East Central Europe in Exile Volume 1 : Transatlantic Migrations [1 ed.] 9781443868914, 9781443847254

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East Central Europe in Exile Volume 1: Transatlantic Migrations

East Central Europe in Exile Volume 1: Transatlantic Migrations

Edited by

Anna Mazurkiewicz

East Central Europe in Exile Volume 1: Transatlantic Migrations, Edited by Anna Mazurkiewicz This book first published 2013 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Copyright © 2013 by Anna Mazurkiewicz and contributors Cover image: Immigrants arriving by boat (im00326), Immigration and Refugee Services of America Records, Immigration History Research Center Archives, University of Minnesota All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-4725-9, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-4725-4

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Illustrations ..................................................................................... ix List of Tables .............................................................................................. xi Acknowledgements .................................................................................. xiii Introduction ............................................................................................... xv Part I: Emigrants, Exiles, Refugees Chapter One ................................................................................................. 3 Slovenian Economic and Political Migration to the Americas in the Last 150 Years Jože Pirjevec Chapter Two ................................................................................................ 9 Albania and Albanian Émigrés in the United States before World War II Agata Biernat Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 23 Navigating the Divide: A Memoir of Post-War Exile and Displacement Harriet Napierkowski Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 35 Sweden as a Temporary Stage of the Polish Emigration to America Arnold KáonczyĔski Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 49 The American Fund for Czechoslovak Refugees and Its Leader Ján Papánek Slavomír Michálek Chapter Six ................................................................................................ 65 The Orphans of the Revolution: Hungarian Under-age Refugees of 1956 Béla Nóvé

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Table of Contents

Chapter Seven............................................................................................ 93 Exiles or Emigrants? Polish Composers in America Maja Trochimczyk Part II: Transatlantic Crossings Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 127 Trieste as a Port of Emigration from East and Southeast Europe Aleksej Kalc Chapter Nine............................................................................................ 141 Sándor Tonelli’s Ultonia: A “Written Photograph” of an Emigrant Voyage István Kornél Vida Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 157 Emigration Shipping Lines of Gdynia, 1924–1939 Oskar Myszor Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 177 Emigration from the Free City of Danzig to the Brazilian Jungle Jan Daniluk Chapter Twelve ....................................................................................... 189 Meeting the Health Care Needs of Polish Immigrants in New York City, 1890–1935 Anne M. Gurnack Part III: Putting Roots Down Chapter Thirteen ...................................................................................... 203 Independence Day Does Not Cross the Atlantic: Poland, Polonia and November 11th, 1918–2012 M. B. B. Biskupski Chapter Fourteen ..................................................................................... 217 Acculturation and Persistence of the Polish American Community in Connecticut, 1870–2010 Mary Patrice Erdmans

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Chapter Fifteen ........................................................................................ 235 Polish and German Immigrants in Milwaukee at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century Dorota Praszaáowicz Chapter Sixteen ....................................................................................... 253 From Unknown People to a Separate Diocese: Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada Daniel ýerný Part IV: Immigrant Worker Integration Chapter Seventeen ................................................................................... 273 Education and Career Patterns of Polish Migrants in Pennsylvania, 1900–1930 Pien Versteegh Chapter Eighteen ..................................................................................... 291 Education in War and Exile: The Polish Experience in Britain, 1940–1954 Brian McCook Chapter Nineteen ..................................................................................... 311 Argentina’s Attempt to Foster Immigration from Eastern Europe in the 1990s Silvia G. Dapía Chapter Twenty ....................................................................................... 323 Stereotype of the Polish Immigrant Worker in France in the Context of European Integration Maágorzata Patok Contributors ............................................................................................. 339 Name Index ............................................................................................. 345

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Fig. 3-1: Maria Lewandowska Fig. 5-1: Ján Papánek Fig. 12-1: Bellevue Hospital, 1906 Fig. 16-1: Slovak Greek Catholic Parish, Montreal, 1933

LIST OF TABLES

Tab. 7-1: Identity criteria of Polish émigré composers Tab. 8-1: Emigration through the port of Trieste in the period 1903–1914 by the destination country Tab. 8-2: Emigration through the port of Trieste from 1905 to 1914 by Austro-Hungarian regions and foreign states Tab. 8-3: The return migratory movement through the port of Trieste in the years 1910–1914 by the destination of the returnees Tab. 8-4: The emigration traffic of the Austro-Americana and the Cunard Line from Trieste to the United States in the years 1903–1914 by the origin of the emigrants Tab. 10-1: Trans-shipments in Port of Gdynia, 1924-August 1939 Tab. 10-2a: Major destinations of overseas legal emigration from Poland, 1919–1938 (absolute numbers) Table 10-2b: Major destinations of overseas legal emigration from Poland, 1918–1938 (percentage) Tab. 10-3: General characteristics of Polish transatlantic liners, 1930–1939 Tab. 10-4: Passenger traffic in the port of Gdynia, 1924-May 1939 (excluding coastal shipping) Tab. 15-1: The social structure of Milwaukee population. Heads of households in the Wards 14th, 20th and 22nd Tab. 15-2 The social structure of Milwaukee’s Fourteenth Ward, according to ethnic origin and generation (Heads of households) Tab. 17-1 Labor market position of Polish and American miners in Pennsylvania 1890–1940 Tab. 17-2 Mobility Poles and Americans, 1900–1930

List of Tables

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Tab. 17-3 Frequency of mobility Tab. 17-4 Last jobs of Poles and Americans who stayed in Nanticoke, 1900–1930 Tab. 17-5: Last jobs of Poles and Americans who left Nanticoke, 1900–1930 Tab. 17-6: Labor mobility of Poles and Americans staying and leaving Nanticoke, 1900–1930 Tab. 17-7: Education rates 1900–1930 Tab. 17-8: Relation between job mobility and education/language skills of Poles and Americans who stayed in Nanticoke, 1900–1930 Tab. 17-9: Relation between job mobility and education/language skills of Poles and Americans who left in Nanticoke, 1900–1930 Tab. 17-10: Career patterns, second generation Poles and Americans (1900–1930) Tab. 20-1: Study population: Women by sex, age and occupation Tab. 20-2: Study population: Men by sex, age and occupation

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The project: East Central Europe in Exile: Patterns of Transatlantic Migrations was made possible by the support of the

and of the following Organizations

University of GdaĔsk City of Gdynia Port Authority of GdaĔsk S.A.

INTRODUCTION

The idea of analysing east central European transatlantic migrations by assembling scholars from both sending and receiving countries followed from discussions in the Department of Contemporary History at the University of GdaĔsk, Poland. While researching American attitudes towards Poland in terms of the complex fate of the post-World War II exiles, we found that from the American perspective the countries between Germany and Russia remained to a large extent a terra incognita, dominated by the Soviets who flagrantly violated the international wartime agreements. The American government therefore considered the area, not a particular country, to be a single problem called: “eastern Europe.” Despite the obvious differences in the east central European wartime experience, there were many similarities in its historical encounters with foreign domination and struggles for freedom that paved the way for interethnic cooperation. While examining the Cold War émigré activities, we learned that there was much more to the story of east central Europe in exile than just the practical goal of lobbying western governments for liberation of the region. We found patterns in political leaders’ biographies, forms of political alignments in exile, acculturation problems and divisions between the exiles and “ethnics”, as well as many layers of regional cooperation (political internationals, federalist organizations). Establishing cooperation with scholars from other central European countries and the U.S. in order to see a broader picture seemed indispensable. With the help of the Visegrad Fund Project Partners—Slavomír Michálek, the Institute of History of the Slovak Academy of Sciences in Bratislava, Francis Raška (Charles University in Prague), Magdolna Báráth (the Historical Archives of the Hungarian State Security in Budapest)—we decided to organize a conference at the University of GdaĔsk, Poland. The response to our Call for Papers was truly impressive. Scholars from as many as thirteen countries came to GdaĔsk to discuss east central European emigration from the perspective of their disciplines: history, sociology, political science, and literature. The four-day conference: “East Central Europe in Exile: Patterns of Transatlantic Migrations” took place at the Faculty of History at the University of Gdansk from 31 May to 3 June 2012.

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The financial support necessary for the organization of this project was provided by the Visegrad Fund (which fosters academic, cultural and scientific cooperation among the four Visegrad countries: the Czech Republic, Hungary, Poland and Slovakia); the two consecutive Deans of the Faculty of History of the University of GdaĔsk—Professor Zbigniew Opacki and Professor Wiesáaw DáugokĊcki (devoted to the advancement of the International Graduate Studies Programme in History at the University of GdaĔsk); the City of Gdynia (the founder of the Emigration Museum); and the Port of Gdansk Authority S.A. (which supports the cultural and scientific growth of the thousand-year-old city thriving on the Baltic coast). This publication was made possible by the said institutions as well as by the support received from the Pro-rector for Scientific Affairs of the University of GdaĔsk—Professor Grzegorz WĊgrzyn. Furthermore, in our effort to foster international collaboration, we enjoyed the support of many cultural and research institutions, for example: the Balassi Institute-Hungarian Cultural Institute in Warsaw, devoted to promotion of the Hungarian heritage and cooperation between Hungary and Poland in the arts and sciences; the Immigration History Research Center at the University of Minnesota, which develops archives and promotes interdisciplinary research on international migration; and the above-mentioned Emigration Museum in Gdynia, which in its scientific and cultural activities transposes the problem of emigration to explore universal experiences of life-changing travels. Moreover, we had the privilege of receiving invaluable assistance from the Museum of the City of Gdynia, the GdaĔsk History Museum, and the University of GdaĔsk History Graduate Student Association. The Honorary Patronage of the Rector of the University of GdaĔsk, the Ambassador of Hungary in Warsaw, and the Voivode of the Province of Pomerania were extended over this event. Special mention must be made of the participation of the Polish American Historical Association (PAHA), the foremost academic association based in the United States devoted to the study and advancement of the history and culture of Polish immigrants in America and their descendants and the Polish diaspora elsewhere in the world. PAHA chose to hold its annual midyear meeting in Gdansk in conjunction with the conference, and numerous PAHA members made presentations and attended sessions. The conference theme offered an inspiring common ground for studying the history of east central Europe. Poverty, wars, political persecution and intolerance recurrent in the turbulent past of Europe’s heartland pushed millions of east Europeans overseas. To examine the nature of their transatlantic migration is to obliterate the classical migration typologies

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(political / economic, forced / voluntary, temporary / permanent) and analyse the movement of people simultaneously seeking bread and freedom. The conference sessions thus revolved around issues relating to the causes of transatlantic migration, the emigrants’ travel and adaptation experiences, assimilation and acculturation processes, the political activities of the émigrés, as well as east central European cultural and artistic manifestations in the Americas. It must be acknowledged, however, that it’s not the first time that such an initiative has been taken. In 1980 a conference of Croatian, Polish, and Hungarian, Slovene and Slovak scholars on north, central, and southern European overseas emigration was held in Bratislava. It ended with a call for a continuation of cooperation. Two more meetings were held: in Kraków (1981), and in Budapest (1984). The latter resulted in the publication of papers on the great peasant transatlantic migration: Overseas Migration from East-Central and Southeastern Europe 1880– 1940 (ed. Julianna Puskás, Budapest: Akademiai Kiado, 1990). This important collection of “eastern European” essays—constituting the first step in fostering the regional approach and cooperation—necessarily focused mostly on theoretical approaches, i.e. methodology, historiography, models, and generalizations. The volume ends with a call for the continuation of exchanges, and announces an ensuing meeting in Yugoslavia. However, in the post-Communist reality, and most importantly, in light of the wars in Yugoslavia, it had by 1991 become impossible. Yet another inspiring international perspective on transatlantic migrations was offered by the participants of the Eighth International Economic History Congress in Budapest, which took place in 1982 (Ira A. Glazier and Luigi De Rosa, eds., Migration across Time and Nations. Population mobility in historical contexts (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1986)). A collection of twenty-two essays dealing primarily with the problems of analysis of migration processes offers a relevant reference point (see section: “The Migration Movements to the United States and Argentina”). A more recent, modern approach signalling new research questions resulted from a year-long colloquium, “Anatomy of Exile”, and the two conferences held in conjunction with it (Peter I. Rose, ed., The Dispossessed: An Anatomy of Exile (Amherst, Mass.: University of Massachusetts Press, 2005)). It discusses both the experience of the refugees, but also the problems of adjustments, as well as their cultural impact on the host country. In the 1990s and 2000s, with the new research opportunities available in east central Europe, including the opening of the Communist archives, many more conferences and seminars devoted to the study of transatlantic

