Category: Central & East Coast

Cello and piano

Cello and piano

by Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

Stainglass windows in St. Andrew Church

Live music. On stage. Not through live stream or any other video, electronic, mechanical transmission. I had an immense need to be there again, missed it so much … .

Tierras Oscuras – Flamenco en Rouge

On November 16, 2021, during a timid opening of any live performances, I was able to attend a local (from Halifax and Cape Breton) performance of powerful storytelling mixing the musical fire of Andalusia and hard life of miners in times gone in Cape Breton. The audience at the Pier 21 Canadian Museum of Immigration was small, seats sparsely placed. There were no renowned, world class dancers, singers, players. But what a power, what a spirit of true flamenco! I was riveted, mesmerized and at the same time had a hard time not to join them on stage (after all – flamenco is an art of mature performer, who knows the taste of victory and defeat – not a juvenile, who knows only how to boast, not understanding the meaning of it all). After the performance I had a chance to chat with all of the performers and made sure they were aware how beautiful their storytelling was, how dramatic and well prepared. And, of course, a long chat about the history of flamenco, of Andalusia.

But it did not quenched my thirst for more formal  setting and opportunity of listening to great music played by great artists and composed by geniuses.

It came finally with an opening of popular impresario, the Cecilia Concert organization responsible (for many years now) for organizing such events in Greater Halifax.

The concert of world renowned and one of the best Canadian pianist, Charles Richard-Hamelin and young cellist, but already recognizable and with growing musical prestige, Cameron Crozman.  

There is some semblance in physique of Richard-Hamelin and the great winner of 1970 Warsaw Chopin International Piano Competition, Garrick Ohlsson. I think that there might be also a slight similarity in their style of piano playing (and such perceived connectivity would not be something to frown about, as Ohlsson is a giant among Chopin’s interpreters). The Warsaw Chopin Competition is indeed something very special among players. It serves as a spring board to fame of almost all of their finalists and definitely makes the winner career a fait accompli. Charles Richard-Hamelin is no exception. In 2015 he received Silver Medal at that Competition and very prestigious Krystian Zimerman (himself a former winner at the Competition and a player of enormous statue) Prize for best performance of Chopin’s sonata. The 2015 Competition was the first time I heard Richard-Hamelin. As I did (in Warsaw) in 1970 Olhsson playing. The next one, in 1975, was the triumph of Zimerman and I remember it as vividly as it would have been yesterday – he just mesmerized the audience. For a teenager (as myself at that time) that was as big as winning the Soccer World Cup. Speaking of Canadian pianist and the Warsaw Competition one can’t forget to mention the last one in 2021 and the amazing victory of another Canadian – Bruce Liu. I have wrote a bit about it on these pages in November 8, 2021.

Pianist are, undoubtedly, the top class in fame and splendour of all other instruments among classical music stars. In a way – the prima donnas of musicians. But that does not take away from other instruments. Especially if there is a good marriage between a good composition and a good player. Cello player is always in demand for transporting notes, that no other instrument can portray as good as that soft sound. Just listen to some recordings of unforgettable cellist, Pablo Casals. No other instrument can convey such an array of emotions as those venerable strings. The violin, its’ diminutive cousin, produces beautiful sound but lacks the depth of the tone coming from very limited resonance (due to the size difference).

Cameron Crozman, at age 26, is definitely the raising star in Canada among cello players. Not only in Canada, though. His talent was noticed and rewarded by many world-class orchestras and directors, especially  chamber music ensembles. For me, the concert in Halifax was the first chance to hear him playing. I am very glad, I did.

Bach, Franck and Chopin

  

The first of compositions was one of only six cello suites composed by J.S Bach – the Suite No. 2 in D minor. Probably written after the death of his first wife, Maria Barbara in 1720. The Bach suites are among ones of most popular music played by cellists. But it wasn’t the case during his lifetime and after his death. They were almost completely forgotten and many musicians were not even aware that he wrote such music. It was not until great cellist, Pablo Casals, re-discovered them as a teenager in a second-hand shop in Barcelona in 1889.  It wasn’t until 1936 when he recorded them in London for first time. Since then, they become one of the most popular solo pieces for cellists around the world. There is even dispute among scholars whether Bach originally wrote them not for cello da gamba but for smaller, over the shoulder, viola da spalla. Suite No. 5 was originally composed for lute.

As entire baroque music, they are strictly structured in prelude and a string of Renaissance/baroque dances. In this case: allemande, courante, sarabande, minuet and gigue.

The slightly austere, neo gothic church of St. Andrew, with beautiful stained glasses on walls of the main nave and stained glass rosette behind the altar/stage provided perfect setting for this music. And the acoustic was wonderful as the young cellist with red hair sat to his instrument. The music flowed so nicely. His left hand showed the elegance of every note, tone and interval of this composition. I was specially taken by the fourth part, the Sarabande and the vision of evening stroll of Bach through the cobblestones of German city, remembering places he visited with his wife, reminiscing their time together. Formal, very courtly Minuet ensues as in saying that life goes on and times brings closure. Final part is in a form of Gigue and is a typical epilogue for typical baroque suite. Can’t understand that rigid formality from my perspective of XX century man, as Gigue is the last melody I would have used for this type of composition. Yet, it must be said that the Gigue in Suite No. 2 is far from lively dance of Italian gentry. Yes, it has the rhythm and melody – but used in such a way that it becomes a music of accepting life as it goes on. I thought that Crozman played that part superbly, more in a reflective than virtuosic style.

Belgian born but Parisian by choice composer Cesar Frank (1822-1890) is definitely not a canon of modern concert halls and performances. I know I have heard his music before – but if asked, I would have to strain myself immensely to remember that music. Although envisioned by his father as piano player (a solid career in Romantic times Europe) – he ended up playing organs in one of the big churches in Paris and later become a professor of organ music in Paris Conservatory in 1872. And finally had time to prove to the world that he is a talented composer. One of his monumental work (and monumental it is in its form, character and, let’s say – weight?) that I have never heard before (of that I am sure because it is really hard to forget such curiosity) is the Prelude, Aria et Final, Opus 23.

I am very glad that Charles Richard-Hamelin gave a very good explanation of this composition. It helped a lot. It consists of Allegro moderato a maestoso (Prelude); Lento (Aria) and Allegro molto ed agitato (Final). From these musical terms – allow me to offer less serious tone – two describe it the best: maestoso and agitato. The least one is moderato. It also shows that if you cook for many years Indian cuisine, when suddenly you make Beef Wellington, you add to it Indian spices.  The result could be interesting, maybe even tasty – but it is not Beef Wellington. Specially in Paris. Franck played for many ears on huge organs  at St. Clotilde Basilica. That colossal instrument could not only swallow many concert pianos of Paris, it also had so many leg and hand operated pedals, stops and keyboards (yes, the large ones have more than one keyboard) that the listener could really think that heavens opened up and filled the air with its’ own music. But Franck decided to do the same on the piano.

Thanks’ heaven the Yamaha grand piano C7X comes with the third, middle pedal called sostenuto. It is a version of the sustain (left) pedal but operates only on chosen string/notes. It gives the ability to produce a sound that resembles organ pipes. But one must not overuse it. In this case, Richard-Hamelin had to. To say it plainly – that composition is a colossus that requires not only amazing technique from the player, it also requires a big physical stamina. I am so grateful that he possess both. I have no idea what poetic purpose that composition serves – but it was amazing to listen to it. Enjoyed it very much just for the sheer sense of showmanship and absolute control of the instrument by the player. Now, thanks to Charles-Hamelin, I will always remember the music of Franck. Probably not choose to go to concert hall to listen to it again, but definitely remember it.

After a short intermission we were served the main course: beautiful sonata for cello and piano by lyrical master of Romanticism, Frederic Chopin. The opus 65 sonata in G minor was composed in 1846 and dedicated to Chopin’s close friend of many years, cellist Auguste-Joseph Franchomme.

Both of them collaborated and co-composed earlier a Grand Duo Concertant for piano and cello (in E major, numbered as B. 70) that received very favorable opinion of Schumann. The sonata is fully composed by Chopin and it’s cello part was not composed in any part by Franchomme, although it is more than likely that both Chopin sought advice and opinion of his dear friend. That might be the source of somewhat strange and not necessarily wise comment of our young cellist, Cameron Crozman, in an introduction, that the cello has stronger and weaker parts, the stronger being possibly composed by Franchomme. There is no musical literature that would support such strange assumption.

The sonata has special historical meaning in Chopin’s life: it would be the last composition of Chopin and the premiere in Salle Pleyel on Feb. 16, 1848 was his last public concert in Paris. Unfortunately, the Paris premiere omitted the first part (Allegro moderato). That was corrected by Franchomme shortly after his friend death, as the cellist returned to Salle Pleyel on April 6, 1853 and played (with Thomas Tellefsen, also Chopin’s friend and pupil, as pianist) the entire sonata. Louise Dublin, a world renowned cellist, wrote in her excellent blog on Aguste-Joseph Franchomme, that the second premiere was received enthusiastically and quotes respected and feared (by musicians) Paris critic of that time: “The main piece was a sonata by Chopin for cello and piano…the piece has something intimate and mysterious, everything in it is plaintive and melancholic… Franchomme, on his eloquent cello, found admirable expression, giving the beautiful melodies of Chopin a penetrating sweetness, full of religious poetry.” .

Of course, no recording of this prapremiere and premiere concerts exists, therefore it is impossible to compare that play with the performance of Cameron Crozman and Charles Richard-Hamelin in Halifax.

The only reflection could be my own satisfaction, pleasure or lack of it.  And satisfied I was, very much indeed. It is worth mentioning that the duo of these two musician was a premiere in its’ own right. They have never played together before. But the partnership sounded very good and pleasant. Despite Crozman earlier spoken remarks, I have not noticed the ‘weaker’ and ‘better’ parts of his viola da gamba. All was played softly, poetically. In my short notes, that I tend to take at concerts, I wrote: what a beautiful conversation of two instruments! In scherzo and largo it was like a dance of two souls and such a nice, like echo, repetition of viola’s themes by piano.  It all closes with very elegant marriage of the two scales: G minor and corresponding major in allegro. Sort of mini danse du triomphe.

War Measures Act; Martial Law, Emergencies Act

by Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

(Polish version – not translation –  written from slightly different vantage point, will follow shortly at the end of English text)

Cicero would say: hic sunt casus historiae,  hence, a short list of historical precedencies.

At the onset of the First World War, Canadian Parliament passed a bill called War Measures Act (in 1914). It was  rather draconian legislature prepared to deal with subversion, insurrectionism and all sort of anti-state activities, that could or would pose a serious challenge to constitutional order or territorial integrity of Canada. It was used twice during world wars and only once at peacetime. The war usage of the Act was an unjust (but legal under the Act) overreach of the government, that resulted in interment of thousands of mostly Ukrainians, but also Poles and other ethnic groups that came to Canada from Galicia (western part of today’s Ukraine) and some part of Volhynia. Simply, because they emigrated from territories under Austro-Hungarian rule, which at that time was at war with British Empire. Notwithstanding the fact, that all these territories were taken by force by Austrian Empire and used to be part of Polish Commonwealth since Middle Ages, therefore the locals did not consider themselves loyal to Hapsburg’s empire.

During the 2 world war similar fate happened to Japanese Canadians and, to lesser extent, German and Italian Canadians.

These were the first and for a long time only usages of the War Measures Act. Both of these legal overreaches  found their conclusion many years later: in 2008 Canadian Government reached a settlement with Ukrainian community and apologised for these actions. Earlier, in 1988, Prime Minister apologised to the Japanese-Canadians for their interment during 2 world war.

In contemporary history, the last usage of War Measures Act happened in October 1970.  The October Crisis, was a political independence movement in Quebec, led by  Front de libération du Québec. It culminated with kidnaping of  Quebec Deputy Premier, Pierre Lapporte and British Trade Commissioner James Cross. Pierre Lapporte was found murdered; James Cross was liberated. Prime Minister (father of current PM, Justin) Pierre Trudeau saw it as an act of sedition, treason and violent action to overthrow the government and invoked the War Measures Act. Army was sent to Quebec, hundreds of people jailed.

That was the end of the Act. In ensuing years Parliament passed many statutes to govern various times of emergencies in Canada during peace time but never really repealed the War Measures Act, which was  a relic of British Council directive from 1914, in a manner of speaking – a colonial legislature.

It was formally replaced in 1988 by current Emergencies Act. Not ever used until now.

Now, an ingression: what sort of act is in the title of this piece, called Martial Law? No, it is not a Canadian legislature. Although, I think, many Canadians, who were adults in 1980ties, were familiar with it. It was an act established by the communist Poland in December 1981 to destroy the independent “Solidarity” movement in Poland and it’s march to freedom, democracy. I write about it here for a reader to understand my viewpoint and my experience with these type of legislations and governments reasons for assuming extraordinary powers for temporary time. And whether history view them as necessary.

Some were, some were not. In most cases – even if the reasoning was rational and caused by urgency of situation – these powers were used excessively and proved to be unethical.

If the actions of actual or perceived protesters, insurrectionists and anti-government forces were truly justified and truly popular, with massive support from entire population – sooner or later the government would capitulate or be replaced either forcefully or by forced new elections.

