“Pathology, aberration, violence, links with the underworld, hooligans”—that’s how Gazeta Wyborcza and its affiliates attempt to smear Karol Nawrocki. Yet people like me—same generation, same city, same district as Nawrocki—hear something different. The Third Republic’s establishment consistently answers former Prime Minister Olszewski’s famous question, “Whose Poland will it be?” with: “Certainly not yours.”
This will be the most personal article I’ve ever submitted to Gazeta Polska. I’m one year older than Karol Nawrocki, also a rare conservative from Gdańsk. Like him, I supported Lechia Gdańsk football club and grew up in the Siedlce district, albeit across Kartuska Street. But these local similarities aren’t the point. Poles, especially those who started school during the country’s transformative period, have far more in common with Nawrocki than Trzaskowski. We didn’t have drinks or private language lessons with influential people; we didn’t mingle in elite circles. Although we saw most people were like us, the establishment insisted we feel shame—that something was wrong with Poland and with us. It’s better not to admit it, they implied. When Gazeta Wyborcza talks about Nawrocki’s alleged “shady ties,” they’re really targeting us, ordinary Poles. We are not pathology.
Housing Blocks, Board of Directors, and Apartments
I wasn’t a large child, nor am I a large adult. Yet, climbing onto the top bunk bed in the tiny room I shared with my sister required squeezing past a makeshift wall. It wasn’t truly a room, nor was it really a wall. Our family of four lived in a 30-square-meter studio, creatively partitioned using furniture inspired by neighbors’ solutions.
Still, I never felt socially inferior or associated with any pathology. My classmates had similar living arrangements, and comparing our tiny apartments was routine during home visits. My parents were hardworking and loving. Once, a housing committee visited to evaluate our eligibility for cooperative housing. “Do you feel miserable?” one inspector asked sarcastically. “Not at all,” I responded, slightly irritating my parents.
Now, at 43, I still don’t own an apartment. This crosses my mind when ruling-coalition politicians criticize Nawrocki’s “tiny apartment,” politicians who themselves possess multiple properties they claim resulted from “hard work.” For my generation, homes remain elusive, existing as internet memes suggest—available, but reserved exclusively for a board of directors. The elite diligently hide how their “hard work” consistently yields new properties.
Anyone familiar with Gdańsk politics knows who belonged to this “board of directors.” Consider former Sopot Mayor Jacek Karnowski, who ironically critiques Nawrocki’s apartment dealings while having been caught negotiating personal property gains. Or the late Mayor Paweł Adamowicz, who secured luxury seaside apartments at discounted prices. “The Board” always justified their prosperity with “hard work.”
Polishness and History
On August 28, 2016, standing before Gdańsk’s Basilica of St. Mary, tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. Inside, a funeral mass honored Danuta Siedzikówna “Inka” and Feliks Selmanowicz “Zagończyk,” heroes finally receiving their rightful burial. Marching alongside Lechia Gdańsk fans chanting “Honor to the heroes!” I felt Poland would finally become ours. My generation had reconciled with a Poland long lost in confusion and uncertainty.
That evening, I reflected online about our naïve 90s dreams—adventure, vegetarianism, artistic pursuits—while “Inka” lay forgotten beneath our feet. At the time, I didn’t realize or care that the event’s primary organizer was Karol Nawrocki, a dedicated historian from Gdańsk’s IPN (Institute of National Remembrance – ed.). Friends recall his tireless work behind the scenes, committed to preserving forgotten heroes’ memories without seeking recognition. Since at least 2011, Nawrocki has passionately safeguarded Polish historical memory, respected deeply by football fans and sidelined Solidarity veterans alike.
The establishment regards Nawrocki as “dubious.” But to those without elite connections, Nawrocki embodies our era’s genuine Polishness—a Polishness Donald Tusk dismissed as abnormal and Rafał Trzaskowski discovered conveniently late.
We Are Not Pathology
I dislike comparisons between Nawrocki’s story and J.D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy. Gdańsk’s Siedlce district isn’t Appalachia. Our families weren’t dysfunctional; they were building their lives, representative of 1990s Poland. Normalcy meant living in housing blocks, not suburban villas. Everyone knew the neighborhood’s tough kids, just as we knew those whose parents occasionally resorted to petty theft.
Some might interpret my experiences as “connections to pathology,” yet these realities defined life in Polish housing estates in the 90s.
Donald Trump once remarked, “They’re not after me; they’re after you, and I just happen to be standing in the way.” The same logic applies to criticisms of Nawrocki’s qualifications. People from backgrounds like ours are expected to accept certain privileges as reserved solely for the elite. As a conservative in liberal Gdańsk, I’ve learned to reject such gatekeeping and find pride in defying it.
I prefer a president who is still striving—a president for a Poland still striving, for my generation still striving. Because the presidency is a prize won through struggle, not simply handed out as a reward for belonging to the right circles.