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population movements were organized on both continents. Evidently, the focus of east central European migration research has shifted towards the study of the political emigration, also in a transnational context. Among the many scholarly initiatives at the turn of the century, one finds sessions and panels devoted to issues similar to those discussed in this volume. For example, during the Fifth World Congress of Central and East European Studies, which took place in Warsaw in 1995, scholars addressed the issue of the Communist policy towards the east central European émigrés and ethnic diasporas after the Second World War, emphasizing the need for a comparative perspective (see Adam Walaszek’s article in the “Przegląd Polonijny” (no. 2, 1996)). Furthermore, at a round table session during the Eighteenth International Congress of Historical Sciences (27 August–3 September 1995, Montreal 1995) the scholars from six states (Poland, Slovakia, Croatia, and Slovenia, the U.S. and Canada) discussed the transatlantic determinants of the east European struggles for freedom. The discussions, chaired by M. Mark Stolarik (the University of Ottawa, Canada), revolved around the impact of the émigré groups on the creation or resurrection of the states in east central Europe in the twentieth century. A complementary perspective was offered during a 2001 session: “Polish, Hungarian and Czechoslovak Political Emigration and the Origins of the Cold War”, held at the annual meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies in Washington, D.C. (see the articles by Piotr Stefan Wandycz, István Deák and Igor Lukes in the “Polish Review” (no. 47, 2002)). Recently, growing attention has been devoted to the study of interethnic cooperation and to the observation of the patterns of east central European transatlantic migrations. In 2008, Ieva Zake (AntiCommunist Minorities in the U.S.: Political Activism of Ethnic Refugees, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009) organized a seminar devoted to the study of anti-communism among the various ethnics in the U.S. Two years later, an edited volume devoted to the study of the intelligence uses of the exiles entitled: Secret weapon or the victims of the Cold War? Central and Eastern European political émigrés was published in Poland (Lublin: IPN, 2010). It was the result of an international conference organized in Lublin by Sáawomir àukasiewicz, who managed to gather esteemed researchers of political emigration from the east central Europe. Our volumes, undoubtedly inspired by the above-mentioned collections, are different in scope, character, and offer less specialized, but broader and more complementary perspectives: east central European and American. They are not theoretical studies; they do not examine contemporary migration trends. Neither one repeats the largely quantitative studies on

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continental and overseas emigration from east central Europe. Furthermore, neither tries to juxtapose east central European experience with that of other nations of the region, say Russia or Germany. It is not the sole fact of a life in exile, but the east central European heritage in transatlantic transition is the essential thread in both volumes. However, just like our predecessors, we share the conviction that international cooperation of the scholars of various disciplines, who work on east central European overseas migration, should continue. Moreover, we believe it to be of the utmost importance to publish our findings in English, which obviously has become the new lingua franca, thus allowing for the extended exchange of ideas and results of research. The list of contributors to our post-conference volumes is a vital sign that the seeds of effective international cooperation are already sprouting. The two post-conference volumes, published under the same heading: East Central Europe in Exile, contain a collection of chapters written by both esteemed, and well-known scholars, as well as young, aspiring researchers whose work brings a fresh, innovative approach to the study of migration. The volumes are not interdisciplinary in their character. Rather, they are multi-disciplinary in that each academic field retains its own methodology and unique vantage point. While some of the texts are based on thorough archival research, some synthesize the current state of research, whereas others—more impressionistic in character—offer inspiration, pointing the reader to new sources and approaches in studying migration. Altogether, there are thirty-eight chapters in both volumes focusing on the east central European émigré experience in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The very same experience which led to the formation of east central Europe in exile—a powerful ethnic conglomerate of people pushed out of the region by poverty, war, persecution, who maintained their transatlantic links in a variety of forms. The first volume, Transatlantic Migrations, focuses on the reasons for emigration from the lands of east central Europe; from the Baltic to the Adriatic, the intercontinental journey, as well as on the initial adaptation and assimilation processes. It consists of twenty chapters written by scholars from eight different countries, organized into four parts. The first part may be considered a broad introduction to the two volume series. Based on captivating individual stories presented against historical background, the authors demonstrate reasons for emigration from eastern Europe, look into its changing character, examine the nature of the preserved transatlantic links, and touch upon adaptation processes. Jože Pirjevec opens the section with a broad introduction to the changing

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nature of south-eastern emigration overseas. The theme of exile ties and activities carried out on behalf of the old country is further expanded in the chapter by Agata Biernat. In the next chapter Harriet Napierkowski describes how international conflicts uproot people from the moving, personal perspective of a single displaced family, which is representative of thousands more in the aftermath of the Second World War. It is followed by an examination of the post-war and anti-communist emigration routes, which in the case of north-eastern Europe often led through Sweden. Arnold KáonczyĔski describes both the factors pushing the Poles to leave their homelands, as well as the reasons for their subsequent departure from Sweden to America. The next chapter, by Slavomír Michálek describes the successful attempts to organize help for the cold war refugees—mostly from Czechoslovakia—in the second half of the twentieth century. Béla Nóvé’s chapter presents the dramatic plight of underage Hungarians escaping the country during and after the Hungarian Revolution. The first part of the volume concludes with Maja Trochimczyk’s study of Polish émigré musicians. The author examines the reasons for their migration overseas, their careers in the adopted homeland, and their new, negotiated identities—émigré, ethnic, or American—thus indicating the essential elements of “Polishness”. In the second part of the first volume, the reader will discover the various aspects of the transatlantic passage from the departure ports, types of vessels, conditions aboard to the difficulties involved in getting to America. Interestingly, the five contributors, from four different countries, describe the intercontinental crossing from different places and perspectives. Taken together, this helps the reader to visualize the various aspects of the international migratory network combining east central Europe with the Americas. This part opens with an examination of the emigrant traffic via the south-eastern European ports. Aleksej Kalc’s article focuses on the significance of Trieste, whereas Istvan Kornel Vida’s chapter mostly deals with Rijeka (Fiume). While the first one focuses on the volume and economic significance of the passenger traffic, the latter examines the humanitarian side of the transatlantic voyage. Two articles dealing with north-eastern European ports—GdaĔsk and Gdynia— complement this perspective. Again, however, both authors adopt quite a different approach. Whereas Oskar Myszor’s detailed study presents the volume of emigrant traffic through the Polish port of Gdynia, Jan Daniuk tells the story of the German emigration from the Free City of Danzig to Brazil. The difficulties faced by the settlers in the Brazilian jungle are further juxtaposed with the care east central European immigrants received in North America. Anne M. Gurnack offers a glimpse of how New York

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coped with the health-care needs of the scores of immigrants arriving in America via Ellis Island, and what medical services were available to them around the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The third part, “Putting Roots Down”, focuses on processes of adaptation and acculturation. M. B. B. Biskupski’s article opens the discussion by posing questions on the nature of the transatlantic connection to the “old country”. The author observes changes in political consciousness and clearly demonstrates the detachment from the “ancestral Fatherland”. Mary Patrice Erdmans looks into the phenomena of “Polishness” in Connecticut over the course of a hundred and forty years. This broad perspective is then confronted with detailed studies of immigrant communities in other parts of the United States. Dorota Praszaáowicz’s article looks at the complex relations between the Poles and Germans in Milwaukee at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. As both above-mentioned authors emphasize the central role of the parish in the ethnic community, their perspectives are complemented by Daniel ýerny’s case study of the struggle for the preservation of identity by a group of Slovak immigrants, the members of the Slovak Greek Catholic Church in Canada. The last part of the volume examines immigrant paths towards integration. The authors discuss the east Europeans’ entry into various labour markets (mostly in low-skilled jobs) as well as immigrant social mobility and career patterns. Pien Versteegh examines education and the career patterns of the Polish workers in Pennsylvania and compares it with that of the American workers. The American experience is then contrasted with an examination of various perspectives of the social mobility of the Polish immigrants in Europe. Brian McCook presents a detailed study of the education patterns in Great Britain during and after the Second World War. Silvia Dapía’s chapter characterizes the socio-political reasons behind Argentina’s decision to encourage immigration from east central Europe in the late twentieth century. The volume closes with an article by Maágorzata Patok, who looks into the contemporary relevance of the Polish immigrant stereotype in the West and examines the role it plays in ameliorating integration strategies. Undoubtedly, this compilation fosters the reader’s understanding of the transnational processes affecting the east central European migrants. It proves that patterns in the east central European transatlantic migration are easily discernible, and that seeing our history within the regional context is therefore crucial. The second volume is slightly different in scope, for it focuses on the aspect of negotiating new identities acquired in the adopted homeland. The

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authors contributing to the: Transtatlantic Indentities focus on the preservation of the east central European identity, maintenance of the contacts with the “old country”, and activities pursued on behalf of, and for the sake of the abandoned homeland. The first part of the volume opens with a study of east central European cultural activities in the U.S. and the importance of ethnic heritage in the artistic and literary creations. Thomas J. Napierkowski talks about the presence of the exile experience in Polish-American literature. In her chapter, Jelena Šesniü supports his perspective, which discusses Croatian literature as a transculturated discourse. The literary portrayal of immigrants based on semiautobiographical fiction is focus of in the article by GraĪyna J. Kozaczka. It examines the negotiated, or constructed, immigrant identity. Then, Anna D. JaroszyĔska-Kirchmann, using emigrant and exile written exchanges within their communities, looks into the internal development of the Polish political diaspora by analysing the informal communication networks within it. The Czech perspective on intra-diasporic exchanges is then offered by Francis Raška, who describes the debates involving the Czechoslovak intellectual elites. This section of the book closes with Piotr Koprowski’s examination of the thoughts on the east central European intellectual identity formulated by a Polish Catholic philosopher during his transatlantic travels. East central European émigré attitudes towards other ethnic minorities are discussed in the second part of this volume. This section opens with a study of Polish cooperation with other ethnic groups before the American Civil War, written by James S. Pula. It is followed by Piotr Derengowski’s article on the Polish opinions about slavery in the Civil War era. Stephen M. Leahy further expands this perspective in his article discussing the relationship between the Polish-Americans and African Americans during this era. Sociologist Ieva Zake’s article, concluding this section, offers a comprehensive, synthesizing approach to the problem of the nature of ethnic prejudice. The third part of the volume focuses on the political manifestations of the émigré overseas. Particular attention is directed towards interethnic cooperation among the east central European exiles during the Cold War. The section opens with Martin Nekola’s article, which focuses on political leadership of the Czech and Slovak exiles. Anna Siwik and Arkadiusz Indraszczyk discuss the interethnic cooperation of the east central European exiles based on their political views, the socialist and agrarian respectively. Anna Mazurkiewicz talks about the united exiles efforts to garner the attention of the United Nations for the cause of liberation of east central Europe. Pauli Heikkilä closes this section of the volume

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describing the multi-ethnic Assembly of the Captive European Nations as a U.S. based exile organization of noticeable importance in Europe. The last four articles therefore combine east central European exile political activities on both sides of the Atlantic. The last part of the second volume is devoted to an examination of the link between the Cold War exiles and the intelligence services—both American and Communist—thus exemplifying another transatlantic link. Katalin Kádár Lynn discusses the cooperation of the Hungarian leader— Tibor Eckhardt and Grombach organization, or “the Pond”. Magdolna Báráth supplements this perspective by describing Communist attempts to severely inhibit emigration from Hungary after the revolution of 1956. In keeping with the chronological sequence, the Hungarian case is supported by Patryk Pleskot’s study of the Polish intelligence service’s surveillance of the Polish diaspora in the 1980s. Taken together, these eighteen essays present the reader with a panorama of émigré co-operation and conflict in exile. The scholars from eight different countries thus present the results of their most recent research in the field of interethnic interactions of the émigrés which—had it not been for the GdaĔsk meeting—would otherwise only appear as part of their national historiographies. While each of the volumes can function independently, they serve the purpose of presenting diversified and multinational perspectives best when read together. This publication was prepared for readers interested in European, as well as American, history (political, cultural, and economic). Furthermore, as the two-volume set offers diversified perspectives, cutting across disciplines and national borders, it may serve as a background for exciting discussions in academic courses and as an enjoyable inspiration to further research on both sides of the Atlantic. On behalf of the organizing committee, we would like to thank all of the conference participants, partners and sponsors. We would also like to express gratitude to Ewa Barczyk (Director of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee Libraries) and to Daniel Necas (Research Archivist at the Immigration History Research Center, University of Minnesota) whose personal efforts were instrumental in helping us locate and obtain copies and permissions to use the photographs on the covers. It ought to be recorded that the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee library, represented at the conference by Director Barczyk, houses the Roman Kwasniewski Photographic Collection, an extensive treasure trove of visual images of the Polish neighbourhood of Milwaukee in its heyday, the early decades of the 20th century. Last but not least, our thanks go to Peter Simon for his assistance in correcting the texts for both volumes.