The case of old War Measures Act in Canada and legislation introducing Martial Law in Poland in 1981 is no longer typical for any XXI century liberal democracy. The modern concept of State and exponential advance of individual rights and freedom protections would not allow truly democratic state to have such draconian laws under any situation (perhaps during a huge war with foreign enemy such legislation could be introduced – but not during peacetime) in modern times.

On the other hand – a reasonable form of temporarily giving the State extraordinary powers in some dangerous situations is a sensible mechanism. Especially in liberal democracy, prone to weaker and constrained form of governments. Constrained constitutionally by other powers (judiciary and parliamentary) independent of Government/Cabinet. In Canada, it is even much more complicated because of our confederate form of government and divisions of powers: provincial and federal.  That is the reason our Parliament introduced the new Emergencies Act in 1988, replacing the old War Measures and many temporary, ministerial powers. It is formulated in such a way, that it should be truly treated with outmost caution and consideration and the political pitfalls for government are plentiful. That’s why it was never used until few days ago. It seems a history’s fate, that it is the son of former PM who last used the old Act, the current PM,  Justin Trudeau. Justin had long talks with all provincial premiers, long session of entire Cabinet, emergency parliamentary debate and finally called a Press Conference, where he and all major ministers explained it to the press and answered many questions at length.  His father, Pierre, had one short answer in 1970: famous ‘Just watch me’.    

Was the Declaration necessary in February 2022? It is not for me to make that distinction in an objective and knowledgeable way. I can only answer that as a citizen of Canada and acute observer of political processes. I think it was. Was it politically a rational move? That we will know in a few days’ time. Especially in a minority situation. The government Declaration is only legally binding for seven days. After that time the Parliament must vote it in or out. If it does – the Government will prevail, if it fails – the Government will most likely fall. After the Emergencies Act ( 7 or 30 days maximum) stops being modus operandi, there will be Inquiry about its’ necessities, rationale and achievements/failures. And history will judge, regardless of contemporary verdicts.

By ΙΣΧΣΝΙΚΑ-888 – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=114991930

who and why

There is few totally exclusive and excluding each other narratives to that protest/occupation/insurrection. Let’s look at some of them.

The first one lies at the very heart of the dispute if Emergencies Act must have been declared.

  1. It is a democratic protest – and in a democracy people have a guaranteed rights to political protest. Granted. With one exception, sort of glaring and decisive, the word ‘peaceful’ is omitted. And ‘peaceful protest’ lies at the core of this right. There is a multitude of ways to have and maintain peaceful protest.
  2. Just because one doesn’t shoot or drive a military tank, brings a cannon to that protest, doesn’t mean that it is peaceful or that it is not violent.

I listened intently to one reasonably looking, properly dressed, without horns on his head, protester at the border at Coutts in Alberta. Just few hours after police sized a truck full of military grade heavy guns, ammunition and arrested leaders of a group, who brought that truck. Not one or two crazies. No, organized group prepared and advocating the use of power to overthrow government.

The young man was resigned, sort of sad, his dream of his freedom has just died. He claimed not to have any knowledge of that paramilitary group that was part of the convoy. It is possible he was telling the truth. I hope so. And, in a tragic voice, almost like Hamlet, he said: ‘we came here in peace and we will leave in peace’. Like I said, he didn’t look like a crazy populist, Trump lover or evangelical devil. He even talked properly, in good literary English, suggesting that he possessed some form of proper education. And it fails me to comprehend how such a person cannot understand how he came to that protest. It was not peaceful act, by any means. He came with one reason and determination (apart from any ideological or idealistic convictions that he might or might not have): to prevent access to international border crossing to commercial and private drivers. Not by persuasion, by argument of a speech to those willing to listen and follow. No, he came to physically block that border with a large vehicle used as a barrier. That’s a definition of violent act – to stop someone against their will and right to go about their business. Bodily harm is only one of many acts that could be described as violence. I hope that he was allowed to leave in peace. It doesn’t give me any pleasure in seeing people thrown in jail. But that pleasantly looking young man was lying and lying purposefully: he did not came in peace. He came aggressively, with violence as means to achieve his goals.  I choose this man and his sadly misleading statement as description of sizable portion of the insurrection in statu nascendi – an attempt at insurrection.

The second is hard to describe in a short piece (as this one) in a clear chain of actions leading to a goal. It is a religious component, shown very clearly by many members of the protest. The very common usage of words and terminology (‘God’s right’; supremacy of ‘God’s commandments’ over any state laws, et ceatera) coming straight from very orthodox Christian ideology and most visible in American-style Evangelical Churches. It is a terrifying message for any freedom-loving modern democrat. It terrifying for any descendant of European philosophy of Enlightenment and Reason. In short, it represents the Christian version of Islamic jihadist movement. It goes beyond any reason or any attempt of coming to some mutual agreement, some negotiations. It is only ‘us or them’, no middle ground. Orthodoxy defies logic and reason, is not flexible to any argument – hence no common ground could be found. One part of it though, particularly the American style Evangelicals, does require counteraction from democratic State and from society at large: it is the element of white supremacy and racism, central to some of their beliefs. It strikes at the core of modern liberal state of tolerance and inclusion. When the protesters on Parliament Hill starts the day (way too many days now) with their Jericho March – the symbolism is not lost on anyone. The Parliament, the heart of our democracy and state, is being viewed as “Jericho’ – biblical fortress and city that needs to be destroyed and (according to Bible) will be destroyed.

The third  part – the most innocent and naïve, perhaps – is the no definable but understandable array of people tired of pandemic restrictions, of being told what and how you should conduct yourself,  the medical restrictions. You name it and it is there. Some of it is (specially the medical, scientific facts and undisputable – albeit hastened and somewhat risky – research) difficult to understand for many. Others could be prone to smartly devised and distributed messages contrary to official federal, provincial and Public Health authorities policy. If these restrictions were for month only, even for a year – it likely would not create such a strong opposition. Because the virus doesn’t care about our policies or how people feel about them – it lasted much longer. Huge group of people in Canada, finishes the pandemic (still existing) poorer than it was prior to it. Yes, it is very true, that a sizeable group of lowest earners during the first wave of COVID19,  was treated by the federal government with much more generous cheques that their pre-pandemic income. But by the end of 2021 – that generous amounts got smaller, more difficult to obtain and encroaching high inflation left them much poorer than earlier. At the same time – thanks to modern, aggressive capitalism, which is the scourge of liberal democracy – almost all corporations, their presidents and top executives made huge financial advances. Which was like a slap on the face of ordinary citizen. That group and their emotions are the easiest to understand, to sympathize with. The problem is that, for lack of clear distinctions, they were swallowed by the other groups and messages. Just by sharing the same ‘spot, time and pot’ – they co-signed the rest of the convoy insurgency. They never attempted to distinguish their grievances from other, more nefarious  messages.

The fourth part is the most dangerous. One that truly pose the greatest risk to the stability of state, perhaps it’s survival. One that existed for many years in Canada and many times posed that threat. It is based on Western separation from Canada, living our Confederation and forming separate state. It is strongly rooted mainly in Alberta (to a smaller extend in Saskatchewan and very small parts in BC), with long tradition. The fundaments are based on Christian faith of evangelical persuasion, unfettered free enterprise, self-reliance, minimal role for state powers, antisemitism, Anglo-Saxon superiority. To name a few. Politically is to the right of the right. Part of their scenario to achieve its’ goals is clearly a slogan, that the road to freedom is marked by hail of bullets. True for most religious zealots and for French and Bolshevik revolutionaries alike.

One of the most prominent activist in that movement is no one other than Pat King. Yes, the same Pat King, who was arrested today in Ottawa. The same one, who was one of the main organizers of the Truck Convoy; who daily personally provided directions and directives to the huge group that occupies Ottawa; who regularly posted podcasts calling for harder stance until full victory. And one must assume that the victory would mean the abolition of the democratically elected Government of Canada, with Royal Assent from Governor General granting the Convoy leadership a new government/directorate introduced by Senate. At least those were the terms in an official letter to Governor General and Senate.

If this does not constitute a formal insurrection and sedition – I am at lost to what does.

In summary I have no clear answer to the question if the Declaration was necessary. Or, to say it more precisely if it could have been avoided.  I think it could have been avoided by strong and decisive actions at the very beginning of the protest. Before it truly become insurrectionists and seditious. But nobody did. And by doing so, forced the hand of Federal Government.

I have listed here four main scenarios and narratives of the movement called ‘Truck Convoy’. These that are visible by naked eye, without the use of a microscope. There could be one more. Very sinister and far-reaching. I am sure one that is (or should be) contemplated and studied by national spy agencies and services. Not only in Canada. Here is my sinister, imaginary (?) theory of true conspiracy or unprecedented heavenly coincidences:

many years ago (therefore well remembered by me, as age gives the advantage of the vantage) Preston Manning launched in Alberta a movement to kill the old Progressive Conservative Party and return it to more western-based, Christian value-induced, fundaments. At that time the Conservative party was truly a pan-Canadian institution represented by staunchly pro-federalist leaders on national and provincial stages. They were the descendants of Charlottetown birth of Dominion of Canada.

Manning successfully wrestled the conservative movement in Western Canada from the hands of the progressive wing to more traditionalist, western-based and Evangelical bedrock. That split meant that there would never be a next federal conservative government as the two different factions of conservative movement would split the national vote giving victory to their arch-enemy – the Liberals. Reform Party was born.

Stage was set for young, intelligent and ambitious politician, Stephen Harper.  He proposed that both party should form a new one, combining forces together. Thus a new, Conservative Party of Canada was born. Over time, the new party tended to start moving to the West and to more Reform style of politics and policies. The progressive element lingered in Eastern and Atlantic provinces. Strong regionally, weak federally. In 2015 Harper lost his re-election. He could have loose it, very possibly according to polls, to NDP. But a new star was born in Canadian politics. Son of no other than Pierre Trudeau – politician hated in the West with a passion. Justin Trudeau. His victory was stunning and overwhelming. He won subsequently two more elections – but none as huge and impressive as the first one. That means that Conservatists lost three elections in a row. Some understood the simple math – if the party does not move more to progressive policies it might become government-in-waiting permanently. Hence a flirt of last leader,  Erin O’Toole, with more centrist policies, less of ultra-right.  Unfortunately for the party, O’Toole was not a strong leader nor visionary. The Reform wing of the Western protest grew. Knives were sharpened. Leader, who just won leadership battle (but lost a national election) of the party, met his deathly fate. The date was February 2. Twenty days later a Convoy of Trucks starts driving toward Ottawa… Coincidences?  In politics there are very few. The Interim Leader, Ms. Berger and staunchly ultra-right and first candidate for national leader, Mr. Pierre Poilievre, showed friendly and supportive gestures to the Convoy in Ottawa. Poilievre even broadcasted a message: “I’m proud of the truckers and I stand with them”. Perhaps a chance that the trucks would become his vehicle to leadership victory?  Maybe my fantasy soars to high … but Machiavelli did not invented politics based on lack of ethics – he just described them in his book. Just read how many Russian tsars died of natural causes … . Just musing, that’s all.

Eh, speaking of tsars and Russia. The Convoy gathered huge financial support from many sources. Mainly from the US. No, not the federal government. From you-know-who and his camp. And gathered enormous international coverage. Some tried to have it repeated in Europe. Very seriously. Yes, during this February, February, when Russian armies congregate en masse on Ukrainian border. First as a serious military threat to international order and peace since the Cuban Crisis during Kennedy’s presidency. That would be convenient if capitals, railways and border connections were to be occupied by convoys, would it be, Mr. Putin? Yes, you Mr. Putin, you, who helped so much Mr. Trump to win the presidency. Just musing, that’s all.

February. Strange month. Exactly on February 2nd in 1982, I landed in Canada. Forty years ago. As a result of Martial Law in Poland. The day of the proclamation of it, I was no longer in Poland. Few months earlier I went to London (had to borrow 100 US dollars from friends to get the visa, and a 100 dollars was a huge amount for me) to study Polish Marshal Jozef Pilsudski documents preserved in London’s Institute by his name (the only military and state leader, who defeated the Soviet army and won war with them in 1920). Being there I was aching to go back to my work in ‘Solidarity” in Warsaw. But my contacts in Polish pre-war constitutional government-in-exile in London and constant talks with friends in Poland were clear that something terrible might happen at any moment. My father, who spent part of his youth in Soviet camp, implored me not to come back saying that one more dead body will not help Poland. I think it was a bit too dramatic, but I was only 20 years old! Dramatics work at that age. In a way he was right, though. Right after the declaration of Martial Law the communist police came for me to my parents’ apartment. But at that time I was already in Italy, waiting for my refuge ticket to Canada. Over the last 40 years my feelings and attachment for my new country grew immensely. I don’t know if they are stronger or even as strong as my feelings in 1982 for Poland. Probably not. When you are twenty years old, your love and passion is not comparable to any emotions in later years. But my love for Canada is a love of an adult, mature man. It is based on observations, judgments, even calculations. Emotions and logic combined. Ethical and practical.  It grew much stronger in the last twenty years. Thanks to our strong commitments to tolerance, because of beautiful mosaic of more and more visible races, colours, shapes and traditions. Sometimes irritating, because we are creatures of habit and it is not easy to open oneself to different experiences. But I love it: the array, the choices, the multitudes. If humanity is to survive, I think that our model is the one to follow. Yet, I know that things like that do not happen by accident. They are result of policies, laws. Of choices. Polish national symbols, the flag, the White Eagle are forever enshrined in my soul. And so is the Maple Leaf (with colours was very easy: both are the same – one horizontally, the other vertically). But February is a strange month. In February 2022 I am sick of seeing Canadian flag and Maple Leaf. Of constant parades of this symbol next to vulgarity, next to hateful messages, on trucks glaring at night under the apartments of tired residents of my capital; on trucks and on shoulders of people blocking our border crossings and causing hundreds of millions of dollars losses and lost wages to countless victims of these actions, on back of hooligan dancing on grave of Unknown Soldier on Parliament Hill.  In my Canada the Flag is treated with respect it truly deserves. My Canada earned that respect. Earned it the hard way, after many painful mistakes. And no achievement is worth more, no respect more admirable than the one learnt on own mistakes. It is the same emotion as the one young person feels, after getting the first earned wage. Not given but earned. I do hope that by the time most of you will read it – that Canada will be on its way back. We need Her.          

