The Pain of a Patriot: Confronting Antisemitism in Poland and Beyond
As a Pole living in Sweden, I carry my homeland in my heart—its vibrant history, its resilient people, its rich traditions, and its enduring culture. Poland is a nation of beauty and strength, forged through centuries of triumphs and tragedies. Yet, there is a shadow that darkens my love for my country, a stain that causes me profound shame and sorrow: the persistent antisemitism that festers among too many of its people. This hatred, often cloaked in casual remarks, social media rants, or entrenched family beliefs, is not just a Polish problem—it is a global one, rearing its head in new and alarming ways. From the streets of Stockholm to the digital forums of Warsaw, the spectre of antisemitism haunts our world, and as someone with conservative sympathies and a deep concern for the Jewish people, I find myself wrestling with a profound sense of unease.
A Personal Struggle
My love for Poland is inseparable from my identity, but so too is my revulsion at the antisemitism that persists within it. I have lost friends to this poison, their casual slurs and conspiracies about Jews driving a wedge between us. I scroll through social media, where posts blaming Jews for global woes or vilifying Israel as a monolithic evil are met with likes and shares, not condemnation. Each instance feels like a betrayal—not just of the Jewish people, but of the Poland I cherish, the Poland that survived oppression and war, that should know better than to scapegoat a minority. The sickness in my stomach is real, as is the shame that my nation, with its proud history, harbours such prejudice.
This is not a new struggle. My own parents, born in the 1920s, were products of their time, steeped in a worldview where antisemitic tropes were commonplace. Their authority, rooted in age and experience, silenced my protests. “You’re too young to understand,” they would say, dismissing my arguments as naive. Their generation lived through the horrors of the Holocaust, yet the lessons of that catastrophe did not fully dismantle the prejudices they inherited. This generational divide is not unique to my family—it reflects a broader challenge in Poland, where history and tradition sometimes clash with the moral imperative to confront hatred.
The Polish Context: A Complex Legacy
Poland’s relationship with antisemitism is complex, woven into the fabric of its history. The country was once home to one of the largest Jewish communities in the world, a vibrant centre of Jewish culture and intellectual life. The Holocaust decimated this community, with millions of Polish Jews murdered by the Nazis. Poland itself was a victim of Nazi aggression, its people subjected to unimaginable suffering. Yet, even in this shared victimhood, antisemitism persisted—before, during, and after the war. Post-war pogroms, like the one in Kielce in 1946, and the state-sponsored antisemitic campaign of 1968, which drove thousands of Jews from Poland, are dark chapters that cannot be erased.
Today, antisemitism in Poland often manifests in subtler but no less insidious forms. Social media amplifies conspiracy theories about Jewish influence, while political rhetoric sometimes flirts with tropes that blame Jews for economic or cultural woes. The recent presidential election in Poland, which saw a conservative candidate prevail, has brought both hope and concern. As someone with conservative sympathies, I appreciate the emphasis on national pride and traditional values, but I fear that these sentiments can be hijacked by those who equate “Polishness” with exclusionary ideologies. The verbal hatred toward Jews and Israel, while not yet manifesting in widespread violence, is a brewing storm that undermines the goodness of my nation.
A Global Resurgence
This issue is not confined to Poland. Living in Sweden, I witness a different but equally troubling strain of antisemitism. Here, it emanates from two sources: segments of the Muslim immigrant population, where anti-Israel sentiment sometimes crosses into outright Jew-hatred, and the “clueless left,” as I call it—progressive activists who, in their zeal for social justice, embrace narratives that demonise Israel and, by extension, Jews. The transformation of Greta Thunberg, once a global icon of climate activism, into a vocal supporter of Palestine, is emblematic of this shift. Her rhetoric, often laced with oversimplifications and moral absolutism, reflects a broader trend where antisemitism is cloaked in the guise of anti-Zionism. This is not to say that criticism of Israel is inherently antisemitic—legitimate critique of any nation’s policies is a democratic right—but the line is too often crossed into dehumanising stereotypes and calls for violence.
Across the Western world, the rise of Hamas supporters and anti-Israel protests, particularly since the escalation of conflict in the Middle East, is deeply alarming. Synagogues have been vandalised, Jewish students harassed on university campuses, and public discourse increasingly normalises rhetoric that echoes historical prejudices. The Jewish people, long scapegoated for their wit, tenacity, and uniqueness, face a new wave of hostility. This global resurgence of antisemitism, fueled by a toxic mix of ignorance, ideological extremism, and geopolitical tensions, threatens to unravel the progress made since the Holocaust.
The Moral and Political Tightrope
As a conservative, I find myself walking a tightrope. I celebrate the recent Polish presidential election, which reflects a commitment to sovereignty and cultural heritage. Yet, I cannot ignore the undercurrents of nationalism that sometimes veer into exclusionary territory. Antisemitism, whether in Poland or elsewhere, thrives in environments where “us vs. them” narratives take hold. The challenge is to champion national pride without succumbing to the tribalism that breeds hatred.
The left, too, must confront its complicity. The embrace of anti-Israel activism by progressive movements often ignores the complexity of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, reducing it to a simplistic oppressor-oppressed binary. This not only fuels antisemitism but also alienates those, like myself, who seek a balanced perspective—one that acknowledges Israel’s right to exist and defend itself while recognising the legitimate aspirations of Palestinians.
A Path Forward
The fight against antisemitism requires both introspection and action. In Poland, it begins with education—teaching the next generation about the contributions of Polish Jews, the horrors of the Holocaust, and the dangers of prejudice. It means calling out antisemitic rhetoric, whether it comes from family members, friends, or public figures, and refusing to let it pass unchallenged. Political leaders, particularly those on the conservative spectrum, must unequivocally reject nationalism that excludes or demonises minorities.
Globally, the challenge is to dismantle the narratives that fuel hatred. This means distinguishing between legitimate criticism of Israel and antisemitic tropes, fostering dialogue that respects the humanity of all parties. It also means holding activists accountable when their advocacy crosses into hate speech or incitement. In Sweden, addressing antisemitism requires confronting both the prejudices within immigrant communities and the moral blind spots of the progressive left.
For me, the path forward is personal as well as political. I will continue to love Poland—its people, its history, its traditions—but I will not shy away from calling out its flaws. I will mourn the friends lost to prejudice, challenge the social media posts that spread hate, and honour the memory of my parents while rejecting their biases. Above all, I will stand in solidarity with the Jewish people, whose resilience in the face of centuries of persecution is a testament to the human spirit.
Antisemitism is a poison that undermines the goodness of nations, from Poland to Sweden and beyond. It is a betrayal of our shared humanity. As a patriot, I am committed to fighting it—not out of shame alone, but out of love for what my country, and our world, can become.