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We hope that the volumes that resulted from our discussions at the University of GdaĔsk constitute an important step in the direction of closer international cooperation as well as a clear indication of the critical need for transnational research. —Anna Mazurkiewicz, Mieczysáaw Nurek

PART I: EMIGRANTS, EXILES, REFUGEES

CHAPTER ONE SLOVENIAN ECONOMIC AND POLITICAL MIGRATION TO THE AMERICAS IN THE LAST 150 YEARS JOŽE PIRJEVEC

The urge to abandon one’s native land for religious, economic or political reasons has a long tradition in east and central Europe. The history of emigration from Slovenia is no different, from the Protestants, who sought refuge in Germany, Scandinavia and North America in the second half of the sixteenth century, to the Roman Catholic missionaries, who decided to follow their vocation and go overseas to convert pagans. The latter emigration started as early as the seventeenth century but the process intensified in the nineteenth. The most famous among them was Frederik Jernej Baraga, who went to Michigan in 1830 where he preached among the local Indian tribes. For decades he endured extremely harsh conditions, publishing books in Native American languages and fighting for their human rights.1 During the nineteenth century, many poor Slovenian peasants and tradesmen used to abandon their villages every year from spring until autumn in order to find work in different parts of the Habsburg Empire, Germany, France and even in southern Russia. However, the first major emigration wave occurred in the 1880s. Up to the outbreak of the First World War, 300,000 people had left southern and north-eastern Slovenia for the USA, Brazil, Westphalia, and even Egypt. This last migratory stream encompassed mostly young women from the Adriatic Littoral, who were employed by wealthy families (especially in Alexandria) as nurses to their infant children.2

1

Bernard J. Lambert, Shepherd of the Wilderness: A Biography of Bishop Frederic Baraga (Chicago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1974). 2 Dorica Makuc, Aleksandrinke (Gorica: GMD, 2006).

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Chapter One

After the Great War, when the United States decided to regulate the flow of immigrants, many Slovenians found it easier to settle in western Europe, Canada, Argentina and Brazil. To the last two countries went those Slovenians from the Adriatic Littoral in particular, which was occupied and annexed by Italy after 1918. Hence the reason for their migration was not only economic but also political. In fact, at the very beginning of its rule in Venezia Giulia (as the Littoral has been renamed), Italy began a policy of ethnic assimilation, which became especially oppressive after October 1922 when the Fascists came to power. They destroyed the Slovenian cultural, political and economic infrastructure in the province, compelling many citizens and intellectuals, to seek refuge in Yugoslavia and, as previously mentioned, in North and Latin America. It is reckoned that in the 1920s and 30s at least 80,000 Slovenians from the Littoral decided to abandon Venezia Giulia in order to escape the hardships of the Mussolini’s regime. This constituted a quarter of the entire minority that came under Italian rule after World War I.3 The main reason for the great wave of emigration during the last two decades of the nineteenth century and before the First World War was the economic crisis, which had the worst effect on the peasants. Once in America, these emigrants rarely decided to settle in rural areas but rather found work in industry—particularly in mining and the steel mills. Not carrying any social security, they quickly began to organize mutual aid associations. By the end of the nineteenth century, a first such association was founded in the United States under the tutelage of the Catholic clergy. However, the ideological divisions typical of the “old country” also found expression in the new—in 1904, a liberal version of the above–mentioned association had already been created in Chicago. Also, during the same period, the first Slovenian Socialist club came into being. Not long after, in 1911, it joined the American Socialist Party. These and other similar groups developed a lively cultural milieu, publishing newspapers and books, organizing choirs for their members, as well as theatre, gymnastic and sports events. They transferred the rich social life typical of Slovenian society from the sunset of the Habsburg Empire to their new environment overseas.4 The most prominent representative of the first generation of emigrants was Louis Adamic, who came to the United States in 1913 at the age of 3

Milica Kacin Wohinz, Jože Pirjevec, Storia degli sloveni in Italia, 1866–1998 (Venezia: Marsilio, 1998). 4 Matjaž Klemenþiþ, Slovenes of Cleveland: the Creation of a New Nation and a New World Community (Novo mesto: Dolenjska založba, Ljubljana Scientific Institute of the Faculty of Arts, 1995).

Slovenian Economic and Political Migration to the Americas

5

fifteen, after having been expelled from Austrian schools for his membership in a pro-Yugoslav student movement. At first, he worked as a manual labourer, and later as a journalist at a Slovenian daily newspaper published in New York. As a volunteer soldier he participated in combat on the Western Front during the First World War. Afterwards, he worked as a professional writer. In 1932, he was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship and two years later achieved national acclaim for his book The Native’s Return.5 In it, he records a journey to his homeland and a critical evaluation of the corrupt regime of King Alexander Karaÿjorÿjevic, whom he called a “mafia boss”. The book, which appeared at the time of the King’s violent death in Marseilles, was an instant best seller, providing many Americans with their first knowledge of the Balkans. Its success opened the doors of the White House to Adamic. During the Second World War, he supported the anti-fascist struggle of the Yugoslav peoples and the establishment of a Socialist federation. In support of Marshall Tito, he founded the United Committee of South Slavic Americans. After 1945, he strongly opposed the course of western foreign policy initiated by the British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and tried to convince the American leadership not to fall into the trap of the Cold War. His 1946 book, entitled Dinner at the White House containing the report of a conversation with President Roosevelt and Churchill caused quite a stir.6 The author accused the British prime minister of suppressing the communist movement in Greece in order to preserve his financial interests in the country. In 1949, Adamic returned to Yugoslavia in order to see what had happened in the country after the Tito-Stalin split. Upon his return, he wrote another book entitled: The Eagle and the Roots, which contained his recollections and impressions of his discussions with Marshall Tito.7 He had completed this book just before his mysterious and violent death in September 1951. It is still unclear whether Adamic committed suicide by shooting himself, or whether he was shot by his enemies. In any case, it is worth mentioning that he had been under FBI surveillance for many years as a potential security threat and a leftist.8

5

Louis Adamic, The Native’s Return (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1934). Idem, Dinner at the White House (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1946), http://archive.org/details/dinneratthewhite035063mbp (accessed 21 October 2012). 7 Louis Adamic, The Eagle and the Roots (Garden City NY: Doubleday, 1952). 8 Den Schifman, Rooting Multiculturalism: The Work of Louis Adamic (Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, London: Associated University Presses, 2006). 6

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Louis Adamic’s story is typical of many Slovenian emigrants who did not lose their ties with the “old country”, but, on the contrary, passionately followed its political fate. As early as 1917, a group of Socialists led by the remarkable Etbin Kristan, (the only Slovenian mentioned by Lenin in his writings), published the so-called “Chicago Declaration”, which favoured uniting southern Slavs in one republic. During the period between the two world wars, this Association was joined by many émigré Croats and Serbs who had vehemently opposed the dictatorship of King Alexander and had been fighting for the “just” borders of the Slovenian nation, which was then divided between Yugoslavia, Italy and Austria in the aftermath of the collapse of the Habsburg Empire. When in April 1941 Hitler and Mussolini attacked Yugoslavia, the Slovenian emigrants in Cleveland (where they were particularly numerous) immediately organized a Committee with the aim of helping the occupied country. Of course, the ideological struggles that split Slovenians at home during the Second World War were not foreign to them. Those who joined the Liberation Front, led by the Communists, were opposed by the Roman Catholic clergy and conservatives. The latter hoped that after the war an independent Slovenia would eventually be created within the framework of federal Yugoslavia and under the protection of Great Britain and the United States. Both groups, however, claimed new borders for the country, stressing the need to redraw those that had been established after the First World War. In order to achieve this, they developed a lively propaganda, engaging in a polemical struggle with Italian emigrants, who, for their part, were in favour of the conservation of the Rapallo border, as it had been agreed upon by Rome and Belgrade in November 1920. Following the Yugoslav “Partisans” occupation of Trieste and the Gorizia area (1 May–12 June 1945), and their subsequent withdrawal, which was caused by the Allies’ threat to use military force if necessary, the Trieste issue became especially acrimonious for years to mutual relations among the émigrés.9 The end of the Second World War was a new chapter in the history of Slovenian emigration. By then, the majority of the second or third generation descendants of economic emigrants, who decided to abandon their homeland for the USA, Canada, or Latin America, had already began achieving remarkable success. They actively participated in the intellectual, military and political affairs of their countries, often occupying high posts as legislators and governors, etc. An interesting case study is that of 9

Klemenþiþ, "Research on Slovene Immigration to the United States: Post Achivements and Future Direction,” Slovene Studies 8, no. 2 (1986): 9–14.

Slovenian Economic and Political Migration to the Americas

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Andrew Kobal. He was born in 1899 and fought during the First World War as an Austrian soldier on the Isonzo front. After the war his village came under Italian rule hence, he was forced to flee to Yugoslavia and later to America. In the U.S., he began working in Slovenian cultural organizations, but after a short time decided to devote his time to studying (history, psychology, economy and political science). Eventually, he achieved four doctoral degrees. At the outbreak of the Second World War he was employed by the Pentagon in the Department for Psychological Warfare. In 1944, he became a member of the Office of Strategic Services. In this capacity, he worked in the Balkans and in Asia, and—as a highly successful intelligence officer—became one of the founders of the CIA.10 By the end of the Second World War, many right-wing Slovenians, who had collaborated with Italian and German occupiers, tried to escape to Carinthia or Italy, hoping to be accepted by the Allies as well. The majority of those who fled to Carinthia (about 11,000) were returned to Yugoslavia by the British and massacred by the Partisans. Those fortunate enough to survive fled mainly to Argentina but also to the USA, Canada and Australia. The Vatican, whose authorities did not bother to ask what they had been doing during the War, often made their escape possible. This is how people like Gregorij Rožman, the Bishop of Ljubljana, who openly collaborated with the occupiers, helping to foster the civilian war in Slovenia, managed to find asylum in America. This new wave of migration, which numbered nearly 13,000 people, was quite different from the earlier ones, since its members were often highly educated with strong political motivations. Hence, they did not mix with the older “economic” emigration groups but created their own organizations, schools and newspapers in the countries where they settled. They had no intention of remaining overseas but wanted to return to their homeland and to exact revenge. It is fair to say that, in general, they were quite successful, developing a lively economic and cultural life and managing to pass their unique identity on to the next generation. While like the Croatian and Serbian émigrés they were in fierce opposition to Marshall Tito’s regime, they did not share or cultivate either Ustasha, or Chetnik traditions.11 They remained peaceful, strongly believing that their exile was a temporary one, and that, therefore, it was important to preserve their ideological and cultural heritage. In accordance with this attitude, they followed political and intellectual life in Slovenia with great 10

Andrew Kobal, Svetovni popotnik pripoveduje, vols. I–II (Gorica: GMD, 1975– 1976). 11 Pirjevec, “Yugoslav Political Emigration to Australia after World War II,” Annales. Series Historia and Sociologia 16, no. 1 (2006): 1–6.