Are we a house divided? I don’t think so.

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

Are we a nation divided, as some politicians are trying to tell us? Because nation truly divided has no alternative – it has to listen to one another and it must find solution, compromise, common ground. Otherwise, it has nothing. Mountains, rivers, plains, forests, oceans are not Canadian. Nature has no concept or need for ‘nationhood’ and ‘statehood’. If there is one for Nature – it is Earth, planet: a place to be, to exist. Mountains in one country crumble, its icefields melt and huge rivers in another die. The borders don’t change or protect anything. But not so for people. We need to depend on one another. That’s all that is required at the end. We might argue, might get angry at each other but deep down we do care for each other. If it is all just individualistic, just many I’s – it is perfectly good cosmopolitanism. Which is OK, as far as I am concerned. I like to hope and believe that I could live in any country, any that shares or displays my set of values. But in some I would do terribly. Therefore, my cosmopolitanism is not all encompassing, maybe even very narrow. My age, experience (I lived for short amount of time in two countries: England and Italy, for much longer and very formative – childhood and youth – in Poland and most of my adult live in Canada), being a member of very distinct minority, which was persecuted for a very long time, even during my youth makes me (I think and hope) a good judge of what country I could live in and share the responsibility for that country.

Therefore my cosmopolitanism is not all encompassing, maybe even very narrow. My age, experience (I lived for a short amount of time in two countries: England and Italy; for much longer and very formative – childhood and youth – in Poland; most of my adult life in Canada), being a member of very distinct minority, which was persecuted for a very long time, even during my youth makes me (I think and hope) a good judge of what country I could live in and share the responsibility for that country. There are countries, societies I would not do well in and would not want to add to their well-being because their well-being would add to my ill-being.

‘My’ country is like a garden – it requires care and some labour, some watering, pruning. Doesn’t have to be perfectly manicured like old French jardines royaux. That labour should bring you pleasure and allow later for time of idle relaxation. Otherwise, it could become a menace of overgrown weeds, branches. Something that scares you more than brings a smile.

But even in a country like that, there could be serious disputes, times of opposing visions, right to protest. Because what is the shortest definition of modern democracy? It is the government of majority that protects the rights of minority. Rights of majority are protected by the law of inertia, so to speak. Unless the government consists of suicidal maniacs, of course. Naturally, that tenet of democracy implies by itself that any minority does not mistake the protection for a right to forcing its view on the majority. A right to abortion, for example, does not imply that every pregnant woman must have an abortion. A right to marry by same-sex couples does not mean that heterosexual couples can’t get married. A separation of state and religion, even secularism of state, does not imply that citizen does not have a right to hold and  practice his/her religious beliefs – it does imply, though, that she/he can’t impose these beliefs on others.  In a word: a tree, flowers, grass and shrubs can grow and will be watered and cared for tenderly but it can’t become a jungle and overtake our house. Simple.

A minority can feel at times that their views are not protected or guaranteed. Thus, it has a right to ask for better protection, it can argue it in court, during political debates, during protest, demonstration – finally: during national or local elections. But it can’t and should never be allowed to disregard elections results and the rule of majority. It should never usurp the supreme right of Parliament and constitution. Actions like that are called revolution, insurrection, sedition. If these actions were to be successful it is an end of democracy and what would ensue is terror. The only way you can exercise power and control of majority by minority is through terror, sheer physical power. There is no other political possibility. You can’t persuade the rule of minority over a majority without the fear of persecution. End of story as old as any civilization of humankind.

This is exactly, without any unnecessary flowering of words and dancing around issues, what’s happening in Ottawa, in Coutts in Alberta.  When a small minority of truckers and their supporters invade and occupy the centre of Ottawa –  with huge trucks that are as menacing as military vehicles, when they make the residents feel like hostages in their own homes and places of work, worship and social gatherings, when the Mayor of the city pleads with them for days to leave, when the top City Police commander admits it is beyond his and his force’s capabilities to remove this illegal occupation of city’s core – it is not a protest. When big part of Alberta-US land crossing for business and commercial travel is shut – it is not a protest. When the demands are not for allowing for some accommodation and resolve of grievances but to reverse the policy of all levels of government (federal, provincial and municipal), policy supported by huge majority of Canadians, such as the public health regulations during pandemic and vaccination – it is not a protest. Finally – when the demand is to attempt to overthrow the government legally and lawfully elected in a very recent national election – it is not a protest. It is an attempt at sedition. No more no less.

I will not allow myself to get into an argument about pro or contra vaccination, about businesses closures or shut-downs. These issues were clearly discussed during federal election and during many provincial elections. The platforms offered clearly stated what the wining parties were prepared to do. They won and they did. End of story.

A federal politician, Member of Parliament of any party should be ashamed to offer support to these actions of the Truckers Convoy, which is so clearly not about truckers at all. It is a politically manipulated movement of extreme right wing groups, in cohorts with racists, trumpists  and foreign, US-based Trump followers.

Therefore, when a Conservative party MP tells me that we must understand these people, we must listen to their arguments and find a solution because Canada is divided – my answer is that Canada is not divided at all. Huge majority of us followed the recommendations of provincial and federal leaders and health experts. We social distanced, we got vaccinated as soon as we could, we curtailed our social life. For two years almost. Awful, terrible years. I hated every day of that. But I understood, and so did most of my compatriots, that it was necessary. That, yes, I do have a responsibility to others and their lives. That it is the garden I agreed to tend to. That I have a social, binding contract.

It is not Canada that is divided. It is the conservative movement and Conservative Party that are divided. It just, in the middle of the huge occupation of Ottawa, revolted against its own leader and in a secret ballot ousted him. It is divided between more progressive, modern forces and extreme elements. And the extreme, to the right of the right groups staged a coup within the party. But the final word will belong to their own National Convention, not to 129 members.

from WikiCommons By ΙΣΧΣΝΙΚΑ-888 – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=114888167

No, Canada is not divided. We are united in our silent, strong majority. And we just about had enough of the antics. It is very telling that the Conservative members of Parliament – after kicking out their leader, choose as an interim leader Ms. Candice Bergen, known for publicly wearing a “Make America great again” hat in support of Donald Trump.

Ms. Bergen – did you have a dream that the Truck Convoy would really repeat the infamous January 6 insurrection on the Capitol Hill in Washington, this time on our Parliament in Ottawa? And with a success? Thanks, but no. We don’t want Canada ‘great again’. We just want it better than before.   

Wśród swoich każdy błazen …

by Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

Tak sobie pomyślałem przeglądając pierwszy raz od wielu, wielu lat niepokaźną objętością książeczkę-wybór felietonów Edwarda Zymana. Wydało ją wydawnictwo (chyba już nie istniejące) Andre Poray Book Publishing w Chicago w 1987 roku. Edward nadał zbiorowi tytuł „U Boga każdy błazen”. Jako, że czasy były jeszcze przed możliwościami e-booków, on-line publishing i wszystkim, co przyniósł magiczny internet, ten zbiór ukazał się dzięki przedpłatom Czytelników. Wśród Listy Subskrybentów dołączonej do wydania widniej też i moje nazwisko. Czasy były, gdy biedota pisarsko-dziennikarska na bożym ugorze tzw. życia polonijnego wspierała się zawsze w zacnych inicjatywach, które potem chętnie wskazywano jako osiągnięcia polonijne w dziedzinie kultury. Te ‘osiągnięcia’ były wszak prawie bez wyjątku wynikiem mozolnej pracy tych właśnie (i przez lata stale tych samych) bidaków-pisarczyków i im podobnych akolitów sztuk tzw. pięknych lub wolnych (w przeciwieństwie do mięsnych, które zdecydowanie większą popularność miały).  

Zyman we wstępie wyjaśnia tytuł odwołujący się do Jana Kochanowskiego, który te słowa użył w jednej ze swoich Pieśni, konkludując za poetą czarnoleskim, że im bardziej się sili tym więcej  się myli. Ale od siebie szybko wyjaśnia, że wszak nie mylą się tylko ci, którzy nic nie robią. A przyznaję od siebie, że Edward Zyman na tym ugorze polonijnym zrobił dużo i poświęcił mu połowę swojego życia.

Zmarł 18 listopada 2021 w Mississauga, w Ontario, gdzie od wielu lat mieszkał, w wieku 78 lat. O jego śmierci dowiedziałem się dość przypadkowo, w równie przypadkowej rozmowie internetowej z poetą z Calgary, Janem Wolakiem. Moje kontakty z Edwardem od blisko 20 lat były raczej sporadyczne. Choć w pierwszym 10-leciu jego pobytu w Kanadzie łączyła nas bardzo bliska znajomość i jeszcze bliższa współpraca literacko-publicystyczna. Odległość, jak i duże zmiany pokoleniowe, polityczne, socjologiczne, jakie zaszły w Polonii w latach 1991-2001 oddaliły nas od siebie. Gdzieś od tych lat poczynając wycofałem się świadomie i prawie kompletnie z tzw. życia polonijnego. Odmówiłem dalszej współpracy i publikacji w pismach polonijnych, nie chciałem mieć nic wspólnego z organizacjami polonijnymi. W czym bardzo pomogło mi przeniesienie się z Alberty do pięknego Vancouveru, w nowe nieznajome środowisko.

Naturalnie życie ma swoje dróżki. W krótkim czasie odnalazło mnie dwóch redaktorów/wydawców ówczesnego tygodnika „Takie Życie” ukazującego się lokalnie w Vancouverze, których wcześniej nie znałem. Nagabywano, zachęcano i naturalnie na końcu pozyskano. Aliści o tzw. sprawach polonijnych starałem się nie pisać.  Po jakimś czasie, głównie ze względu na przyjazd na stałe do mnie mojej mamy – nawiązałem kontakt z zacną i wiele dobrego robiąca grupą artystów i przyjaciół sztuk „Pod skrzydłami Pegaza”.  Efektem tego (długa historia) było podjęcie się wydawania rocznika twórczości polskiej „Strumień’, którego zasadniczymi adresatami były polskie placówki akademickie i archiwalne, biblioteki naukowe oraz główne ośrodki kultury polskiej (jak np. Biblioteka Paryska) poza granicami Kraju. Z góry zakładając, że nie jest to pismo nastawione na jakikolwiek dochód, nie zawracała mi głowy i czasu myśl o szukaniu indywidualnego czytelnika i nabywcy pisma (naturalnie kwestia jakiegokolwiek wynagrodzenia w ogóle nie była brana pod uwagę i było to wyjście zdrowe, bo unikało jakiegokolwiek uzależnienia mnie we wszelkich decyzjach edytorskich). Poza stałymi i regularnymi, raz w roku, spotkaniami z lokalnym czytelnikiem z Vancouveru i okolic, które były jednocześnie okazją do prezentacji autorów danego wydania, odczytów, wystawy sztuk wizualnych, czasem prezentacji muzycznej. Spotkania te miały miejsce w Miejskiej Bibliotece. Unikaliśmy korzystania z ‘gościnności’ lokalnych organizacji polonijnych.

Sytuacja Edwarda Zymana było zupełnie inna. Urodzony dobrze ponad dekadę wcześniej niż ja, przyjechał do Kanady już z interesującym doświadczeniem i bagażem jako autor, jako redaktor. Miał za sobą doświadczenia życia zawodowego i zarobkowego w środowisku redakcyjnym i chciał tego rodzaju pracę kontynuować tu. Różniły nas też środowiska z jakich pochodziliśmy, pewne tradycje. Wiek był, mimo to, pewnie czynnikiem decydującym. Moje doświadczenia z Polski były głównie doświadczeniami młodego, zapalonego działacza „Solidarności’ a od momentu wylądowania w Kanadzie – działacza niepodległościowego. Doświadczenia autorskie w Kraju miałem minimalne – kilka drobnych felietonów i tekstów rozrzuconych po różnych tytułach.

