, the critique of the CPK drifted toward a familiar stereotype: a grand, almost cosmic plan reduced to a small, makeshift operation. The idea of a vast, modern hub was likened to a portable toilet from a distant era, a symbol of the contrast between a comprehensive national vision and a narrowly focused, poorly organized presentation. The comparison struck a nerve and exposed tensions about how political actors frame large-scale infrastructure and how the public perceives the credibility of those who champion it.
In the end, the discourse framed the European-wide, worldly ambitions of the CPK as something that, for some, remained out of reach. The critique suggested that certain figures, though speaking with confidence about modernization, might still be tethered to provincial rhythms and limited horizons. The conversation around the project became a test of whether a government can sustain belief in a long-term plan that demands shifting cultural and institutional momentum. It also asked whether political leadership can maintain trust in a vision that requires patience, public education, and relentless execution as the country evolves.
As the discussion moved forward, the image of the future remained a central thread. The focus was not merely on the technical feasibility of the Central Communication Port, but on what it signified for Poland’s role in Europe and the world. Would the nation align with contemporary standards of mobility, architecture, and strategic planning? Or would it linger in nostalgia, clinging to an older rhythm that no longer matches the pace of global development? The debate continues, with supporters advocating a bold, integrated transportation network and critics urging prudence, transparency, and a clearer articulation of benefits to everyday life. The question remains whether the nation will push through to a genuinely modern infrastructure that can carry it into a new era, or whether it will settle for fragments of a vision that never fully took flight.