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attention, especially cultivating strong ties with frontier cities such as Trieste, Gorizia and Klagenfurt. Located on the borders of Yugoslavia, these Italian and Austrian cities were the homes to many Slovenians. With the help of many sympathizers, the political exiles were able to smuggle their publications into Slovenia, thus exercising some minor influence on the homeland. Obviously, aware of such activity, the Yugoslav authorities tried to hinder these ties by any means. When in 1991 socialist Yugoslavia collapsed, Slovenian emigrants participated in the creation of an independent Slovenia with great emotional involvement. They were using their contacts and influence, especially in the USA, to convince the George H. W. Bush administration to recognize the new-born state. Moreover, they tried to play a certain political role in the democratic and pluralist society, which emerged from the ruins of Yugoslavia, linking themselves with Catholic and conservative parties. Although some Cold War political exiles actually returned to the old country, this phenomenon was not as marked as in the case of Croatia or Serbia. Nevertheless, for a short time two important posts in the country—the Prime Minister (Andrej Bajuk) and the Bishop of Ljubljana (Cardinal Alojz Rode)—were occupied by men who had arrived from Argentina. The majority of the Slovenian emigrants were, however, so integrated in their adopted countries that it was almost unthinkable for them to return to the old country. Although the third or the fourth generation of the emigrants generally no longer speaks Slovenian, many of them preserved their Slovenian identity and continued to participate in numerous organizations operating overseas. Some of them are known both in their country of residence as well as in Slovenia. Such is the case of Father Pedro Oblak, born in Argentina, who works in Madagascar with the poorest children who must scavenge in dumps in order to survive.12 The Slovenian migration to the Americas, as shown in this short review, followed a typical pattern of the waves of central European migration. Until the Second World War it retained a mostly economic character, except for the people from the Littoral, annexed after 1920 by Italy, fleeing the fascist regime. After 1945 the nature of emigration changed dramatically as several thousand political emigrants sought escape from the Communist regime.

12 Marjan Javornik, Alenka Dermastia, “Izseljenci v Južni Ameriki,” in Enciklopedija Slovenije, vol. 4, (Ljubljana: Mladinska knjiga, 1990).

CHAPTER TWO ALBANIA AND ALBANIAN ÉMIGRÉS IN THE UNITED STATES BEFORE WORLD WAR II AGATA BIERNAT

Along with different political, religious or economic problems, Albanian history reflects the causes of emigrations. The origin of the Albanians is still a matter of dispute. Most historians think that they are descendants of the Illyrians, Dacians or Thracians; Albanians believe their origin is Illyrian. In ancient times, Albania was a part of the Roman Empire, falling later under Byzantine authority. For most of their history Albanians were a small nationality struggling for recognition under the Ottoman Empire. Unfortunately, they failed to attract the support of the European powers. It should be remembered that from 1478, soon after the death of Skanderbeg, until 1912, Albania was a part of the Ottoman Empire, which for almost five centuries affected the political, cultural, social and especially religious life of the Albanians. Indeed by the early twentieth century, the majority of Albanians were Muslim.1 At that time, the Albanians were divided (and still are) into two main groups: Gegs and Tosks. They spoke different dialects of the same language. The Gegs lived in the northern part of Albania, mostly in the mountains, and were characterized by a strong tribal organization. However Tosks were not so conservative, lived in the south, and most of them were peasants.2

1 Charles H. Woods, “Albania and the Albanians,” Geographical Review 5, no. 4 (1918): 264. 2 Charles Jelavich and Barbara Jelavich, The Establishment of the Balkan National States, 1804–1920, History of East Central Europe, vol. 8 (Seattle, London: University of Washington Press, 1977), 222.

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In the nineteenth century, as Miranda Vickers and James Pettifer stated in Albania: From Anarchy to a Balkan Identity: The Albanians were perceived as primitive, tribal and fundamentally disunited, and therefore incapable of modern state organization. No equivalent tradition existed in relation to Albania comparable to the Philhellenism of the political elites of Europe that provided constant support for Greek nationalism or the pan-Slavism movement in Russia that did the same for Serbian aspirations.3

The end of the nineteenth century was a milestone in Albanian history, for this is when they started to fight for their rights. In the beginning, the Albanian national movement did not seek the collapse of the Ottoman Empire or to declare independence.4 Compared with the Serbian, Bulgarian or Greek national movements, it was unique. To the Albanians, autonomy within the Ottoman state appeared to be the only guarantee of their national security. In April 1878, Albanian patriots living in Constantinople organized a secret committee—the Committee for the Defence of the Rights of the Albanian People. The committee was headed by Abdyl Frashëri with his younger brother Sami Frashëri, together with Pashko Vasa, Jani Vreto, Kostandin Kristoforidhi, and others, and was soon expanded and transformed into a new organization.5 In the spring of 1878, the Albanian delegates met in Prizren before the opening of the European Congress in Berlin in June. The result of this meeting was the creation of the Albanian League for the Defence of the Rights of the Albanian Nationality, also known as the League of Prizren (or the Albanian League). This was when Abdyl Frashëri declared that from now on there were no “Muslim claims”, but rather “Albanian claims”. The new activity was to protect Albanian lands and found an autonomous Albanian vilayet with its own army and police.6

3 Amanda Vickers and James Pettifer, Albania: From Anarchy to a Balkan Identity (New York: New York University Press, 1997), 1–2. 4 Jelavich and Jelavich, The Establishment, 222. 5 Edwin E. Jacques, The Albanians: An Ethnic History from Prehistoric Times to the Present (Jefferson: McFarland, 1995), 256. 6 Pashko Vasa, “The Truth on Albania and Albanians” in Discourses of Collective Identity in Central and Southeast Europe 1770–1945. Texts and Commentaries, National Romanticism–The Formation of National Movements, edited by Balázs Trencsényi and Michal Kopecek, vol. 1 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2006), 199.

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The League sent a copy of the resolutions signed by the delegates to Berlin, requesting the recognition of Albanian nationhood. They tried to convince the western powers that they were a separate nation from the Turks, which was not easy at that time. However, some scholars who had been in Albania observed a difference between Albanians and other nations living in the Balkans. Thus, following his visits to Albania, Arthur John Evans, a British scholar, published his Illirian Letters in 1878, in which he shared his impressions: Everything reminds me that I am not among either a Slavic or a Turkish people. These are truly fellows—patriots of Skanderbeg and of Ali of Yanina—Albanians, “Shiptarë”, heirs as strong as rock, a most warlike race and altogether undefeated! […] The Albanian is by nature quick, energetic, sceptical, always in motion, impatient with supervision. For him, above everything else is freedom.7

Albanians strove to emphasize that they wanted to be perceived as neither Turks nor Slavs but simply as Albanians. On 10 June 1878, an assembly in Prizren (Kosovo) sent just such a message to the Congress of Berlin. Prizren was then still a province of the Turkish Empire. Unfortunately, the congress was not at all impressed. Bismarck dismissed the message with a curt remark: “There is no Albanian nationality”.8 Albanians did not accept the treaties of San Stefano and Berlin, because both assigned areas—also inhabited by Albanians—to other states and thus the Albanians decided to continue fight for recognition.9 The Ottomans, who decided to send the army to crush the Albanian League, further endangered their aspirations. Abdyl Frashëri was captured and then sentenced to death, which was later changed to life imprisonment.10

7

Jacques, 257. “The Eastern Question again,” http://www.slobodan-milosevic.org/news/economist 061078.htm (accessed 5 May 2012). 9 According to Article 1 of the Treaty of San Stefano “gave to Montenegro the district of Dulcigno, Tivari, Hot, Plava and Gucinja. Article 3 gave to Serbia the district of Prishtina. Article 6 gave Bulgaria not only the coveted Macedonian port of Salonica, but also districts of Korcha, Voskopje, Pogradec, Dibra, Gostivar and Tetova”. Jacques, 256. 10 Jean A. Dérens, “Independence for Kosovo: the domino effect. What borders for Albania?” Le Monde Diplomatique, http://mondediplo.com/2008/02/11albania (accessed 6 May 2012); Kola, Paulin. The Search for Greater Albania, (London: Hurst & Co Publishers, 2003), 10. 8

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In 1912 the Albanian leader Imail Qemal unilaterally proclaimed Albanian independence in his hometown of Vlora.11 During the London Conference, the western powers decided to establish the Kingdom of Albania. However, it encompassed only half of the regions containing Albanian populations. The treaty also predominantly split Albanian Kosovo between Serbia and Montenegro.12 Prince William of Wied, a major in the German Guards, was nominated by the Great Powers to rule Albania. Soon afterwards he arrived at Durazzo (the Albanian city Durrës), where he established the country’s capital. As his regime was a total failure, internal disorder forced him into exile just after the outbreak of the Great War. Finally, Albanian territorial integrity was confirmed when it joined the League of Nations in 1920. In the interwar period, Ahmet Zogu, a conservative leader, ruled Albania. In September 1928, the Constituent Assembly proclaimed Albania a “democratic, parliamentary and hereditary kingdom”, and subsequently proclaimed Ahmet Zogu king with the royal title “Zog the First, King of the Albanians”.13 Zog’s dictatorial rule was marked by economic stagnation and Italian influence over Albanian affairs. By the time of Italy’s invasion in 1939, the country was a de facto Italian protectorate.14 The written accounts of the Albanian migration to America before the Second World War are very limited, and the statistics quoted here should be treated with caution.15 The collected material is often part of history books or travel accounts, written primarily by foreign scholars or travellers. As the Ottoman Empire crumbled, distant places such as the Americas and Australia became the preferred emigration destinations for Albanians. Although the U.S. became the single most important destination in the Americas, Albanian settlements were also created in Canada, Argentina, Brazil, Cuba, and Mexico.16 Compared with other east European nations, few Albanians came to the United States before the twentieth century. The first Albanian emigrant 11

Ibid., 13. The Albanians have never accepted the prejudice to their people, and today its nationalists are intent on “rectifying” the “historical injustice”. Jean-Arnault Dérens, “What borders for Albania” Le Monde Diplomatique http://mondediplo.com/2008/02/11albania (accessed 16 October 2012). 13 Jacques, 386. 14 Julie Vullnetari, “Albanian migration and development: State-of-the-Art review,” IMISCOE Working Paper 18, (2007): 7. 15 Ibid. 16 Ibid., 15. 12

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to the U.S. is said to have been a man from the city of Korçë in south-east Albania, who had arrived there in 1876, but soon left for Argentina.17 The second Albanian immigrant is believed to have been a man in his midtwenties who also came from the Korçë region. His arrival in the U.S. sometime in the mid-1880s was to become the start of a considerable chain of migration as fellow villagers followed him, their imagination and desire set on fire as he reported on the wonders of America. But the first recorded Albanian to arrive in the United States was Koli Kristofer (Nicholas Christopher), who arrived in Boston in 1886 from the town of Katundi.18 Six years later, he returned to his motherland and spoke of the wonders of the “new world” to his countrymen. He later went back to Boston, accompanied by seventeen other Albanians.19 Emigration to the United States started in the late nineteenth century. Generally, before World War I, Albanians mainly migrated to America because of poor economic conditions, but also for political reasons, or to escape military conscription in the Turkish army, with the hope of bettering their situation while discovering greater opportunities and democratic freedom.20 Most of them immigrated to America in order to find a job, most commonly in factories. They were predominantly Orthodox young men who hoped to return home after they saved some money overseas. The majority of the early Albanian immigrants who reached the U.S. had a rural background and little knowledge of literary Albanian. Albanian immigrants to United States settled principally in New England, the New York area, and the industrial cities of the Midwest. Boston became a centre for Orthodox Christian Albanians, while Detroit became the most important city for Muslim Albanians. It was in this city that the first Albanian Bektashi Tekke was created in 1949. Four years later, a Sufi centre of the Bektashi Order was founded.21 The first wave of 17

Ibid. Jane Jurgens, “Albanian Americas,” in Gale Encyclopedia of Multicultural America, http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1G2-3405800014.html (accessed 8 May 2012). 19 Van Christo, “Chronology: The Albanians of Boston,” Frosina Information Network, http://www.frosina.org/articles/default.asp?id=172 (accessed 10 May 2012). 20 “American Dreams: The love affair between Albania and the USA,” Lalzit Bay, http://www.lalzitbay.com/albanian-culture/american-dreams-the-love-affairbetween-albania-and-the-usa/ (accessed 6 May 2012) 21 Yvonne Haddad, Jane I. Smith, eds., Muslim Communities in the North America, (New York: State University of New York Press, 1994), 359. 18

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Muslim Albanian immigration to the U.S. lasted from 1915 to 1925. The majority of the Muslims who left Albania did so for economic rather than political reasons. The second wave of Albanian transatlantic migration began after the Second World War. The majority of the immigrants chose to settle in the Greater Boston area. By 1907, several hundred Albanians worked in the mills of New England, in its factories or restaurants and hotels.22 Most of the early Albanian immigrants to the United States were illiterate. According to Denna Page, in 1906 there were 5,000 Albanians in America and only 20 of them could read or write in their own language.23 By 1919, 15,000 out of 40,000 Albanians could read and write in their own language. At first, the Albanians also remained suspicious of the American way of life and were often reluctant to send their children to American schools.24 Gradually, they accepted the fact that education provided the foundation for a better life in America. The first Albanian weekly newspaper, “Kombi” (The Nation) began publishing in Boston, in 1906. Its founder, Sotir Peci, a graduate of the University of Athens was instrumental in instilling a sense of Albanian nationhood among his fellow nationals and in encouraging the spread of literacy in Albanian. Also in Boston, the first Albanian drama “Israelites and Philistines”, by Fan S. Noli, was staged in 1907.25 A year later, the Christian Albanians living in USA established their own Church. In 1907, Kristaq Dishnica, a young Albanian man, died of influenza in Hudson, Massachusetts.26 The local Greek Orthodox priest refused to officiate at the funeral services because Dishnica was an Albanian nationalist (or as some might say, a patriot), and as such he was considered excommunicated. He was laid to rest in a Worcester cemetery without any religious service. It became known as the “Hudson Incident” and pushed other Albanians to take action and try to change the situation. On 8 March 1908, Fan Noli was asked to lead the movement for a separatist Albanian Orthodox Church in Boston. He was ordained to the priesthood by Platon, the Russian Archbishop of New York, and the Saint 22

Nadege Ragaru and Amilda Dymi, “The Albanian-American Community in the United States: A Diaspora Coming to Visibility,” Sciences Po 3, http://halshs.archives-ouvertes.fr/docs/00/14/75/88/PDF/The_AlbanianAmerican_Community_in_the_United_States.pdf (accessed 12 October 2012). 23 Jurgens, “Albanian Americans.” 24 Ibid. 25 Ibid. 26 “History of the Parish,” St. George Cathedral, http://www.saintgeorgecathedral.com/history.html (accessed 10 May 2012).