W ten sposób poznaliśmy się w jego pierwszych dniach pobytu w Kanadzie, w Calgary, gdzie wylądował z żoną w 1983. Zajął się szybko redagowaniem lokalnego biuletynu (z taką właśnie nazwą „Biuletyn Polonijny”), miesięcznej relacji z wydarzeń trzech środowisk finansujących to wydawnictwo: Stow. Kombatantów, Parafii i Stow. Polsko-Kanadyjskiego. Pisemko wartości większej nie miało ale ‘na bezrybiu i rak ryba’. Miało za to bardzo oddanych i regularnie subskrybujących miesięcznik od wielu lat czytelników. Edward był pierwszym, który Biuletyn nieco uporządkował graficznie, tematycznie. Był też pierwszym, który skłonił Dyrekcję Prasową (tak wypadało chyba nazwać osoby, które z ramienia wymienionych wyżej instytucji decydowały o finansach i charakterze pisma) do wypłacaniu mu miesięcznej tantiemy. Co uważam za jego pierwszy sukces. I pochwalałem to. Hydraulikowi się za usługi płaci bez zastanowienia. Natomiast wyrobnikom słowa nigdy się w polonijnej Kanadzie nie płaciło. Ano – bo każdy przecież umie pisać! Choć nie zastanawiano się, że każdy umie odkręcić i zakręcić kran, a mimo to hydraulikowi się jednak płaciło.

W tym samym czasie zorganizowałem w Calgary zjazd/kolokwium polskich intelektualistów, ludzi pióra i sztuki, akademików z Zachodniej Kanady. Nie było to łatwe, bo każdy miał swoje terminy, nie mogliśmy oferować zwrotu kosztów podróży, zakwaterowanie robiliśmy u siebie lub znajomych. Organizacje na takie ‘imprezy’ nie miały pieniędzy. Ale dzięki temu udało nam się poznać ciekawych i bardzo wartościowych ludzi, niektórzy mieszkający od wielu lat w Kanadzie a nie zawsze znający się osobiście. Te spotkanie bardzo pobudziło i dało energię Edwardowi. Zadzierzgnięcie stosunków środowiskowych jest niezmiernie ważne na polu kultury. Byli tam redaktorzy, profesorowie uniwersytetów, działacze kulturalni. Najważniejszym bodaj pokłosiem – i to była głownie zasługa nie moja, a Edwarda – była decyzja wydawania kwartalnika kulturalnego pod patronatem albertańskiego oddziału KPK. Redaktorem naczelnym został wybitny literaturoznawca prof. Edward Możejko (późniejszy dziekan Wydz. Literatury Uniwersytetu Alberty), a Edward wszedł w skład redakcji. Ja, popierający ideę, odmówiłem formalnego wejścia do redakcji nie wierząc w sukces przetrwania pisma. A przetrwało sporo dłużej niż obawiałem się, bo blisko cztery lata.  Ale publikowałem tam eseje, krytyki literackie i zdaje się jeden lub dwa wiersze. Kwartalnik od początku do końca wydawano starannie pod względem graficznym i merytorycznym. Niestety nigdy nie udało się osiągnąć sukcesu finansowego ani wystarczającej liczby czytelników, a poruszane tematy wykraczały poza zainteresowania członków organizacji kongresowych, gdzie błędnie spodziewano się większego zainteresowania. Edward zrozumiał, że mimo poziomu czasopisma – nie ma mowy o jakimkolwiek wsparciu finansowym dla pracujących przy tym wydawnictwie. W Calgary też związał się lokalną polonijną redakcja telewizyjną, gdzie przygotowywano tygodniowy program na bezpłatnym kanale wielokulturowym. Program nosił tytuł Polish Kaleidoscop   i Zyman bez wątpienia wpłynął na profesjonalny poziom tego programu. Stronę techniczna zapewniał inny młody uchodźca solidarnościowy, kamerzysta z Polski, niestety nazwisko nie przetrwało w mojej pamięci.   Kilka razy byłem gościem tego programu. Wszystko to jednak nie dawało nadziei na możliwość znalezienia pozycji płatnej, zwykłego zarabiania na życie. Perspektywa polepszenia sytuacji była nikła, bliska zeru. Po prawdzie jedyny (poza pracą akademicką lub w kanadyjskim, angielskojęzycznym środowisku literackim do czego umiejętności ani kwalifikacji nie miał) sposób zarabiania na życie wówczas wiązać się musiał z pracą redakcyjną w jednym z kilku tygodników polskich: Winnipeg („Czas”) lub Toronto (tu było aż kilka gazet, w tym dwie najstabilniejsze finansowo: „Związkowiec” i „Głos Polski”). Tam też przeprowadził się w drugiej połowie 1984 i objął funkcję redaktora naczelnego „Głosu Polskiego”. Współpracowałem z nim dość regularnie w tym czasie stale publikując na łamach „Głosu” publicystykę polityczną, czasem recenzje literackie i zgodziłem się przenieść z tygodnika „Czas” periodyczne reportaże literackie ‘Pogwarki’.

1.E. Zyman z rodzicami autora, Fort Macleod, Alberta, 1984; 2. rodzice autora, E. Zyman i prof. I. Adel-Człowiekowski, W Letbridge, Alberta, 1984

Tu dopiero zaczął się najważniejszy okres jego działalności redakcyjnej, literackiej, organizacyjnej i – co chyba najistotniejsze – wydawniczej w ramach Polskiego Funduszu Wydawniczego.

Największym chyba talentem Edwarda Zymana była jego umiejętność właśnie organizacyjna skupiająca się na odnajdywaniu właściwych osób, we właściwym czasie i pozyskiwania ich dla swoich idei. Umiejętność perswazji, argumentacji i nie traktowaniu ‘nie mogę” lub ‘to niemożliwe’, jako decyzji ostatecznej. Olbrzymią pomocą dla niego było też poznania tam ludzi nowych z nowej fali emigracyjnej, którzy mieli podobne, jak on doświadczenia i język praktyczny wyniesiony z PRL. Zaś z drugiej strony umiejętność rozmowy, pewnej adoracji wręcz, wobec środowisk literacko-artystycznych starej emigracji. Z czasem rozpoczął szereg projektów, zaangażował się w licznych firmach, organizacjach związanych pośrednio lub bezpośrednio z życiem kulturalnym (z głównym naciskiem na dział literacki) Ontario i innych regionów Kanady.

Szczególnie znamienna dla niego była znajomość i przyjaźń z Adamem Tomaszewskim i pisarzami lub działaczami kulturalnymi związanymi z Polskim Funduszem Wydawniczym (PFL).  Z biegiem czasu oczywistym stała się potrzeba wymiany pokoleniowej. Twórcy i zawładający Funduszem, naturalnym ciągiem losów, powoli schodzili z aktywnej sceny polonijnej.  Zyman był gotów te miejsce zająć i wlać nową krew w tą zacną organizację. Wiązało się to też z okresem zmian politycznych w Polsce. I znowu – jego podtrzymywane i pielęgnowane z ośrodkami literacko-wydawniczymi i ludźmi w tych ośrodkach umożliwiły mu nowe plany  współpracy. Był to początek wybuchu zainteresowania tzw. literaturą emigracyjną i jej twórcami w Kraju, nadrabiania blisko 50-letnich zaległości. Ale dzięki temu zainteresowaniu była to też okazja pokazania w Kraju (i pokazania w Kanadzie i innych krajach osadnictwa) dorobku nowej fali, tej post-solidarnościowej, którzy w kraju byli albo nie znani kompletnie lub z bardzo minimalnym dorobkiem. Edward potrafił te znajomości z nowymi autorami jego własnej fali emigracyjnej podtrzymywać, pielęgnować.

Był to już okres końca lat 90. ub. wieku i początku XXI wieku. Nasza współpraca w zasadzie zakończyła się. Mieliśmy może jeszcze, przy okazji jego wizyt w Vancouverze u Anny Lubicz dwa bodaj tylko spotkania prywatne. Zostały już chyba tylko pozory serdeczności i dawnej przyjaźni.  Wydaje mi się, że pewnym zgrzytem, którego nie potrafił mi chyba darować była śmieszna sprawa wydania przez Fundusz jego książeczki „Metamorfoza Głębin Twoich” w 2003. Byłbym pewnie nigdy tej książki ani czytał ani o niej słyszał. Pisał w niej o autorach (no, niech będzie poetach, bo któż nas ma władzę nadawać lub odbierać te tytuły?) kilku tomików wierszy. Niektóre chyba z tych nazwisk znałem. Inne nie. Ale pewna para  pisarska znała mnie, a o nich też mowa była w tej książeczce. I poprosili o spotkanie, o rozmowę. O wylanie żali gorzkich. Pożyczyłem od nich tą książeczkę, przeczytałem. Przeczytałem też ich tomik z ich wierszami, innego omawianego autora (z jego wiersza zapożyczył Zyman ten zabawny tytuł) czytałem na tyle na ile mogłem lata wcześniej, gdy przesłał mi tomik z dedykacją i prośbą o recenzję. Recenzji napisać nie mogłem, bo nie miałem serca, więc wyłgałem się kompletnym brakiem czasu. Język w książce  Zymana był  pozbawiony ‘metamorfozy głębin’ (LOL), był bardziej niż ostry – był bezlitosny. To nie była krytyka omawianych tomików, książek – to był pręgież egzekutora. Coup de grâce wymierzony przez Krytyka wobec złej poezji, lub wierszowania symulującego poezję. Nie zawsze chyba słusznie. Nie mnie ani Zymanowi (ni komukolwiek innemu) wypada takie publiczne wyroki bezapelacyjne ferować. A jeśli już – to nie w formie książkowej, może felietonik tu lub tam, może uwaga w adnotacjach. Nie wiem. Istnieje pojęcie złej poezji (czyli braku poezji) ale istnieje też poezja (lub wierszowanie, nie będziemy się sprzeczać o ‘przecinki’) pogranicza literatury, jej obrzeży. Ma zapotrzebowanie czytelnicze, oddaje pewien, na ogół jednoznaczny i pozbawiony ‘metamorfoz’ stan ducha, emocji. O ile złą lub wadliwą powieść, słaby wiersz lub dramat napisze znany autor – można i warto mu to zarzucić, wytknąć. To zupełnie inny obszar krytyki literackiej. O nieznanych lub istniejących na obrzeżach literatury autorach lepiej chyba nie pisać nic niż ich miażdżyć. Byłbym może i to pominął jednak. Odpowiedział tą samą wymówką braku czasu. Najbardziej wkurzyło mnie jednak, że to Edward, a nie oni własnym sumptem wydający taką czy inna książeczkę, zrobił występek. Co było wówczas (i mimo sytuacji lepszej niż 40 lat temu, jest i dziś) oczywiste to fakt, że publikacja, wydanie tomiku wierszy, powieści, zbioru opowiadań jest w środowisku polonijnym (nie tylko w Kanadzie) szalenie trudne. Te bardzo nieliczne ośrodki i instytucje polonijne, które to umożliwiały czasem, miały szalenie ograniczone możliwości finansowe, edytorskie, dystrybutorskie. Wiedziałem to ja, jako naczelny rocznika twórczości w Vancouverze, wiedział lepiej jeszcze ode mnie Edward Zyman, który z większością tego typu instytucji w Toronto był związany lub je prowadził. I użycie tych skromnych środków na wydanie własnej książeczki właśnie z tych zasobów Funduszu, która absolutnie niczego do literatury nie wniosła, było naganne, a nawet trochę megalomańskie.  I taka była generalnie kwintesencja mojej recenzji książki Edwarda. Gwoli pewnej rzeczowości podałem tam przykłady kilku wierszy zdruzgotanych przez Zymana (nielicznych, przyznaję), które posiadały swą wartość (jakkolwiek nikłą) literacką, a znalazłem nawet takie, które poziomem zbyt daleko nie uciekały od szeregu wydawanych w Kraju (bo to był też moment wielkiej rewolucji w krajowym rynku wydawniczym, gdzie wydać było coś czasem łatwiej i taniej niż kupić porządny garnitur). Słabości innych nie ukrywałem ale się nad tymi słabościami nie rozpisywałem. I opublikowałem to w którymś z tygodników (trzy się chyba wówczas ukazywały w Vancouverze). Ani wilk był syty ani koza cała. Od znajomych dowiedziałem się, że Edward miał o to do mnie duży żal, a para pisząca wiersze w Vancouverze, która się do mnie o ratunek zwróciła też zachwycona nie była, bom pozytywnej kontr-recenzji ich tomiku nie wydał, zaś sprawy szersze ich nie interesowały.

Efektem było ochłodzenie naszych stosunków. Jako, że aktywnie (poza własnym podwórkiem redakcyjnym, które mi zabierało zbyt wiele co raz się kurczącego czasu) i tak w ogólno-kanadyjskim dyskursie przestałem uczestniczyć zbyt się o to nie troszczyłem. Z latami każdy z nas przyzwyczaja się do personalnych ubytków, strat, lub wręcz rozczarowań. Życie. Mojej pozytywnej bardzo opinii o osiągnięciach Zymana, jako wydawcy i animatora polonijnego życia literackiego to nie zmieniło. Spotykając się na uniwersytetach w Rzeszowie (‘Fraza’ i dział Biblioteki Uniwersyteckiej poświęcony literaturze emigracyjnej w Kanadzie), Toruniu (Archiwum Emigracji) – rozmawialiśmy często o Zymanie i Funduszu Wydawniczym. Choć zasadniczym tematem byli wielcy twórcy, jak Busza, Iwaniuk, Czaykowski, to naturalnie nie mogło zabraknąć rozmów o ogólno-kanadyjskim stanie literatury i pisarzy polskich. A w tym temacie nie mogło zabraknąć Zymana. Zasłużył na to w pełni.