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George Albanian Orthodox Church was organized at the Knights of Honor Hall on Tremont Street in Boston.27 At that time, he first celebrated the liturgy in Albanian. Moreover, Noli prepared his own translation of the liturgy into Albanian. Just one week later, he was appointed to administer the Albanian Orthodox Mission in America, and later elevated to the rank of Mitred Archimandrite.28 The Albanian Orthodox Church carried both religious and patriotic functions within the Albanian ethnic communities. During the Congress of Berat (Albania) in 1922, the goals for the formation of the Church of Albania were discussed and autocephaly of the Albanian Orthodox Church was officially proclaimed. In November 1923, Noli was consecrated bishop of Korçë and named Primate of All Albania.29 But it took another 15 years before this was finally recognized by the Patriarchate of Constantinople, which happened on 13 April 1937 when the Patriarch of Constantinople accepted the Albanian Orthodox Church as autocephalous.30 Finally, the impasse between these two institutions was overcome. At the beginning of the second decade of the twentieth century, several national associations of the Albanian community started their political activities in the United States. The two most prominent figures, who greatly influenced the development of the Albanian national movement in the U.S. at that time, were Noli and Faik Konitza. Fan Noli (also known as Theophan Stylian Noli), mentioned above, instrumental in the establishment of the Albanian Orthodox Church, was a leader of the Albanian-American community and undoubtedly an important figure in Albanian literature, culture, religious life and politics.31 Noli arrived in Boston in 1906 and soon became deputy editor of the Albanian journal “Kombi”. He also edited other magazines, like: “The Adriatic Review” and “Dielli” (Sun).32 In 1912, he graduated from Harvard 27 The church later evolved into Saint George Albanian Orthodox Cathedral –the seat of the Albanian Orthodox Archdiocese in America–which eventually relocates to South Boston, in Van Christo, “Chronology: The Albanians of Boston,” Frosina Information Network, http://www.frosina.org/articles/default.asp?id=172 (accessed 10 May 2012). 28 “History of the Parish.” 29 Ibid. 30 Raymond Hutchins, “The Albanian Orthodox Autocephalous Church,” Frosina Information Network, http://www.frosina.org/about/infobits.asp?id=148 (accessed 12 May 2012). 31 Robert Elsie, “Fan Noli, ” Albanian language, http://www.albanianlanguage.net/en/noli.html (accessed 16 May 2012). 32 Noli “Shqipëria i ka borxh Amerikës,” Illyria, November–December 2007, 64. (This paper is published in New York by Albanian Publishing).

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and by the next decade had become the renowned leader and spokesman of the Albanians. He strove to secure Albania’s pace in the League of Nations and to convince President Woodrow Wilson to defend the country’s interests at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919.33 After World War I, Noli decided to return to Albania. Upon his return, he was able to form his own political party, the Democratic and Liberal Party. Soon after, he became Albania’s premier (June to December 1924), where he led a democratic government, which tried to cope with the economic and political problems facing the Albanian state. On Christmas Eve, 1924, he was overthrown by Zogist supporters and sentenced to death. He fled to Italy, thus leaving Albania for good.34 Then for a couple of years he lived in Vienna. When Noli finally returned to Boston he decided to focus on his activity in the Albanian Orthodox Church. He also returned to his favourite hobby—music. He even entered the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston from which he graduated in 1938.35 Moreover, seven years later (1945) he finished his doctoral thesis on the most famous Albanian national hero—Skanderbeg: the book became a classic. Besides his political, religious and historiographical record, until his death at the age of 83, Noli was also recognized as a dramatist, poet, historian and, in particular, a translator who made a significant contribution to the development of the Albanian literary language.36 In 1924, the Manchester Guardian described Fan Noli:

33

Nathan Thrall, “Albania, the Muslim World’s Most Pro-American State,” 4 September 2009, Slate, http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/dispatches /features/2009/albania_the_muslim_worlds_most_proamerican_state/americas_51st_ state.html (accessed 19 May 2012). 34 Elsie, Historical Dictionary of Albania, (New York: Scarecrow Press, 2004), 331. 35 Ibid. 36 Elsie, “Fan Noli,” Albanian language…; Owen Pearson, Albania as Dictatorship and Democracy: From Isolation to the Kosovo War, 1946–1998 (London: I.B. Tauris, 2007), 621; Albanian Orthodox celebrate Centennial Year in Boston, St. George Cathedral, http://www.saintgeorgecathedral.com/archive.html (accessed 19 May 2012); “Curt on the Death of the Former Albanian Premier Fan Noli,” Open Society Archives, http://www.osaarchivum.org/files/holdings/300/8/3/text/2-3-70.shtml (accessed 19 May 2012). He was able to translate into Albanian many of the works of Shakespeare, Ibsen, Cervantes, Edward FitzGerald, Longfellow and many others. It has to be mentioned that he was published and received accolades from literary critic George Bernard Shaw, author Thomas Mann and composer Jan Sibelius. In

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A man who would have been remarkable in any country. An accomplished diplomat, an expert in international politics, a skilful debater, who from the outset made a deep impression in Geneva. He knocked down his Balkan opponents in a masterful fashion, but always with a broad smile. He is a man of vast culture who has read everything in English and French.37

Faik Konitza, also known as Faik Salko or Faik bey Konica, was another admired and multitalented figure in Albanian history. He was born in 1876 in Konitza (Alb. Konica, present-day northern Greece, near the Albanian border).38 He came from one of the most important Muslim families of the Ottoman Empire, which is why he was able to receive a comprehensive education. He graduated from a Jesuit School in Shkodra. Then he also studied in Constantinople (at the French-language Imperial Galata secondary school) and in France. He studied in Lisieux and Carcassonne, and graduated in Romance philology from the University of Dijon in 1895. Afterwards, he spent two years in Paris where he studied mediæval French, Latin and Greek at the Collège de France.39 As a result of this highly varied educational background he knew Albanian, Turkish, English, Italian, French, and German. In 1897, Konitza (under a pseudonym: Thrank Spirobeg) started issuing the periodical “Albania”, which existed until 1910. It was originally published both in Brussels and Paris. This magazine was one of the most important Albanian journals of that time—written both in Albanian and in French. It should be noted that the Austro-Hungarian foreign ministry largely sponsored “Albania”. After the five years he spent in Belgium, Konitza moved to London where he continued to publish his journal.40 He authored many articles in “Albania” about the country’s history, language and dialects, religions, and its nationalism. In autumn 1909, he decided to emigrate to the United States. Initially he came to Boston, where he worked as an editor for “Dielli”.41 He also edited other periodicals like addition, Noli’s translations of Orthodox liturgical books and hymnals into Albanian and then into English were among the first such works. 37 Robert Elsie, Albanian Literature: A Short History, (Lonon: I. B. Tauris, 2006), 111. 38 Faik Konitza, “The Political Crisis in Albania,” in Modernism: The Creation of Nation-States, edited by Ahmet Ersoy, Maciej Górny, Vangelis Kechriotis, (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2010), 176. 39 Robert Elsie, “1899, Faïk Bey Konitza: Memoir on the Albanian National Movement,” Albanian History, http://www.albanianhistory.net/texts19_2/AH1899_2.html (accessed 16 May 2012). 40 Konitza, 176. 41 Elsie, Albanian Literature, 106.

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“Trumbeta e Krujes”.42 Moreover, while he lived in the United States Faik Konitza continued his studies. In August 1911, he enrolled in the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences at Harvard University.43 Appointed by Ahmet Zogu, he served as Albania’s envoy to the United States from 1926 to 1939, when Mussolini invaded and then conquered Albania.44 Konitza died in Washington in 1942.45 Although he did not contribute any major works to Albanian literature, he is still described as a “stylist, critic, publicist and political figure” and one that “had a tremendous impact on Albanian writing and culture at the turn of the century”.46 Moreover, when he died, he left behind an unfinished manuscript about Albania that was posthumously edited and published by Qerim M. Panarity, the editor of “Dielli”.47 His other book, Albania: The Rock Garden of Southeastern Europe and other essays, was published in 1957. There is no doubt that these two Albanian leaders, Faik Konitza and Fan Noli, were the most influential figures living in United States during Albania’s formative years. It was chiefly due to their efforts that Albanian emigration was able to organize itself. Initially, Noli established an association called: Besa-Besën. However, soon thereafter he proposed a consolidation of the twelve different Albanian societies into a single pan-Albanian organization.48 His efforts gained the support of Konitza. On 24 December 1911, a first official meeting took place in Boston, which brought all the Albanian American organizations together into one federation. This meeting was called with the initiative of the Besa-Besën association. Among those present, except 42 Refat Xh Gurrazezi, “Historia e Federatës ‘Vatra,’” Voice of Albanians Zëri i Shqiptarëve, 10 August 2009, http://www.voalonline.ch/index.php?mod=article&cat=DIASPORAN%C3%8BZVIC%C3%8BRD HEBOT%C3%8B&article=2541 (accessed 19 June 2012). 43 Ibid. Konitza began studies in September 1911 and finished in May 1912 with the title: Master of Arts. Ibid. 44 Fatos Tarifa, To Albania, With Love (Lanham: Hamilton Books, 2007), XVIII. 45 We, the People: Politics of National Peculiarity in Southeastern Europe, Diana Mishkova, ed. (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2009), 307. He was buried in Forest Hills cemetery in Boston. But after the fall of communism in Albania, his remnants were brought to Tirana in 1995. His last will to be interred in his “fatherland soil” was fulfilled. 46 Elsie, Historical Dictionary of Albania, 240. 47 Tarifa, XVIII. 48 Avni Spahiu, “Vatra of the Albanians of America and Noli,” Dielli, 28 April 2012, Dielli online, http://gazetadielli.com/vatra-of-the-albanians-of-america-and-noli/ (accessed 14 May 2012).

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for Noli and Konitza, were: Kristo Floqi, Marko Adams, and Paskal Aleksi. The meetings continued until 28 April 1912, when a Pan-Albanian organization was officially founded. The official record of the unity commission says: We call as formed the Pan Albanian Federation of America by the following associations: Besa-Besën, Flamuri i Krujes-Kruja Flag, Shoqerise Kombetare-National Association and Dallandyshja. In this historic meeting a temporary board is named and its members are: Secretary Fr. Fan Noli Treasurer; Llambi Chikozi; Dielli Manager Kristo Kirka; Federation Branch Managers: Faik Konica and Kristo Floqi. Dielli Newspaper Supervisors: Paskal Aleksi, Elia Tromara and Kosta Vasili.49

On 28 April 1912, the Pan-Albanian Federation of America-Vatra (Federata Pan-Shqiptare “Vatra”, hearth) was therefore formed with the aim of assisting the national movement in Albania.50 The weekly newspaper “Dielli” was adopted as its official organ.51 Konitza became Secretary General of the Vatra Federation and from 1921–1926 he served as its president.52 Vatra became one of the most important forces calling for the creation of a democratic Albania and tried to influence the country’s politics. Konitza described the work of the Vatra in “Dielli” on 7 July 1922: During those dark days, when Albania was occupied by foreign armies, when the state was upside down and when the partition of Albania was in open talks—Vatra, being advised by a few patriots and inspired by its members’ love for the fatherland, encouraged by the voice of the Albanian people, took action and acted instead of the fallen state. It didn’t request any honorary reward, neither the rights of a state, but just undertook duties and expenses. Vatra spent money to finance the delegates, missions, agency subsidiaries, organizing thousands of protests, in a few words, the 49 “History of Vatra Federation,” Vatra Federation, http://vatrafederation.org/main/history (accessed 12 May 2012). 50 Spahiu, “Vatra of the Albanians.” 51 Owen Pearson, Albania And King Zog: Independence, Republic And Monarchy 1908-1939 (New York: Centre for Albanian Studies in association with IB Tauris Publishers in London, 2004), 24; Christo, “Chronology”; It was being published since 1909 by the Society of Besa-Besën in Boston by Fan Noli and Faik Konitza as a continuation of the “Kombi.” 52 Elsie, Historical Dictionary of Albania, 240. On behalf of the Vatra Federation, he took part in the Conference of Ambassadors where he defended Albanian interests–especially territorial interests. After his fight with Ismail Qemal, he decided to support the government of Essad Pasha Toptani.

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Chapter Two defence of Albania was organized through VATRA. It was so nicely organized that even the Greek PM Mr. Venizelos mentioned in the Paris Peace Conference that ‘…the only serious obstacle about Epirus was that of VATRA.’53

As Danny Blloshmi, a contemporary member of the Albanian émigré organisation, explains: “the idea was to say that we are all here in a foreign country but we are all home together”.54 Despite being an immigrant organization, Vatra sent its representatives to many different conferences or official meetings, for example to the Conference in London (1913),55 the Peace Conference in Europe after World War I, the Congress of the Oppressed Nations in Washington in 1918 and the Congress of Lushnjë. Before the end of World War I, Noli also had the opportunity of meeting President Wilson, to discuss Albanian interests.56 In 1920, the state government sent Noli, now residing in Albania, to Geneva as leader of the delegation that brought Albania’s admission to the League of Nations. His mission was crowned with success, as Albania was unanimously admitted to the League, which abrogated the Treaty of London for the partitioning of Albania by expansionist neighbouring countries and re-established its independence.57 However, Noli also continued to represent Albanian interests on behalf of Vatra. As its delegate he had already participated in the Congress of the Oppressed Nations in Washington just two years before his assignment to Geneva, marking a period of his crucial diplomatic activity. Furthermore,

53

“History of Vatra Federation,” Vatra Federation. Tanyanika Samuels, “Albanian organization commemorates 100 years,” New York Daily News, 4 May 2012, http://articles.nydailynews.com/2012-05-04/news/ 31576939_1_albanian-students-albanian-immigrants-albanian-americans (accessed 18 May 2012). 55 Moreover, in 1913 Noli took part in an Albanian congress held in Trieste, where the issues of the freeing of Albania, the election of a monarch of Albania and the establishment of borders for an ethnic Albania with the support of Austro-Hungary and Italy were discussed, in Spahiu, “Vatra of the Albanians.” 56 Ibid., Haddad and Smith, 366. Fan Noli asked Wilson for the protection of Albania in the Conference of Paris and for permission to represent Albania in the Congress of the Oppressed Nations, held at Mount Vernon, Virginia, where President Wilson declared his famous “Fourteen Points.” Wilson told Noli that he had a say in the Peace Conference and promised him that he would use his influence in Albania’s favour, which he actually did. 57 Spahiu,“Vatra of the Albanians.” 54

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Vatra also sponsored Noli to attend the League of Nations in Geneva (1921) in the capacity of an Albanian diplomat. In 1921, the Albanian government asked the Pan-Albanian Federation Vatra to send a deputy to the Albanian parliament, as a sign of the acknowledgement or the sincere and patriotic activity and the Albanians in the United States. Vatra delegated Noli.58 In 1920 Vatra also sent its representatives to the Congress of Lushnjë where Albanian political leaders disputed the policies of the National Assembly introduced at the Peace Conference of Versailles, held in January 1920. At this conference the Albanian deputies decided to establish Tiranë as the capital of their country.59 Except for Albanian migration within the Balkan Peninsula and Turkey, the United States became the home to the largest section of the Albanian diaspora. By the late 1930s, the Albanian population in the United States was estimated to be in the range of 35,000 to 60,000, most of them Christian.60 Although the process of Albanian transatlantic migration started relatively late (in the second half of the nineteenth century), their adaptation progressed relatively quickly, especially in the Midwestern states where their interaction with other ethnic groups occurred more swiftly than in New York and Massachusetts. In 1935, a newspaper reported that the Albanians: …Were not a clannish people. [They] associate freely with other nationalities, do business with them, partake of their common culture, and 61 participate in a typically middle class way to the general life of the city.

Even though Albanians were often confused with other ethnic groups, such as Greeks or Armenians, they managed to preserve a unique …Sense of communal identity, customs, and traditions in the numerous clubs, associations and coffee-houses that have been organized wherever Albanians live.62

There is no doubt that by 1939 Albanians living in the United States had progressed to better jobs, and had also improved their skills on different levels, for example in their rates of literacy. Perhaps half of them were 58

Christo, “Chronology.” Pearson, Albania and King Zog, 138. 60 Haddad and Smith, 364. 61 Jurgens. 62 Ibid. 59

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working in service and hospitality establishments, often self-employed in small family-run businesses. A very small number became lawyers, doctors, and other professionals.63 Through their ethnic organizations and the Albanian-American press, they were able to preserve their culture in exile. Furthermore, due to the activities of at least two unusual personalities—Fan S. Noli and Faik Konitza—the Albanian émigrés were able to create a uniform ethnic organization, recognized both in exile and in the home country, and were thus able to affect policies regarding Albania.

63

Vullnetari, 16.

CHAPTER THREE NAVIGATING THE DIVIDE: A MEMOIR OF POST-WAR EXILE AND DISPLACEMENT HARRIET NAPIERKOWSKI

Imagine a nine-year-old girl in the year 1910 in a small village of north central Poland, dressed in her Sunday best, preparing for her first trip to the city with her father. She sits excitedly in the horse-drawn wagon, not sure what to expect. Years later she describes the scene in her memoirs: It was my first trip to a city, and I was indeed very excited. We stopped at a bookstore called KsiĊgarnia Powszechna, and there I noticed a book, Bajarz Polski [Polish Fairy Tales], and I begged my father to buy it for me. I was thrilled when he did, and immediately on the way home in the wagon I started reading it.1

The little girl was Maria Lewandowska, and the trip to the city (Wáocáawek) was to be the first of many adventures in her life, chief among them her transatlantic migration to the United States, via a circuitous and often harrowing path. As Danuta Mostwin notes, Immigration means loss of familiar surroundings and often a loss of status. It also means separation […] from a familiar culture […] the learning of a

1

Maria Lewandowska, “A History of My Family,” (Unpublished memoir, Personal Archives), trans. Harriet Napierkowski, 15. The memoir was started after 1961 and continued until the author’s death in 1989. It covers the periods from 1901–1989. In terms of the transmigration experience itself, most of the important information was completed in the 1960s.

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new language and of new norms […]. It means […] the struggle for survival and a test of one’s ability to meet challenge.2

This paper focuses on the memoirs of Maria Lewandowska, who provides a rich, detailed account of her exile and displacement experience. She wrote her memoirs after her husband’s death in 1961, continuing them until her own death in 1989, filling several thick spiral notebooks which, when translated into English, resulted in some 250 pages of typed text. In discussing the memoirs, I am primarily concerned with the values that sustained Lewandowska during a time of upheaval, and the source of her resilience during her exile and displacement. In addition, I also want to excavate the memoirs to determine how she and her children adapted to life in America, both in terms of language acquisition and cultural adaptation.

Fig. 3-1: Maria Lewandowska3

2

Danuta Mostwin, “Polish Immigrants in the United States,” Polish American Studies 26 (Autumn 1969): 5–6. 3 Photo of Maria Lewandowska ca. 1940, Author’s private collection.

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To address these points and provide a context to Lewandowska’s exile experience and her response to it, some background information is warranted. Although Lewandowska had limited formal schooling, she was better educated than most in her socioeconomic class. Her passion for reading emerged early in life, as reflected in her description of the trip she took as a nine-year-old with her father; and as an adult she augmented her education through career training in home economics. She enjoyed the novels of Eliza Orzeszkowa and Bolesáaw Prus, was well read in serious Polish literature, and was familiar with the prevailing periodicals of the time, which published Polish poems, stories, and serialized novels. She spoke and wrote standard Polish, free of dialect, as is evident in her speech, her correspondence, and in the memoirs themselves, with an extensive vocabulary and few grammatical errors. All this meant that she considered her Polishness, linguistic and cultural, as essential to her identity. This, in turn, became a major factor in how she responded to her forthcoming years of exile, years that began with the onset of World War II. Before the Second World War, Lewandowska’s life was essentially stable. She lived in the Kujawy–Pomorskie region of north central Poland, and she writes poetically of her love for the village of Zakrzewo: My memories of those childhood years in Zakrzewo are still perfectly vivid, even after all these years. It was there that I grew up, knew every neighbour, every street, path, and shrub—every corner in our home. This was the place of my childhood, my youth, my family home.4

In 1930, after a somewhat turbulent courtship, which she describes in vivid detail, she married Stanisáaw Lewandowski: both were from rural backgrounds, and with a growing family they began working to establish their livelihood. Prior to their marriage Stanisáaw had qualified in dairy production, and in addition to owning some land, was now running a small dairy business in the region, his wife taking the goods to sell at market at ToruĔ, 27 kilometres away. To arrive at the market by early morning meant starting the journey by horse and wagon as early as three-thirty a.m., so in 1938 Stanisáaw, concerned about the toll that these trips were taking on his wife (who was now pregnant with her fourth child), accepted the position of running a dairy in Kozáowszczyzna, a town in the far reaches of eastern Poland, several hundred kilometres from Zakrzewo. This move to Kozáowszczyzna was a critical point in Lewandowska’s life, perhaps her first significant “migration” from what she considered her home. Despite the arduous trips to ToruĔ, especially during inclement 4

Lewandowska, “A History of My Family,” 3.