Kilka lat temu Uniwersytet w Katowicach przysłał mi zaproszenie na specjalną sesję temu tematowi poświęconą. Miałem nadzieje przyjąć zaproszenie i pojechać. Zrobiłem nawet szkic o czym i o kim chciałem wspomnieć. Dwa nazwiska zajmowały  w tym szkicu miejsce specjalne: twórczość Andrzeja Buszy, poety doskonałego moim zdaniem tak w tworzywie-formie, narzędziach poetyckich, jak i wyjątkowej, uniwersalnej treści i Edwarda Zymana, jako przykładu świetnego organizatora i animatora życia literackiego. Jeden jest zależny od drugiego. Twórca bez wydawcy-mecenasa, promotora istnieć nie może w świadomości czytelnika; najlepszy organizator, mecenas sztuki Sztuce służyć nie może bez twórcy.  Niestety, ciężka choroba Mamy, której byłem jedynym opiekunem w Kanadzie uniemożliwiła mi już wówczas wyjazdy na dłużej niż dzień-dwa. Choć tym tekstem więc oddaję Edwardowi tu należny ukłon.

W pewnym sensie jest dość chyba znaczące, że z wydanych własnych prac Edwarda ta, która największą chyba wartość posiada i służyć będzie  – daj Boże – pokoleniom badaczy literatury polskiej w Kanadzie nie są jego krytyki, wiersze, zbiory felietonów, a dokument: kronika Funduszu Wydawniczego ale i szerzej, polskiego życia literackiego w Kanadzie: „Mosty z papieru. O życiu literackim, sytuacji pisarza i jego dzieła na obczyźnie.” wydany w 2010. Jak każdy taki dokument – zwłaszcza jeśli nie pisany przez szeroki zespół, a przez indywidualnego autora – ma braki, nie jest pełny. Ale jest najpełniejszy, jaki do tej pory stworzono w Kanadzie.

Ostatnim naszym kontaktem było właśnie wysłanie tej książki na mój adres przez Edwarda. W dedykacji napisał coś, co gotów jestem dosłownie, bez jakiejkolwiek edycji skierować teraz do niego. Może mogliśmy jeszcze szczerze, spokojnie i bez żali czy niechęci porozmawiać. Ostatecznie temu samemu służyliśmy tutaj, między Pacyfikiem i Atlantykiem. W innej skali i możliwościach, może nawet z innych konieczności – ale cel ten sam. Utrwalić, ocalić od zapomnienia, umożliwić zaistnieć. I chyba pro publico bono. Więc Twoje słowa do mnie – kieruje teraz do ciebie, Edku:

„z nostalgicznym wspomnieniem wspólnych pomysłów i działań ‘w kulturze’ w pierwszych latach na Obczyźnie, która jawiła się (dziś to wiem) nazbyt optymistycznie, z dojrzałym dystansem do niemal wszystkich spraw tego świata, najserdeczniej … „

Canada Day 2021. Shame or pride?

Canada Day 2021. Shame or pride?

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

The chorus of voices behind each of the chosen answer is deafening. And probably each equally wrong. For – in my opinion – the answer is simple: neither. And that opinion is not based on moral, ethnic, philosophical or political reasons. I base it on … demographics.

Just few years after my arrival in Canada, in 1986, European immigrants formed huge group of roughly 70% of all people born outside of Canada; second  group, far behind, were immigrants from all Americas (15%); close to them were immigrants from Asia at 9%; people born in Africa represented 4%.

Now jump thirty years to the future, to 2016. Immigrants born in Europe were 33%; from Americas roughly unchanged, at 16%; born in Africa double in size to 9%. Asian born immigrants placed at record 40%, becoming the dominant new Canadians born outside of Canada.

Mind you, this numbers do not count Canadians of European, Asian or African heritage, who were born already in Canada. These are just first generation Canadians. Like me. Did you notice the huge change, though?

Yes, Canada is – and will become even more  in coming years – a different country than it was when you were born here, definitely different than the country of your Canadian parents and grandparents. That also has a statistical effect on how all Canadians perceive our Canadian past, our judgment of that past. Our expectation for the future.

We will never know it, but I will risk assuming that if in 1982 (the year I arrived in Canada) some Royal Commission or National Inquiry discovered and truly showed to the public the story of Residential Schools, the huge damage it has inflicted on First Nations – there would have been no Parliamentary or Government acknowledgment of the crimes, no national ‘we are sorry’,  as it happened in 2008 Apology delivered by PM Stephen Harper.  Why would I assume it? Because in 1982 Canada was a different country as far as the fabric of our society. In that country it would have been wiser politically not to fully accept facts and issue ethical response. Settlements probably would have been paid (probably smaller) because the courts and independent Commissions  would have established beyond doubt the harm and guilt of Canadian government and our Christian Churches. But the affair would have been called an old policy mistake, reparation paid, few still operational schools closed and that would have been the end of it. It was a different world. I remember it well. Not only in Canada.

But times changed. And so our country and the people, who live in here. This is not a judgment on descendants of French and Anglo-Saxon original settlers. Their values and their knowledge and sense of history was different, too. Their stories told by their parents and grandparents were the stories seen by their eyes, their understanding of the world around them, not by objective view. My story of my homeland, Poland, was different when I was 10, 15 or even 18 years old. Very different then my story of Poland now, 40 years later. Even those, who finished universities and colleges were taught from history books of previous generations. History glamorized, made heroic. It was needed to build and to make strong a very young nation. Nation, which just went through horrible experiences in First and Second world wars. How a nation that just sent thousands of young boys to die for freedom of nations far away, across an ocean, could have itself commit a crime against tiny nations of poor Indians?! That was beyond comprehension for many. It doesn’t change the facts of that terrible crime, doesn’t absolve the astonishing lack of morals of politicians and governments and Churches in good first half of XX century. But it was a time, when news and facts were not as easily noticed or reported as today. It does make it easier to understand the ignorance of that crime among general population.

And now, in 2021, on July 1, I am ashamed of the past of my history. My, because, as a Canadian, I have accept as mine also the history of my country. My country – Canada.  I have never stopped being a proud Pole. Who is ashamed of some parts of Polish history. Parts of very anti-democratic and xenophobic temporary, today’s Poland. Because of that old knowledge, I can say as a proud Canadian, that any form of xenophobia is the worst national feeling that can be. That we should always fight it within ourselves. That feeling of being better than others is not a good feeling. It is a poison that seeps into healthy patriotism and makes it bitter and sour. Having these two alter egos – the Polish and the Canadian – makes me very aware of it.

I like stories. Often tell them myself. Do you know the difference between ‘telling a story’ and reminiscing? Both involve past and often are of personal experience (although story could be of other people’s experience, known to the teller, or even be of fictional characters and place). The main difference is that a story has an informative and educational message. What it used to be called: a moral. Reminiscing is mostly of sentimental value and reason.

My story of today takes place in time long ago and of time present. A visit to an Indian Reserve in the middle of 1980’ and visit to reserve on July 1st, 2021. On Canada Day.

In the 80’, after working for few years I got restless with my job (well paid unionized position in Catholic School Board) and quit. Needed something new, more challenging. It was first and only time in my almost 40 years now in Canada, that I was unemployed. Still knew very little of the system, of how it all works. Being young and a bit of a ‘smart Alex’, I felt above asking anyone for good advice. I will find my own way! Or so I thought. I found some intriguing ad about some insurance/financial/investing company looking for new ‘ambitious’ people. Knew nothing about that field. Zilch. After all investing and finances in communist system were really a totally different concepts from another planet. And that’s where I grew up and educated myself. What an opportunity to try myself in a truly capitalist field, I thought seeing that add. Of course it was an absolute scam, as I learnt quickly.  The ’firm’ was telling us that the best to start and learn is through sales. Sales of anything. If you learn how to sell any product, you be good in selling serious product and services. Let’s go to do some ‘field work’. The manager and his assistant noticed that I have a new , good size car and suggested that they, myself and another promising applicant will drive to that experimental field.  Right away I didn’t like the fact of using my, not the company’s car for such trip. Perhaps that was also part of the test and building of trust and finding an unorthodox way? Who am I to judge? My trunk was filled with heavy bags full of stuff. We drove just outside of city limits in Calgary and parked by the gates to Sarcee Indian reserve. The manager instructed us that once we park inside the reserve, each will grab a bag and spread out to find any single (the best) or group of young people and sell our product.  Radios – 30 bucks, flashlights – 15, cassette players with speakers – 40.  All the best imported from USA and Japan. Who sells the most – wins a special gift and an offer of employment. Let’s go! My head was spinning as I started the car and crossed the gate. We parked in central place, close to the entrance. I opened my bag – full of cheap and flashy Asian electronic junk.  What the hell?! Did I move back in time and going to be traveling salesman with flashy junk to sell it to poor Indians?! I put the bag on the ground. The manager yelled at me – come on, faster, we don’t have much time before the Chiefs kick us out! That was enough. I threw the other bags to the ground and yell back: get the f… out of my car now. I am not a f… colonial trader in XVII century Africa. I am leaving now. He was shocked and confused. Locals started looking at us hearing my yells. He tried to calm me down and resigned said – ok, let’s go back to the office, we will talk there, I will explain it to you. I said that I am leaving. But alone and I don’t give a s… how they will get home. And I left.

That was my first encounter with Canadian Indian Reserve and Canadians perception of them. Today the Sarcee nation is known by their own historical name Tsuut’ina Nation. Since that time they have become powerful and resourceful tribe with strong social, economic and educational base. Instead of scamming traveling salesmen with cheap watches and other junk they are visited by Calgary’s mayors, premiers and economic ministers of Alberta, reps of powerful corporation, who want to deal with them and offers of contracts worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. But there are still, further form large urban centres, small secluded tribes living in abhorrent conditions. And still being subject to indecent and dishonest deals.

Few days ago I went again to First Nation Reserve. This time by myself, to celebrate Canada Day. How better to celebrate this country if not among it’s first, original inhabitants, guardians?

That decision came easily for me. Should I just pretend than nothing is happening, that there is an uproar of sadness, anger and discontent on this Day? What to do with it/ Some were cancelling the celebration, some were planning to organize protest, some wanted to say “I’m sorry”.  But sorry doesn’t cut it anymore. Burning old churches doesn’t cut it, neither. Just get together and talk. We leave together, on the same land, none of us will disappear anywhere soon. Get to know each other. Specially Canadian, who are not from First Nations, should really try to get to know indigenous people. Don’t be ashamed, or to afraid. We can’t re-write history but we sure can write a better, respectful of each other, future.

Went to the largest reserve in Nova Scotia, located between Halifax and Truro. What used to be called Indian Brooke Reserve, but is actually Reserve of a tribe called Sipekne’katik, that is a part of people called L’nu (popularly called Mi’cmaq). All this names, starting with the stupid name “Indians”, is also an effect of our total ignorance and arrogance, lack of basic knowledge.  All these tribes have names, they have history, language. Canada is a continent, for havens  sake! People in Europe are called sometime Europeans – but each nation has its own name and language, sometime more than one! German is not a Pole and Italian is not Swede. Just as Korean is not Vietnamese. Our Haida people on Pacific shores are not Prairie Blackfoots or Maritime Mi’cmaq. It is really not that complicated. No more than the difference between ‘British’, ‘English’ and ‘Welsh’.

top left – author in front of L’nu Sipuk Kina School; entrance to the Village from Robinson Rd. ; Community Centre and Administration on Church St. ; bottom – St. Kateri Tekokwitha statue by the RC Church; view of Church Street toward Tuff St. and Sport Complex. (pict. by the author)

The Sipikne,katik village is large and well developed. Big church, large cultural and civic centre, beautiful school, few stores and businesses, relatively well maintained properties. One main road and few smaller ones interconnecting the territory. That special day was a huge motorized parade to remember the lost children –  these days subject on everyone’s mind and weighing heavy on hearts. There was a special gathering on sport grounds with music and children. Specially the beautiful children, all (as adults) wearing the dark orange shirts, were making me very happy and extremely sad at the same time. Just as, when I went later to visit the grounds of former Residential School to pay my respect. I watched from a small hill, were the school used to be, as one family were leaving their car: parents in their twenties and three small children. And I imagined how the RCMP arrived with some cars and were pushing away the screaming, horrified parents and taking away the crying children in a wagon to some far away school. For many years to come. Some never saw the parents again. That image brought tears to my eyes.

site of former Indian Residential School on the banks of Shubenacadie River (main building no longer exist, what’s left are three residential wooden buildngs of nuns, priest and caretaker). From top left – signs erected in of the old Nuns residence (#16 Indian School Rd); top two right pic – ad hoc prepared spot for burning of incent and sweet grass to honour lost children; next row – a place on the ground where you leave your offering and prayer; next three pictures of a post sign with arrows directing toward different locations of schools with recently discovered unmarked graves – notice the sign to Carlisle in Pasadena in USA, where number of boarding schools and number of Indian children confined to them is many times larger then Canadian numbers, yet the US Government never attempted a national investigation and full report of atrocities committed against US Indigenous People – ; bottom row: the only remaining part of the school building, a steeple from the school with one small room filled with children’s knickknacks; view from the hill were the school was toward the three remaining (unoccupied and in a state of disrepair) buildings; a young Mi’cmaq family on the nearby field (pic. by the author)

Back in the village, in the sport grounds, local young guys were sitting by a huge band drum. We exchanged few words, they gave me ‘v’ sign (when I was their age, we, “Solidarity’ activists in Warsaw, were giving ourselves the same sign full of hope and determination) and started playing the drum and sing.  Amazing concert, so powerful, so touching. I didn’t need to understand the words – they were so plain in emotion. As you listen sometime to some amazing operatic aria sung in a language you don’t know – yet, you understand it so clearly. Because emotions: pain, happiness, sadness, longing, caring, love and friendship need no translations, no explanation. That moment I shared their pain and their hope and their pride. Therefore yes, I can say that I felt proud as Canadian on Canada Day. By sharing and understanding very raw and very clear emotions of my fellow Canadians from Sipekne’katik tribe.

pictures form the diamond sport field and the band drummers and singers; flag in front of the School

I don’t know if I ever had a such good and really proud Canada Day. It was mixed with sadness and hope. Like a true, on epic scale, story of human condition. All humans. From the beginning of times.

A nation that can accept it’s dark past is on a good way to bright future. Feeling sorry for wrongdoings of one’s ancestors does not equal assuming personal guilt. It equals understanding of harm done and naming a crime – a crime. Making sure that nothing like that will happen again.

notes to ponder …

Every social unrest, every protest movement, call for justice, for equality, is a long and arduous way. None are easy and easily achievable. Even when the general political atmosphere is amicable and open to find a solution. If the political will is antagonistic – it could lead to skirmishes, prison terms, police and even army interventions, bloodshed. It could take years, decades to achieve measurable change. In a short time it could lead to worsening, persecution. Even provocations. Just look at the Black Rights movement in the USA. It started in the 60. of last century. And is still not finished. If not for people like dr. Martin Luther King and his non-violent philosophy (based on Mahatma Gandhi movement in India during their struggle for independence) there would have been rivers of blood flowing like a torrent. King’s and Gandhi’s movements take years, are slow and based on moral superiority of argument against the argument of brute force. They seek not retribution but recognisance, equality not superiority. And even that slow and non-violent way does not guarantee success. Or the success would be bitter sweet (India ‘s independence ended up in breaking up the country, mass exodus of Muslim citizens, their persecution and executions from fellow Hindu majority – despite the fact that both groups have similar ethic heritage). There is always a more radical, more impatient or revolutionary segment of disadvantaged group: Black Panthers versus King’s movement in US; Fathah versus Hamas in Palestinian cause; and one of the oldest scourge of social hatred: traditional white Christian antisemitism in Europe and countries where European powers established new colonies that later become new, independent states. Yes, main Churches in last almost hundred years, specially after the horror of Holocaust, denounced the old tradition. Popes decried it. But old official Church policy and doctrine doesn’t change easily. It always lurks in the dark places and dark souls. People were shocked, when few churches were burnt in Canada. I wasn’t. Did not support it but wasn’t surprised. Apart from the State, which is responsible for setting up the system of these horrible schools and is responsible for not checking regularly how were they run by religious authorities – the Catholic Church acted the worst in the way they run it and are the worst in the way they responded and responding to Truth and Reconciliation Commission Report. Not by what the bishops and clergy are saying in public but in what actually are they doing. So I was not shocked that probably some angry young individuals or organized group set the few churches ablaze. It is still possible that it was even done by not Indigenous persons but by provocateurs seeking a strong negative reaction from general public. Roman Catholics still form a majority of religious denomination in Canada. Yet, I didn’t sensed a strong negative reaction to the news. To the contrary – a muted understanding. Of course, if actions like that persist – the feeling might change. I don’t thing we will see more of these burnings, though. A statement was made and was understood. As for the the so called ‘profanation’ of church walls by painting on them hands of young children – I am shocked that the press and news even used that term ‘profanation’. Harming and killing children was profanation. The act of paintings their hands on church doors and walls in my view is totally acceptable and has a very deep, just meaning. I applaud it. Building in Saskatoon a huge new cathedral for quarter million dollars, while arguing in front of court (successfully, sic!) that the Church can’t afford paying 24 millions dollars as reparation to First nations is a profanation. It is worth noting that despite all of it, the Indigenous people are very religious and by large part Catholics themselves. But that’s entirely different subject.

Black guy and me. What’s the difference?

by Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

I was always drawn to the history and culture of Black people. Even as a young man in Poland, back in the 70. But – Poland had really very little tradition and history of Black culture and Black people.  Mainly, I suppose, for the reason of being rather far from Africa geographically and loosing it’s sovereignty by the end of XVIII century until end of I world war. More or less the time of major colonialism expansion of other European powers.  That was perhaps one of the very few – if not the only one – good part of losing our political freedom. Then came the upheaval of Polish Solidarity movement in which I took very active part – and with that, all other interests had to give way to the main focus of the fight with Soviet communism in Poland.

That involvement in Polish Solidarity resulted in my short visit to London (first ever beyond the Iron Curtain) were I was hoping to study the life of Polish independence hero (and my personal), Marshal Pilsudski and London had a major Institute devoted to the study of his life and works (the other being in New York). It was fateful journey. That year Martial Law was declared by communists in Poland, the communist militia came to my home to arrest me (thousands were interned) and, on the advice of my father (former Soviet labor camp prisoner), I decided not to return. My entire world was turned upside down.

I lived in London in Willesden, close to Harrow Road, renting one bedroom apartment form a Polish lady, daughter of one of thousands of Polish soldiers, who stayed in Britain, after Poland was assigned in Yalta to Stalin. It was a typical working class neighborhood, with its own pubs, barbers, shops. And, of course, rows upon rows of tightly connected two or three floors red brick townhouses. In the 70. and 80. that neighborhood was also witnessing a large influx of Black population.  That decade also witnessed the first of many large and often violent protests of Blacks in London. That tension and a bit of unease was palpable in Willesden. It must have been late summer, when the tension erupted again. At evening times normally busy Harrow Street, was void of white pedestrians.  I was coming home by double-decker as usually late evening. From the bus stop, I had to take a relatively short, yet long enough, walk to my apartment.  Suddenly a group of three or four young Black guys appeared walking toward me and looking uninvitingly at me. I was young, too. Perfect combination to avoid. Unless you were looking for a fight, which I was not. I moved to the side, as not to provoke them, but kept walking. They stopped me, don’t remember the exact words but the jest (and the hand on my chest) was:  ‘were the f..k you think you are going? It is our street now’.  I, truthfully, explained that I have no claim to that street whatsoever, that I am not British and just coming home from 10 hours shift. I also mentioned that I am a refugee from a communist regime. Few more exchanges, less and less angry and I ended up in our neighborhood pub sharing a pint with them.  They asked me a lot about Walesa and “Solidarity”. I told them more about the Soviet-style communism.   Some of it was surprising for them and they said that it looked like the Soviets are not that different from the colonials in their countries, back in Africa. At the end they offered (I accepted) to escort me to my door, so nobody harms me by mistaking me with other local whites.

Why this reminiscing?  I watch (forcing myself, for it is very hard) for past week or so, the court trail of the murderer of George Floyd in USA.  Watched the video tapes several times and the image of the policeman knee suffocating George Floyd, killing him minute by minute, second by second is ingrained in my mind forever. Just as the hysterical, crazy female officer shooting the beautiful young  Black 20 year old boy in Minnesota yesterday.  It is beyond outrage, beyond anger. Two days after another handsome Black man, US Army officer, is taken out of the car and tasered as a hooligan or gangster. One wants to scream from the top of ones lungs: what the …ck is wrong with the Police forces in North America?! Particularly in US. That is not normal. It is sick. Your job is stressful, it is dangerous. But you are not solving or helping to solve the problem. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.  You are the personification of the worst evil in America – the rampant racism. The Blue uniform become equivalent with the white robes of times by. When Floyd was murdered last year, the movement Black Lives Matter started. It spread beyond US borders rapidly. To Canada, to Europe.  In the middle of the first wave of pandemic.  Despite the pandemic, despite the risks, I thought that cause worthy enough of public support and joined my Black brothers and sisters in their march through Downtown Halifax. I watched their anger, their desperation – but most of all their sorrow. Deep, tiring sorrow, that follows them through their long history in the New World.

Let me take you through another short walk from my past. Year is about 85, maybe 86. My first visit with my partner to Florida. Few years after my life started anew in Canada.  We rented a car and were travelling from St Petersburg toward Orlando. I moved from the big interstate #4 to some quiet and deserted side road.  Not a single car in front, not a single one behind. Perfect.  Time to relax, enjoy the views. I think the speed limit was 60 miles and I was driving probably 70 or 75. Flat road, no traffic, safe.  Suddenly, I see in my rear view mirror characteristic flashing lights. Police. Resigned and knowing why, I slowed down, pulled to the side and stopped.  A blinding strobe light and very loud order from the megaphone: roll down your window, place your hands on steering wheel and don’t move!  Nothing like that would happen to me (at that time our Police was very well mannered and not confrontational from the getco, as it is popular now) in Canada. I was shocked and nervous. The policeman comes to my window (can’t see him, being blinded by his flashlight right into my eyes) and demands my driving licence.  I said that I’m Canadian tourist and try to reach the glove compartment for the papers. Next thing I remember  was being thrown from the seat with tremendous force face down to the asphalt, his knee on my back and the cold sensation of his gun barrel on my neck. Pressed to the point of pain.  I gathered all my senses and tried to explain that all my documents, including my passport are in the glove compartment, that it is normal in Canada to do what I did to show it to the officer. He yells at my petrified partner to hand them to him slowly. He checks them, his demeanor changes completely and explains that this not Canada, this USA. And I should be lucky that I am alive, because he was right to suspect that I might pull a gun from the compartment.  We chat a bit more, I apologise for my speeding and he wishes me a good night and good stay in Florida. I ask if I will get some ticket and he answers with a smile: no, just a verbal warning, it was a minor infraction. The end of story.  

Do you know why I am writing this story?  To make a point or to illustrate the subject of the article? No. I am writing it because I am alive. If that summer 1985 or 86 I was a young Black man, I wouldn’t write that story today. I would be dead most likely. But I was lucky. I am White man.  This is my privilege.  Not of coming from very wealthy family. For I‘m not.  Not from having top position in some industry, corporation. From the fact that I am alive today after that incident almost 40 years ago. Because I am white. I was not killed for driving ten or fifteen miles above the limit on an empty road. Because I am white. Floyd was not killed for passing (most likely totally unware of it) $20 bill in the store (most Americans and many Canadians have done it many times unknowingly, apparently there is more fake low denomination bills in circulation that real ones). He was killed because he was Black. The 20 year old boy in Minnesota was not killed for having some air deodorant attached to his rear view mirror (that was the infraction – seriously).  Nobody gets killed in the Stated for such minor issues.  He was killed because he was Black. Is it possible that white young guys would be killed in similar confrontations with the Police? It is, the Police is much more aggressive than it ever was – but highly unlikely. Because they would have been White. White and Blacks. Like Life and Death.  Think of it. And please, don’t tell me that you are not privileged, if you are white.  I know that I am. And down deep you know it, too.

I have written here of some very interesting and not very well known history of Blacks in Canada. Particularly of Blacks in Nova Scotia.  Have posted pictures and journalistic account of the mentioned above march Black Lives Matter in Halifax in 2020. Recently I have visited again the Black Cultural Centre in Dartmouth on the occasion of celebrating the Black Battalion – little known Canadian Army unit from I world war and had a short chat about it with the Commander of Halifax own Prince Patricia Regiment. Will write about it very soon. It is important to know the rich and long history of Black settlement in Canada, their achievements and their failures. Only than their history will become our history. Common past.  Only then we will be able to see ourselves as one. As Canadian family. And only than their lives will truly matter as much as ours. For they must be worth as much. They are.    

Ah, the title. “What’s the difference?” – I think that I have explained it already. Let me repeat it: I am, therefore I am alive.

Bitwy warszawskie

W ostatnim stuleciu o Warszawę toczyły się dwie wielkie bitwy, których rezultaty oznaczały obronę i wzmocnienie wolności Polski, lub utratę tej wolności.

Pierwsza Bitwa Warszawska miała miejsce między 13-25 sierpnia 1920. Popularne stało się określania jej, jako ‘cudu nad Wisłą’, co jest kompletna bzdurą.  Te określenie ‘cudu’ zaczęło się pojawiać w kilka lat pod tej bitwie w środowiskach katolicko-kościelnych, by odwrócić uwagę od osoby Wodza Naczelnego, Józefa Piłsudskiego. Oczywiście zwycięstwo w tej bitwie było wynikiem tylko i wyłącznie wypracowanej długimi dyskusjami i sporami strategii i celu bitwy i jej bezwzględnemu wykonaniu przez wiele wielkich jednostek bojowych rozrzuconych na przestrzeni setek kilometrów.  Celowi bitwy służyły aż trzy potężne i rozległe w terenie i oddaleniu od siebie fronty Armii Polskiej, szereg zdolnych ale bardzo zróżnicowanych wyszkoleniem (taktyką, strategią) i tradycją wojskową dowódców. Wymagało to nie tylko olbrzymiej dyscypliny tych wszystkich dowódców ale i pełnego oddania sprawie ich podwładnych. Być może była to najtrudniejsza walka, bo tyczyła nie tylko terytorium i suwerenności ale bezpośrednio była walką światów, cywilizacji. Walką o ducha. Starcie cywilizacji turańskiej i łacińskiej, jakby to określił historyk i filozof ( w rzeczy samej był on historiozofem) polski z tamtej epoki, Feliks Koneczny.