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weather, Lewandowska was reluctant to leave. Yet she knew that the move was necessary. She laments, Tearfully, I said goodbye to our home. So much of our hard work had been invested in our house, our garden, our land. …I disliked moving and leaving things I was attached to. I wondered whether we would like the new people and how we would adjust. As we were leaving, I kissed the door of our home, wondering when and if we would ever be here again.5

At that time Lewandowska could not have known how much her life would, indeed, change. With the outbreak of World War II a year later, she and her family found themselves in what is now Belarus and what Timothy Snyder describes in his book Bloodlands as the epicentre of horrific civilian massacres by both the German and the Russian occupiers.6 Lewandowska describes the chaos, uncertainty, and fear at the onset of the war: The news of the German attack on Poland went through us like lightning. We were terrified. People who had money bought everything they could, like salt, naphtha, and soap. The problem was that the banks were closed, and no withdrawals were allowed. My God, I thought. Winter was coming and we had only a few záotys, no wood for heating, no food stored away— nothing.7

The situation became even worse two weeks later when the Russians attacked Poland from the east: On September 17, a Sunday when we finally had the long-awaited rain, we heard the news that the terrible thing we all dreaded had happened. The Russians invaded Poland from the east and were heading our way. Some people actually thought that they were coming to help Poland fight the Germans. What everyone soon learned was that Germany and Russia had made an agreement to divide Poland. Kozáowszczyzna where we now lived was east of the river Bug, with Bug to be the new border where Russia was to take over. What kind of life lay ahead of us, we wondered. It never crossed our minds how horrible things would become.8

5

Ibid., 91. Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands: Europe between Hitler and Stalin (New York, NY: Basic Books, 2010). 7 Lewandowska, “A History of My Family,” 96. 8 Ibid., 97. 6

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For Lewandowska and her family, the winter of 1940 was particularly harrowing. Not only was there the deprivation caused by the war, but in addition the weather was unusually bitter and cold. Concerning this, she writes: It was the longest winter I remember. The snowfall broke all records, the snow so deep that people could catch a deer with their hands. Due to the severe cold, you could hear trees snapping in the woods, as if someone were cracking them in half. I baked what bread I could that year and dried it, just in case we should be deported to Siberia.9

Lewandowska was especially fearful of deportation to Siberia, referred to by the Russian occupiers as “resettlement”. Because her husband Stanisáaw had served in the Polish army in the war of 1920, when the Poles repelled the Bolsheviks from the gates of Warsaw, he and his family were particular targets for “resettlement”. But as the German front progressed eastward towards Kozáowszczyzna, the area underwent a shift from Russian to German control, with many families being sent instead to forced labour in Germany, and Lewandowska’s family was among them. Anna D. JaroszyĔska-Kirchmann reports that “In May 1945 nearly 1.9 million citizens of pre-war Poland were in Germany [...] Over 90 per cent had been slave labourers in the economy of the Third Reich”.10 Departing for Germany, Lewandowska writes, We packed our belongings, bedding, and what food we had, waiting for the approaching train full of Russian prisoners from Nowogródek… . Our priest came and blessed us with the sign of the cross. I wept, as did the children, and someone said not to cry because the Germans would disapprove. As we climbed into the box cars added to the train, I thought to myself, ‘We’re leaving Poland, but would we ever return? When?’ Those were my thoughts as we said goodbye to Poland.11

Thus after four years under Russian occupation, the family found itself exiled to an equally severe existence in a German forced labour camp in Lüdenscheid, Germany. Indeed, World War II was the defining experience for Lewandowska and her family. During her years in eastern Poland and then in a forced labour camp in Germany, she experienced the German and 9

Ibid., 101. Anna D. JaroszyĔska-Kirchmann, The Exile Mission: The Polish Political Diaspora and Polish Americans, 1939–1956 (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 2004), 60. 11 Lewandowska, “A History of My Family,” 130. 10

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Russian occupations, the brutality and dangers of the war, as well as the partisan attacks and the desperation of the Jews. In the ten years between the outbreak of the war and her emigration to the States, the many changes and chaos affecting her required an extraordinary strength of character and resilience, with the family’s care and safety always paramount in her mind. In the labour camp, everyone age ten or over was required to work in the local factory, but Lewandowska reported her daughter Zosia’s age as nine, thus exempting her from factory work, but 11-year-old Marylka and 12-year-old Grzesiu were therefore not exempted. Regarding conditions in the labour camp, Lewandowska notes, We were constantly hungry, the children suffering the most because of this. Three-year-old Jasiu was too little to understand why he was always hungry, and he would sit rocking, back and forth, saying ‘Chce siĊ jeĞü, chleba nie chce daü!’ (‘I am so hungry, and [Mama] won’t give me any bread!’) It broke my heart to hear this, and yet I had nothing to give. Now when I think back to it all, it seems like a cruel dream. Yet it was our reality.12

Lewandowska prayed unceasingly that the family would stay intact, that all would survive the war. And somehow, with what she perceived as the grace of God, they did. But with the end of the war the family now faced another kind of displacement, this time in the form of various refugee camps, also known as Displaced Persons (DP) Camps, living an aimless, nomadic existence. Those four years after the war were a critical stage in Lewandowska’s migration experience. Caught in a limbo of uncertainty, from 1945 to 1949 Lewandowska had no choice but to rely on her Polish ethos to help protect the family’s well-being. Conditions in the camp continued to be difficult: We wanted so very much to live normal lives. So many years had been wasted by the war, and now there were more years of uncertainty. Life in the camp seemed futile, with no clear destination on the horizon. We were especially concerned for the children’s futures, and we wanted to leave the camps as quickly as possible. Yet to go back to Poland, which had been stripped of its freedom, was not what we wanted. But at that point emigration abroad was primarily available to young, healthy adults without families, so our family had little hope of leaving the camps. Thus the years passed, and, we, still filled with vitality and determination, kept thinking,

12

Ibid., 134.

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when would we leave? What would it be like? Would we get a chance to start over, to make up for all the lost years?13

What ultimately opened the door for Lewandowska’s family and thousands of other Polish refugees was the 1948 passage of the Displaced Persons Act under the Truman Administration. Shortly thereafter, the family was notified that a farmer in Minnesota, in need of agricultural workers, had stepped forward to sponsor them. However, the next hurdle was meeting the medical requirements for emigration: Nine-year-old Jasiu had just spent two months in a children’s sanatorium, and the rest of us were debilitated as well because of conditions during the war, so we were concerned that we would not pass the medical exams. Indeed, Stanislaw and I, along with Jasiu and Zosia, did fail the exams, and once again we were detained. We just had to wait—those were the orders.14

Finally, after several more rounds of medical reviews, the family was approved, and on the afternoon of 1 October 1949, they boarded the U.S.S. General Muir, a World War II army transport ship, and were on their way to America. Relieved, Lewandowska comments, “Gratefully, we said our final farewell. We were overjoyed to be leaving the inhospitable German soil”.15 Describing her first sighting of New York City, Lewandowska states, On the tenth day, we approached the shores of America. As the fog lifted, we could see the skyscrapers of Manhattan, the Statue of Liberty, and I said a silent prayer, grateful that our long journey was almost over.16

Upon arrival, each person received three dollars from a Polish American organization, so the family embarked on their new lives in the U.S. with 27 dollars. Now, however, they faced still another roadblock: upon learning that the family had seven children, the Minnesota farmer who had sponsored them rescinded his invitation. At that point, Lewandowska’s elderly uncle who lived in Chicago was immediately contacted and stepped in as a sponsor. The baggage was hurriedly readdressed, and the family took a train to Chicago that same evening, Lewandowska’s uncle paying the fare. 13

Ibid., 140. Ibid., 147. 15 Ibid., 148. 16 Ibid., 149. 14

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During those first months in Chicago, the family lived with Lewandowska’s uncle in his modest two-bedroom home, and their first priority was to find jobs: Immediately, we began to look for work. Our primary goal was to buy a house, but first we needed a down payment. Stanislaw found a job in a lumber company, making $48 a week. Grzesiu found work for $32 a week, and then Marylka for $28 a week. Zosia was still too young to get a job, and Stasiu, Jasiu, and Jadzia were enrolled in school. Our youngest, Roszek, was an infant, but I also worked doing housecleaning for the owner of a nearby bakery. By the end of February, we had saved $1,000, enough for a down payment for a modest house on Baltimore Avenue. We took out a bank loan, and on 16 March 1950, we moved into our very own home. And, as the Polish saying goes ‘Lepsze maáe, aby swoje’ (‘Better a small home, but at least one’s own’).17 Slowly we became accustomed to our new way of life. We were starting all over again, just as we did after our wedding, but now the children were there to help. Even 11-year-old Stasiu contributed, making a few dollars a week delivering newspapers.18

In all of this it is important to remember that age range of the seven children in the family made a significant difference in the options that were later available to them. Because the older children had to help support the family, they went to work immediately instead of continuing their education, and only the younger children had the opportunity to pursue college degrees. Age was also a determining factor in how well family members adapted to English. For Lewandowska, speaking English was not a priority. Her life revolved around home and family, and her acquaintances were from either the old or new immigration, and thus spoke Polish with one another. Secondly, it was crucial to Lewandowska that the children retain their native language, and thus Polish was spoken exclusively in the home. She notes: The children learned English quickly, but at home we spoke only Polish. At least in the home I wanted to preserve a little bit of Poland.19 (‘Dzieci szybko opanowaáy jĊzyk, ale w domu mówiliĞmy tylko po polsku. Chciaáam, aby chociaĪ w domu byá kawaáek Polski’).20

17 Maria Lewandowska, “Historja Mojej Rodziny,” (Unpublished memoir, unpaginated, 1981), Personal Archives. 18 Lewandowska, “A History of My Family,” 150. 19 Ibid., 151. 20 Lewandowska, “Historja Mojej Rodziny.”

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For Lewandowska, speaking Polish to her children was an essential tool for the transmission of Polish culture. But even for the children, the experience of learning English varied, depending on their age. In her book, Lost in Translation, Eva Hoffman talks of her own emigrant experience as a teenager: I know that language will be a crucial instrument, that I can overcome the stigma of marginality, the weight of presumption against me, only if the reassuringly right sounds come out of my mouth.21

But making a seamless linguistic transition from one language to another becomes increasingly difficult with age. As Magdalena Zaborowska notes, a foreign accent can become a “marker of ethnic identity and class that… exposes [immigrants] to… scrutiny as non-native speakers and foreign bodies”.22 While all seven children became fluent in English, those past puberty upon arrival in the States retained an accent, a permanent sign of their “foreignness” in a culture that marked them as not entirely “American”. Yet by the autumn of 1951, the family had made great strides both in finances and in language acquisition. Lewandowska and her husband paid off their mortgage in the autumn of 1951, astounding the owner of the savings and loan company, and now they had another goal in mind: About that time we began thinking about moving out of Chicago, possibly to a farm. TatuĞ [Daddy] was unhappy with his job at the lumber company where he pounded nails into boards all day. He often thought of moving to a farm, and I too liked the idea, remembering my childhood and all the freedom that living in the country affords. I could practically smell the fresh country air. Anyone who has grown up on a farm can readily understand the pull we felt to return to that kind of life. For us the city had become confining.23

Lewandowska and her husband subscribed to several Polish newspapers, including “Dziennik Chicagoski”, and it was via these that the family bought the farm in Wisconsin to which they moved in 1952 with

21

Eva Hoffman, Lost in Translation: Life in a New Language (New York, NY: Penguin Books, 1989), 123. 22 Magdalena J. Zaborowska, How We Found America: Reading Gender Through East-European Immigrant Narratives (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1995), 240. 23 Lewandowska, “A History of My Family,” 152.

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the four younger children (the older three already employed in Chicago), and where Lewandowska lived until her death in 1989. As the memoirs reveal, what sustained Lewandowska through her often harrowing migrations was her strong Polish identity. Torn from her cultural and social roots and lacking any connection to the new environments into which she was thrust, she relied on the culture and ethos of her Polish upbringing. This involved the language, customs, and values that were deeply embedded in her: Polish honour and pride, respect for and observance of religious beliefs and practices, and overall subjugation of the self to the greater good of the larger family entity. The question of adapting was never a critical one for Lewandowska—she preserved her Polish identity, in a sense transplanting a bit of Kujawy to northern Wisconsin, and her Polishness was effectively maintained with a minimum of strife. She was able to imbue in her children a high respect for what she knew and believed, with a kind of moral authority that allowed her to conduct family affairs and the children’s upbringing almost as if she were in Poland. Furthermore, the fact that the family was its own individual economic and cultural unit, especially on the Wisconsin farm, contributed to maintaining a Polish ethos through such things as home speech, cooking of traditional foods, such as zupa szczawiowa and barszcz biaáy, and the celebration of holidays, such as Wigilia and ĝwiĊconka. Among the many other elements that Lewandowska kept Polish were the songs, both folk and religious, from her youth, and the many poems she had memorized. The long folk ballad, O Doli Grajka, is an example of such a verse. This melodramatic poem with its two protagonists, Stasiu and Marysia, and its sad and moving song of longing, Powiedz Wierzbo, oj Wierzbino, especially appealed to her. She recited the entire poem of some 300 lines to her grandchildren on a warm summer day at her whitewashed farmhouse when she was already in her seventies. Of course, Lewandowska adapted to her American surroundings. Yet her deep attachment to Poland persisted. She retained her cultural values and identity, her beliefs and patterns of behaviour, her customs and traditions. She thought of herself not as an American, or even as a Polish American, but as a Pole living in America. In her circuitous journey of displacement from her beloved Kujawy in Poland, to Kozáowszczyzna under Russian occupation, to forced labour in Lüdenscheid, Germany, to the various post-war refugee camps, and finally to her transatlantic migration to America, what sustained Lewandowska was her Polish ethos. In spite of displacement and exile during and after the War, Lewandowska’s strength of character, grounded in Polish values of culture, faith, and family, provided her with the resources to navigate

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the divide successfully, from her homeland to her adopted country, yet to remain essentially and unabashedly Polish.