Ta bitwa zakończyła się wielkim polskim zwycięstwem. Warszawa nie padła, a Rosjanie musieli się cofnąć na rubieże starej Rzeczypospolitej. Nie jest winą żołnierzy i ich dowódców, że Traktat Ryski tą wojnę kończący, przyniósł Polsce tak mierne korzyści terytorialne. Rosjanie porażeni rozmiarem klęski byli gotowi, zdaje się, nawet uznać granice I Rzeczypospolitej – w każdym razie na terenach ziem witebskich, mścisławskich i połockich, a na pewno całą Mińszczyznę.  Endecja bardzo tego się bała i Grabski (reprezentujący w Rydze Polskę) przyczynił się do znacznych ustępstw na rzecz pokonanej Rosji bolszewickiej. Abstrahując od tych dywagacji historycznych – ta bitwa była przykładem zwycięskim dla Polski w historii bitew warszawskich (było ich naturalnie więcej w tejże historii, ale nie tak brzemiennych w skutkach).

Druga bitwa warszawska, którą chcę wspomnieć, określana jest w zasadzie, jako bitwa obronna Warszawy we Wrześniu 1939 roku przed nadciągającymi armiami niemieckimi. Trwała faktycznie nieprzerwanie od 1 września aż do 28 września, dnia kapitulacji stolicy Polski.

Szanse obronienia stolicy splecione były nierozerwalnie z szansami całej wojny polsko-niemieckiej w 1939 roku. A jaki był wynik tej wojny – wiemy.  Warszawa (która nigdy nie była twierdzą wojskową) i jej wojskowi i cywilni obrońcy, wykazali się wyjątkową odpornością, walecznością.  Ale miażdżąca przewaga militarna sił niemieckich, wzrastające straty wśród ludności cywilnej (głównie skutkiem osobistego rozkazu Hitlera o bombardowaniu Warszawy nalotami dywanowymi) i brak nadziei na jakąkolwiek odsiecz lub pomoc z zewnątrz, zmusiły wojskowe i cywilne władze do podpisania kapitulacji. Tak ta bitwa obronna w 39 jak i epilog całej II wojny światowej, który w Warszawie miał straszny epizod Powstania Warszawskiego, zniszczyły miasto prawie kompletnie.  Zimą 1945 roku miasto wyglądało, jak jeden wielki zbiór gruzu i wypalonych szkieletów budynków.  A Polska nie odzyskała pełnej suwerenności przez kolejne 45 lat.

Przypomniałem te dwie bitwy ze względów symbolicznych, a nie wspominek czysto historycznych.  Powiedziałbym więcej – ze względów cywilizacyjnych, kulturowych.  A Warszawa, stolica kraju, symbolizuje tego kraju losy. Czy zasiada tam I sekretarz partii komunistycznej z nadania satrapy moskiewskiego, czy gubernator Fischer z nadania faszystowskiego Berlina czy też wybrany przez Polaków prezydent.  Oczywiście, Warszawa jest siedzibą dwóch prezydentów: stolicy i państwa. 

Jesienią 2018 roku Warszawa wybrała prezydentem stolicy Rafała Trzaskowskiego. Kilka lat wcześniej, w 2015, prezydentem Polski wybrano Andrzeja Dudę.  Obaj politycy (nie użyję słowa ‘przywódcy’, bo co najmniej do jednego z nich absolutnie ono nie pasuje …, gdyż mimo że wyborach w 2015 wygrał koronę, to zadowolił się czapką nadwornego lokaja) reprezentują też sobą właśnie te wielkie różnice kulturowe, wręcz (tak, nie zawaham się powiedzieć) cywilizacyjne w kategoriach filozoficznych. Podobne tym (choć nie tak krwawym i nie decydowanym przez dywizje wojskowe), jakie charakteryzowały te dwie bitwy warszawskie. Wojna nie tylko o terytorium – wojna o Ducha tego terytorium i ludności na nim zamieszkującej.

I teraz tych dwóch polityków z siedzibami swych prezydentur (państwowej i miejskiej) w tym mieście, staje do bitwy o Polskę. A obaj mają swe siedziby i Urzędy dosłownie na rzut kamieniem z balkonu.  Z wieży Ratusza widać wyraźnie i blisko dach Pałacu Namiestnikowskiego, a z górnych okien Pałacu, prezydent Duda może lornetką bez problemu widzieć prezydenta Trzaskowskiego. Walka zaczęła się natarciem i kontruderzeniem 28 czerwca. Bitwę walną wydano na 12 lipca.

Wielu żołnierzom tej bitwy wydaje się, że chodzi tylko o menażki, o kuchnie polową, o to który dowódca obieca cieplejsze lub wygodniejsze mundury, onuce, o prycze w koszarach. No i o żołd – czy będzie dostawał go 12 razy w roku, czy może 13, a kto wie – może nawet czternaście razy. I w tego typu ‘bitwach’ wyborczych to pytania naturalne i oczekiwania naturalne i zdrowe. W końcu, jaki obywatel krzyknie: domagam się zwiększenia podatków, obniżki pensji i tylko 10 emerytur w roku?! 

Ale to naturalne i zdrowe w normalnych czasach i normalnych warunkach. Nie w 2020 roku w Polsce. Bo ta ‘bitwa warszawska’  zadecyduje czy, podobnie jak ta w 1920, przechylimy się bardziej ku cywilizacji ‘turańsko-bizantyńskiej’  czy ‘ łacińsko-zachodniej’.  Czy będziemy mogli chodzić w laczkach i sandałach, jak będziemy mieć na to ochotę, czy będziemy musieli stukać obcasami na zawołanie. Czy będziemy ze sobą rozmawiać ze śmiechem przy kawiarnianych stolikach na Nowym Świecie czy krzyczeć na siebie na Bazarze Różyckiego. I nie czekać na łaskawe da-albo-nie-da ’13-tkę’  a może i ‘14’ emeryturę – ale po prostu dostaniemy godziwe, zgodne z potrzebami dwanaście normalnych emerytur.  Bo te ‘łaski pańskie’ i ‘ochłapy z pańskiego stołu’ autentycznie na pstrym koniu jeżdżą.  Dziś spadną jeszcze może z tego stołu pańskiego ale  jutro ani okruszka może. Bo z próżnego i Salomon  nie naleje … . Nie chodzi też o elyty i elity. Nie o “Polskę Pańską’ i ‘Polskę Fornalską’. Chodzi o Polskę Wolnych Obywateli opartą na absolutnej wolności każdego indywidualnie lub Polskę Lepszego i Gorszego Sortu, podzieloną.

No i ta zwykła, taka codzienna, nie niedzielna świadomość, że się mieszka w porządnym, lubianym przez sąsiadów kraju. Kraju, gdzie wszyscy nie mają co prawda takich samych pensji i emerytur  (no wiecie, takie same to próbowano już po 1917 w Rosji, po 1945 w Chinach, w latach 70. w Kambodży, ostatnio niejaki Chavez w Wenezueli – na nic dobrego to nikomu nie wyszło) ale mają takie same prawa. Wyżsi i niżsi, grubsi i cieńsi, męscy i żeńscy, o różowej i o czarnej cerze, dziewczyny chodzące z chłopakiem objęci i te chodzące z dziewczyną objęte; jedni idący rano do kościoła na modlitwę, inni do bożnicy, a jeszcze inni na ławkę do parku lub małą czarną do kafejki.  Normalnie. Jak w normalnym kraju i mieście.  Niemożliwe marzenie? Możliwe. W większości krajów tej właśnie europejskiej cywilizacji.  Europejskiej nie geograficznie licząc od Uralu może, ale licząc kulturowo. Gdzie ta kultura będzie mieć granicę? Zależy od losów bitwy 12 lipca 2020. Albo na Bugu, albo na Odrze.

Oczywiście, punkt widzenia zależy od punktu siedzenia. Ludzkie, normalne. Takie mamy horyzonty myślowe, jakie mamy horyzonty widzenia, postrzegania.  Jedni siadają, prawie bez zastanowienia się, gdzie mają ochotę, bo wolność jest dla nich czymś naturalnym, prawie automatycznym – inni stoją zakłopotani aż im ktoś wskaże, gdzie usiąść mogą.

A w tym temacie już widzimy zmiany w Polsce i poza jej granicami. Andrzej Duda reprezentuje raczej dość wyraźnie tą inną ‘cywilizację turańsko-bizantyjską’, ten inny sposób myślenia, który postrzega granice cywilizacyjną i kulturową na Odrze. To nie może ulegać wątpliwości dla nikogo. Również dla tych głosujących za niego. I czas by się do tego sami sobie przyznali. By przynajmniej wiedzieli dlaczego taki wybór robią. Niech nie oszukują znajomych i rodziny, a tym bardziej siebie samych.

Spójrzmy na te ‘granice’:  Polacy między Bugiem a Odrą w I turze dali Andrzejowi Dudzie najwięcej głosów.  Za mało na pokonanie przeciwnika, ale tą potyczkę wygrał. Dostał 43.5 procent tych głosów. Prezydent Warszawy dostał 30.46 procent, na trzecim miejscu był Szymon Hołownia z blisko 14 procentami.  Lub trochę inaczej: na 16 województw, Trzaskowski wygrał tylko w trzech, a w 13 pan Duda. 

Natomiast, co zrobili Polacy spoza Bugu i Odry? Może być ciekawe, bo właśnie ten ‘inny punkt widzenia’ dający inną perspektywę i inny horyzont.  Na aż 84 państwa, gdzie Polacy głosowali, Andrzej Duda poniósł klęskę w … 76 państwach.  Zremisowali w dwóch. A Trzaskowski uzyskał najwięcej głosów w 75 państwach.  Procentowo przekłada się to na: Rafał Trzaskowski dostał 48.13 procent oddanych głosów, a Andrzej Duda tylko 20.86%. Jeszcze inaczej – Trzaskowski w ani jednym kraju nie spadł poniżej drugiej pozycji (czyli nawet w tych kilku gdzie wygrał Duda, Trzaskowski miał silną drugą pozycje).  Zaś Andrzej Duda spadł poniżej drugiej lokaty aż w 36 krajach, czasami aż do 5 (piątego) miejsca: za Hołownią, Biedroniem i Bosakiem. Szymon Hołownia był na drugim miejscu (za Trzaskowskim) w 32 państwach, a Robert Biedroń w 4 państwach.

I teraz kilka ciekawych spostrzeżeń z tych głosowań zagranicznych. Otóż najwięcej głosów dla Trzaskowskiego a najmniej dla Dudy padło w krajach, gdzie jest najwięcej Polaków, którzy wyjechali ostatnio z Polski, już z tej nowej, suwerennej Polski. Czyli tych, którzy maję najlepszą znajomość tej Polski, najbliższy z nią stały kontakt. I odwiedzając ją lub o niej rozmawiając z rodzina i przyjaciółmi z Kraju-zauważają różnice jakie w ostatnich pięciu latach w Polsce zaszły. Różnicę, która nie wypada dla Polski korzystnie. Bardzo wielu z nich traktuje ten pobyt zagraniczny, jako czasowy a Polskę widzą, jako docelowy punkt powrotu i zamieszkania.  Różnica miedzy nimi a tymi, którzy teraz mieszkają w Polsce polega tylko na widocznym horyzoncie postrzegania, na owym punkcie widzenia. Jak widać z podanych wyżej statystyk wyborczych , ta różnica jest bardzo duża.

Natomiast w kilku krajach licznej bardzo, ale tzw. starej Polonii – padło więcej głosów dla Andrzeja Dudy. Są to środowiska bardziej konserwatywne, przyzwyczajonej przez długie lata do stanowczej obrony tzw. dobrego imienia Polski. Gdzie każdy (czasem nawet zasłużony) krytycyzm Polski postrzegany był, jako próba oczerniania ukochanej ojczyzny. Choćby te popularne w Ameryce Północnej żarty o ‘Polaczkach’. I silne przyzwyczajenie do polskich kościółków i parafii, które historycznie były centrami spotkań nie tylko religijnych ale i politycznych, polskich szkółek dla dzieci prowadzonych na ogół przy tych kościółkach. A Kościół jest, jak wszyscy wiemy, instytucjonalnie bardzo związany i silnie finansowany przez partie Andrzeja Dudy i obecny rząd PiS.  Tak się głównie dzieje w USA i w Kanadzie. Tutaj też jest stosunkowo najwięcej (nawet więcej niż w Polsce, procentowo patrząc) zwolenników Konfederacji i pana Bosaka, który w Kanadzie np. uzyskał więcej głosów nawet od Szymona Hołowni.  Ale Szymon Hołownia, często widziany, jako działacz katolicki, reprezentuje katolicyzm współczesny, bardziej postępowy. A Kościół polski obecnie reprezentuje katolicyzm zbliżony do idei pana Bosaka – skrajnie na prawo, czasem wręcz w kolorze brunatnym (tak określam wczesny, przed hitleryzmem, faszyzm niemiecki Rhoma i jego SA).

Inne, dość zaskakujące ( mimo to zgodne z generalnym opisem podanym wyżej o Kanadzie i USA) to skrajnie różne wyniki w różnych Komisjach Wyborczych/Konsulatach. W Kanadzie wybory miały miejsce w: Montrealu, Ottawie, Toronto, Vancouverze.  Wyjątkowo krótkie okienka czasowe na wysłanie pakietu wyborczego do Konsulatu połączone  z olbrzymimi obszarami, jakie te cztery miejsca obsługiwały – de facto uniemożliwiły tysiącom osób oddania głosu.  Setki, jeśli nie tysiące, osób dostało pakiety w piątek (wybory były w sobotę poza Polską), lub dostały już po terminie wyborów.  Nie ma powodów ani dowodów, że było to efektem celowego opóźniania i dywersji samych Konsulatów RP. Jest natomiast jasne, że było to efektem świadomego przeforsowania takich a nie innych przepisów w sprawie tych wyborów korespondencyjnych (tylko takie mogły się , ze względu na pandemie odbyć w innych krajach), które wyraźnie ograniczały konstytucyjne prawa wyborcze obywateli polskich zamieszkałych poza Polską.

Ale wracając do szczegółowych wyników w Kanadzie:  Rafał Trzaskowski zajął zdecydowanie pierwsze miejsce w wyborach w Vancouverze, w Ottawie, w Montrealu. Andrzej Duda zajął pierwsze miejsce tylko w Toronto.  Ale w tym jedynym Toronto – jego przewaga głosów była miażdżąca i zmieniła tym samym efekt wyborczy na całą Kanadę. Dlaczego?  Trudno w kilku zdaniach dać głęboką analizę. Podam tylko kilka faktów i spostrzeżeń człowieka, który zna środowisko polskie w Kanadzie dość dobrze na przestrzeni blisko 40 lat. Toronto polonijne było i jest  pewnym odbiciem Chicago polonijnego w Stanach (zresztą bliskie sobie geograficznie też).  Bardzo duża ilość Polaków tam, lub w okolicach, się osiedliła, od czasów bardzo dawnych.  To wielkie miasto oferujące emigrantom dużo więcej możliwości niż ośrodki mniejsze.  Nie tak odległe i dobrze przeze mnie pamiętane były czasy gdy idąc od Bloor St. do Roncesvalles Avenue i w dół – wyglądało, jak spacer na chicagowskim Jackowie: polskie napisy, polski język, polskie kościoły. I zdecydowanie nie było to ‘miasteczko akademickie’, pod jakimkolwiek względem … . Patriotyzm był tam zawsze dość silny. Tylko właśnie ten typu ‘hurra’ lub wręcz tzw. kibolski. Patriotyzm refleksyjny, krytyczny – wiązał się już w tej polskiej dzielnicy z poważnym ryzykiem.  No i nie ma w całej Kanadzie, od Atlantyku po Pacyfik, ani jednej polskiej parafii, która by była takim potentatem finansowym, jak parafia św. Kazimierza (na ,polskim Ronceswilu’ właśnie). Skromna kasa pożyczkowa  w formie  credit union w ciągu lat urosła do rozmiarów niezłego banku.  Nie zawsze metodami legalnymi. Pamiętam, jak odwiedziłem niezłych rozmiarów … bank św. Kazimierza w Warszawie, obok Operetki Warszawskiej (teatr ‘Roma’). Dziś już w tej formie nie istnieje. Ta i inne inwestycje torontońskiej parafii stały się centrum poważnego dochodzenia kryminalnego Biura Nadzoru Bankowego prowincji Ontario.  Efektem było zamknięcie (unikając  skrzętnie zbyt dużego nagłośnienia sprawy) tych gałęzi bankowych skromnej kasy pożyczkowo-zapomogowej. Czemu o tym piszę w tym kontekście? Bo wydaje mi się, że gdy się ma rząd dusz (religia) i rząd sakiewki (credit union/bank spółdzielczy z głębokimi kieszeniami), to ma się bardzo silny wpływ na społeczność, w której się funkcjonuje.  Może się mylę, nie jestem z wykształcenia antropologiem ani nawet socjologiem, a zwykłym gryzipiórkiem-publicystą.  Takie (oczywiście na dużo mniejszą skalę) kasy pożyczkowo-oszczędnościowe istniały (istnieją?) prawie przy wszystkich polonijnych parafiach w Kanadzie.  Podobnie, jak szkółki dla dzieci polonusów. Takie będą Rzeczypospolite, jakie będzie ich młodzieży chowanie, panie Kanclerzu Wielki Koronny, Ordynacie Zamoyski? Może się mylę … .

 O tym, czy były systemowe, zaplanowane sposoby supresji  prawa wyborczego Polaków przebywających poza granicami Polski pisze inny mój kolega-bloger, były Koordynator KOD_USA-West, https://dobek.org/2020/duda-a-niewazne-glosy/

Przez fakt, że w wyborach, mimo wszystko, liczy się tylko głos indywidualny, łatwo się zorientować, że wygrana w trzech lub czterech okręgach, gdzie jest niska ilość głosujących, może być łatwo zniwelowana tylko jedną wygraną w jednym okręgu, gdzie uprawnionych do głosowania  jest wielokroć więcej.  Stąd jest ważne by głosujący w tych małych liczebnie ośrodkach, jeśli chcą by ich głos się liczył i miał wpływ, mobilizowali się silniej i liczniej. Ważne tu są silne związki koleżeńskie, socjalne. Stały kontakt lokalny. Zwłaszcza w czasach pandemii, która wszystko to utrudnia.

Cóż, na zakończenie wracam do mojej symboliki stołecznej. Bitew warszawskich. Lub bitew dwóch prezydentów – Miasta i Państwa zamieszkałych w Warszawie. To są autentycznie dwie kardynalnie sobie obce i przeciwne wizje Polski: jedna Trzaskowskiego, druga Dudy (lub dokładniej tego, który Dudą steruje, Jarosława Kaczyńskiego). Teraz już nie ma innych żołnierzy w turnieju (chciałem użyć bardziej adekwatnego porównania (w turnieju są rycerze) ale znowu ręka się zawahała …), tylko ta para. Nie ma już znaczenia umiarkowany czy skrajny prawicowiec, lewicowiec, liberał, czy socjaldemokrata, zielony czy czerwony. To detale tu mniej istotne na finiszu. Istotna jest wizja Polski i jej miejsca w cywilizacjach, kulturach: w którym związku kulturowo-cywilizacyjnym chce być?  Takie sobie postawcie pytanie i szczerze na nie odpowiedzcie.  Wybór (jakikolwiek by nie był) będzie wówczas łatwy i prosty, bo różnice są bardzo wyraźne.

Black Lives matter in Halifax

On a warm, sunny evening on June 01, Halifax added its voice to international protest against police brutality toward Black people. In the US mainly, as the protest were sparked by heinous execution of George Floyd by police in Minneapolis, but sadly also here. Halifax is the next main Canadian city to organize such protest, after clashes day earlier in Montreal, peaceful protests in Toronto, Calgary and Vancouver.

For many reason Halifax is perhaps the most important for such protest in Canada. Nova Scotia is, after all, the true home of Canadian Black settlement. Going all the way to the end of XVIII and beginning of XIX century. And to long years of racist attitudes toward the community.  Nova Scotian’s of African descent created here vibrant life and amazing connection to the land. ( I have written here, on this blog, about their history on January 29, 2020, if you would like to know more about that fascinating subject. The two-piece essay in mainly in Polish, but with an extensive English summary and many photographs)

They have, particularly in Halifax, their own share of grievances against local municipal Police Force and their racist attitude. It led a year ago to an appointment of new Police Chief from  outside of Nova Scotia and promise of new policies.

But today it was different. It was hopeful, angry at times perhaps but generally uplifting. Yes, under the main theme “Black people’s lives matter’. And it matters because Black people lives are rich and beautiful. Because their lives are part of our lives. Because they are PEOPLE. Like you and me.  And we, white folks, are awakening to that single, powerful truth. That a mother or father should never fear that the worst that might happen to their child could be an encounter with Police officer. They should never train them how to react, how to be at their utmost best and polite to a fault when talking to a policeman.  Or they might not survive that encounter. And it is still a reality to them.  Old habits and way of doing things die hard. But, by God! die they must and the sooner the better for all of us.

As you will notice on the photographs I have taken today – a majority of folks taking part in this beautiful protest were not Black but white and other colours. That speaks volumes. Good volumes. The change is here.  Let her come and welcome with open arms. Just about time.

Church towers

by Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

In my very early youth, what would you call now teenagers’ age, I had a mythical place I have never been before but new very well.  Wilno or as Lithuanians call it, Vilnius. It has a very strong connection to Polish history and identity (which, of course, doesn’t take anything away from the rightfully special connection it has with Lithuanians, the founders of the city in late medieval period) but it has also very strong and immediate connection in my own family. On top of that, two of my most cherished – at that time – national heroes were, in many ways, identified with that magic city: great romantic poet Adam Mickiewicz and founder of modern Poland, Marshal Joseph Pilsudski.  Wilno was often called a Rome of northern Europe, as it was built on seven hills surrounding it. It was also called a City of Churches.  And it still remains one. Wherever you go in the proper, old Wilno, you can see  church towers. In a way, if you don’t know the city very well, you could be advised to study pictures of its churches and then just look around for a familiar church tower and you will know where you are.

We wczesnych latach nastoletnich Wilno było moim magicznym miejscem na długo za nim mogłem tam po raz pierwszy pojechać.  Z wielu względów: duża część rodziny z tym miastem miała swoje silne związki, nie było chyba szerszego spotkania rodzinnego, gdyby coś o Wilnie się nie mówiło; Mickiewicz i Piłsudski: dwóch moich wtedy bogów prawie a ani o jednym ani drugim trudno cokolwiek mówić bez wymieniania tego grodu Giedymina; no i naturalnie silny, atawistyczny niemal bunt przeciw moskiewskiej okupacji Wilna (tak przez całą młodość traktowano odebranie Polsce Wilna po Jałcie w moim środowisku, nie wiele się wtedy mówiło o Litwie, bo każdy z nas wiedział, że ani Ukraina ukraińska ni Litwa litewska, no i w 13 letniej patriotycznej, anty-partyjnej łepetynie nie pojawiała się nawet myśl, że Litwini nie chcieliby dalej kontynuować tego cudownego związku Rzeczypospolitej Obojga Narodów…).

A Wilno to mili moi Miasto Wież Kościelnych. Nie potrzeba mapy, wystarczy pooglądać album zdjęć kościołów starego Wilna a mowy nie ma zagubieniu się na dłużej (co po prawdzie wyjątkowo łatwo w wijących się zaułkach, wąskich uliczkach i licznych bramach): w perspektywie ulicy lub za pierwszym zakrętem zawsze zobaczysz jakąś wieże kościelną lub cerkiewną. Zdjęcia poniżej z mojej ostatniej wizyty w 2018.

But if Wilno churches represent northern gothic (St. Ann’s church is a an absolute gem of this architecture) and Polish renaissance and baroque – opposite is true to Nova Scotia sacral architecture.  But Nova Scotia, as Wilno in Lithuania, is truly a province of Church Towers.  No (with a very few special exception in Halifax, Pictou, Mahon Bay) classic examples of gothic, baroque or any other very specific period.  Nova Scotia’s churches are local, pastoral style.  Modest or even poor, full of warm and humility.  Like it’s early settlers, be it French or Scottish, Anglo-Saxon or from Holland and Germany. Not to mention exceptionally poor black settlers from XVII century onward.

No matter which route you take while travelling through this province – one of the first sites you will notice is little churches, usually on a little hill. Often white, wooden or simple masonry. They look like guardians of the village, town.  They are as silent keepers of the history of this place since European settlement. Mostly catholic (old French settlements), protestant (Presbyterian , Episcopalian, if from Scotland or Lutheran and Calvinistic if from continental Europe) and Baptist if in Black settlements.

Jeśli Wilno to północny gotyk, renesans i specyficzny barok Wielkiego Księstwa, o tyle architektura kościółków Nowej Szkocji nie ma z tym nic wspólnego. A jest tu ich masa. Każda osada, wioska, miasteczko posiada takie, widoczne z daleka, klejnociki lokalnej architektury sakralnej. Mówiąc po porostu: wiejskie kościółki. Urocze, stare, zadbane. Na ogół drewniane i większości malowane biała kredą. Są naturalnie wyjątki w Halifaxie, Pictou czy Mahon Bay, gdzie pokaźne budowle kościelne maja specyficzny i konkretny styl architektoniczny – ale reszta tej pięknej prowincji to właśnie one, te wiejskie kościółki są ciekawym i ciepłym miejscem turystycznej atrakcji. I zbiorem lokalnej historii. Więc bardzo polecam zatrzymania sie w podróżowaniu i obejrzenie ich dokładne. Warto. Zdjęcia poniżej to tylko nieliczne przykłady tych budowli w Halifax, Dartmouth, wzdłuż wschodniego wybrzeża w kierunku do Cape Breton, Mahon Bay i Lunenburgu na południu i z Middletown na zachodzie.