CHAPTER FOUR SWEDEN AS A TEMPORARY STAGE OF THE POLISH EMIGRATION TO AMERICA ARNOLD KàONCZYēSKI

One of the major destinations for émigrés from Poland after the Second World War was the United States. However the paths leading there were often very complicated, especially during the Cold War. One of the many possible stops was Sweden—a country politically neutral. It was relatively easy for a Pole to arrive in Sweden illegally during the very first years after the war, or legally in the 1970s after the bilateral visa waiver agreement was signed. The aim of this chapter is to estimate to what extent Sweden can be treated as a halfway stop in the Polish emigration to the United States from 1945 to 1980. Was the choice of further travel a result of circumstances the immigrants faced in Sweden, or was it planned from the very outset? A third question is one about the character of this emigration: was it of an economic or rather a political nature? To answer these questions, it is necessary to analyse the situation of Polish immigrants in Sweden and follow their struggles to organize a transatlantic journey. This research was based on the immigrants’ memoirs and materials from the archives of Polish immigrant organizations in Sweden, as well as on diplomatic and intelligence sources found in the archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the Institute of National Remembrance. The first group of immigrants who decided to leave Sweden and go to the U.S. were the war refugees. During World War II the Polish community in Sweden was relatively small and accounted for fewer than two thousand people. However, in April 1945 a group of prisoners, rescued by the Swedish Red Cross (Svenska R٠da Korset (SRK)) from the Nazi labour camps in northern Germany, arrived in Sweden, as a direct result of the negotiations between the SRK representative—Prince Folke Bernadotte—and Heinrich Himmler. The negotiations, which were finalized during the night of 20–21 of April 1945, brought about the evacuation of 21,000 prisoners from the Nazi concentration camps, mainly

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from Ravensbrück.1 About 7,500 of the rescued were Polish citizens. Sweden agreed to receive 10,000 of those prisoners, thus responding to the request of the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration; 5,500 of them held Polish citizenship.2 Altogether, in the second half of 1945, about 15,000 Polish citizens were living in Sweden.3 Such a huge immigrant community was very diverse. 60 per cent of them were Jews, the majority of whom refused to be repatriated to Poland. The rest faced a dilemma: to return to the native land, to stay in Sweden, or to migrate to other countries? Various factors influenced their decisions, among which were their living conditions in Sweden. First, Polish contacts with the foreign labour market and Scandinavian lifestyle were very difficult. The job offers were unattractive. For people not able to speak Swedish there remained manual work in agriculture, forestry or housekeeping. Upon being employed, they would be given food and accommodation until they received their first wages, but then had to repay the debt. Dina Honigman, one of the former prisoners, mentioned that while working in a factory she “felt sold”. When she arrived at her employer’s, she was served dinner, but after she received her first wages, the cost of that dinner was immediately subtracted from her salary.4 Both the former prisoners who were staying in special camps for refugees and those immigrants who tried to live outside of the camps on their own were employed side by side. Hard work, a low salary and the high cost of living often caused conflicts with employers. Foreseeing possible unrest, the Swedish authorities released a circular letter stating that in the case of a worker refusing to perform assigned tasks, his or her permit would be suspended,

1

Dorota Basista, “Misja dyplomatyczna Folke Bernadotte w Niemczech w 1945 roku,” Historia i Polityka. MyĞl dyplomatyczna w XX wieku 5 (2006): 32–36; Arvid Richert, Hjälpaktionen i Tyskland våren 1945, in Folke Bernadotte. En minnesbok Av 43 författare, ed. Åke Stavenow (Uppsala: J. A. Londblads FĘrlag, 1949), 165–182. 2 Raport H. Löfgrena ze Szwedzkiej Obrony Cywilnej, 16 March 1946, Archiwum Akt Nowych (Central Archives for Modern Records, Warsaw, further: AAN), Generalny Peánomocnik ds. Repatriacji), file 383; Sune Persson, Vi åker till Sverige. De vita busarna 1945 (Rimbo: Fisher & Co, 2002), 433–435. 3 Andrzej Nils Uggla, Polacy w Szwecji w latach II wojny Ğwiatowej (GdaĔsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu GdaĔskiego, 1996), 195; Arnold KáonczyĔski, “Repatriacja Polaków ze Szwecji po II wojnie Ğwiatowej,” Zapiski Historyczne 68 (2003): 109–111. 4 Pia-Kristina Garde, ĝwiadectwo skazanych na Ğmierü (Woáowiec: Wydawnictwo Czarne, 2009), 253.

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or that he or she would not be served lunch or dinner.5 Field-work was the most difficult: many émigrés, who were not used to such great physical effort, expressed their discontent with the working conditions. Kjell Albin Abrahamson writes about the discrimination, pointing out that the work with the beetroots was not offered to the prisoners from other countries.6 Polish citizens in Sweden were almost exclusively employees. A characteristic feature of this group was that its population was mainly female, average age about 38. Only about 20 per cent of the Polish citizens came from an intellectual background; the rest came from a working class environment, mainly craftsmen, and rural areas. Very often these were people unskilled in terms of practical professions, unable to speak Swedish and thus forced to accept any job offered. The great majority of them were therefore employed as manual workers, and women found jobs as housekeepers. Approximately 80 per cent of the Polish immigrants lived by manual work and only a small number of them found office jobs. Only a couple of engineers actually worked according their qualifications.7 In such tough conditions people who only a few months earlier had left the Nazi labour camps now struggled with the everyday difficulties of émigré life. The perils of adaptation to a new life were varied. Cyla Folkenflick, a young Jewish woman, worked in a hospital as a cleaning lady and, afterwards as a nurses’ aid, and during this time diligently studied Swedish. She wrote that she was happy, satisfied and grateful to the Swedish people for her rescue and giving her an opportunity to start a new life.8 However, her doubts were raised by the way the work was organized—former prisoners were often separated, and employed by different employers, which increased the feeling of loneliness. However, as the Swedish press reported on the anti-Semitic attacks against the Polish Jews in Poland, there was no incentive to return.9 5 Kjell Albin Abrahamson, Polska. Diament w popiele (Wilno: Wydawnictwo Czas, 2003), 141; Lars Olsson, På tröskeln till folkhemmet. Baltiska flyktingar och polska koncentrationslägerfångar som reservarbetskraft i skånskt jordbruk kring slutet av andra världskriget (Lund: Morgonrodnad, 1995), 120, 125. 6 Abrahamson, Polska, 141. 7 Józef Nowaczyk, Konsulat RP w Sztokholmie, Sprawozdanie z Īycia Polonii w Szwecji, Stockholm, 30 July 1949, Archiwum Ministerstwa Spraw Zagranicznych (the Ministry of Foreign Affairs Archive, Warsaw (AMSZ)), zespóá (unit) 20, wiązka (file) 5, teczka (vol.) 68, dokument (doc.) 8. 8 Garde, ĝwiadectwo, 157. 9 Erik Hedfeldt, P.m. angående decentralisering av arbetstillståndsgivningen för utläningar, Stockholm 19 March 1946, Riksarkivet (the Swedish National Archive in Stockholm), Statens Arbetsmarknadskommissions arkiv 1940–1947, file SE/RA/420275.12/F1, vol 5.

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People thus decided to stay in the friendlier Sweden or to seek contact with their relatives spread around the world. It is estimated that most of the refugees had lost their closest ones in the war and did not want to live under the communist regime. There are records which show that a high proportion of the Jews actually lived in fear of being forced to go back to Poland—the Polish clerks in Stockholm claimed that 90 per cent of Polish Jews staying in Swedish camps did not want to return.10 Their tough fate was eased a little by small allowances from the Jewish community in Stockholm.11 Moreover, personal matters, like young women meeting Swedish men, also discouraged many from leaving.12 Looking forward to bettering their situation, many émigrés searched for their families and friends in the United States, from where they were very frequently able to receive help. It is well known that not only individuals but also American organizations provided help for Jews rescued from Nazi labour camps. Thanks to institutions like the American Joint Distribution Committee, HIAS of America, the Jewish World Congress, the Jewish Labour Committee and private citizens, the interest in the further emigration to the USA and Canada grew significantly. Rachmil (Jerachmiel) Bryks (1912–1974) is a good example of a man who used these channels and later joined in to help others. During the war, he stayed in the àódĨ ghetto and afterwards he was taken to Auschwitz. After the war, he got to Sweden where he stayed until 1949, when he decided to emigrate to the USA. In America, he actively worked in an organization of people who survived the holocaust—the Independent Katzenik Organization. He also went on to publish his poems and short stories in Yiddish.13 Likewise, some ethnic Poles attempted to leave Sweden, as not everyone was satisfied with their material status, the job they performed, or future prospects. After the war, the emigration authorities in London as well as veteran organizations made attempts to make it easier for the Poles to travel abroad to countries which could provide an attractive and safe haven. Gradually, year after year, new immigrants came from Poland—most of them illegally. The borders on the sea were the least secured, especially 10

Józef Saákowski, Sprawozdanie z inspekcji Polskiej Misji Repatriacyjnej, Stockholm 17 October 1945, in AAN, file: 379. 11 Inga Gottfarb, “Den livsfarliga glömskan,” in Invandring Forskning politik (Stockholm: CEIFO, 1993), 58. 12 “Szwed jest wysoki i postawny lecz mimo tego dostaje stopieĔ niedostateczny,” Via Suecia, October 1946, 249; Tadeusz Krutysza, Flyktingminnen (Falun: Sågmyra, 2004), 79. 13 “Ein jiddischer Dichter,” Via Suecia, 30 October 1945, 70.

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in the 1940s. The refugees put their lives in jeopardy risking storms, but also with repression, which, in the case of failure, concerned not only the participants in the excursions but also their families. There were very diverse reasons for leaving the country: in many cases the decisions were caused by a fear that their political views and opposition to the regime in Poland would be discovered. Some people’s decisions were made for economic reasons. For example, Major Edmund Banasikowski (1914–2010), who was a professional soldier and belonged to the Home Army (Armia Krajowa (AK)) during the war, and who took part in operation “Ostra Brama”.14 After the war, in the spring of 1946, he escaped to Sweden. In 1951 he left for the USA and settled in Milwaukee.15 The 1946 Kielce pogrom in Poland caused another large emigration wave of Polish Jews who arrived in Sweden. “Dagens Nyheter”, a popular Swedish newspaper, reported the arrival of 26 Jews, who were placed in the camp at Landskrona. One of Polish Jewish women from Kielce said: “For the first time in seven years I have slept calmly at night […] here nobody of our family needs to stay awake”.16 After illegally travelling to Trelleborg they gave themselves up to the local police. Two of them claimed to have witnessed Kielce events and everybody declared their willingness to move to the United States of America, where their families were already living.17 The fraudulent parliamentary elections in January 1947 completed the Communist takeover, and the chief representatives of the Polish opposition saved their lives by illegally leaving the country. In the late autumn, the escape of the opposition Polish Peasant Party (Polskie Stronnictwo Ludowe (PSL)) activist Stefan KorboĔski, and his wife, Zofia KorboĔska, garnered significant public attention. On 5 November 1947 they set off on the Swedish ferry Drottning Victoria.18 After a short stay in Stockholm, they went to London, and then headed for New York. Like the KorboĔskis, other illegal emigrants decided to apply for U.S. or Canadian visas. 14

Eng. The Gate of Dawn: it was the codename for the action of the Polish resistance movement against the Nazis in 1944 in Vilna (Vilnius). 15 Jerzy Adam Radomski, Demobilizacja Polskich Siá Zbrojnych na Zachodzie w latach 1945–1951 (Kraków: KsiĊgarnia Akademicka, 2009), 150. 16 “WiadomoĞci Polskie,” Via Suecia, 8 August 1946, 223; Grzegorz Berendt, “Emigracja ĩydów z Polski w latach 1960–1967,” in Z przeszáoĞci ĩydów polskich. Polityka–gospodarka–kultura–spoáeczeĔstwo, Jacek Wijaczka and Grzegorz Miernik, eds. (Kraków: Wydawnictwo IPN, 2005), 299. 17 “WiadomoĞci Polskie,” Via Suecia, 18 August 1946, 223. 18 Protokóá przesáuchania podejrzanego Karola Nilssona, 8 November 1947, AMSZ, unit 8, file 28, vol. 371.

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Franciszek Stefaniak of the Polish Helping Committee in Sweden, in his letter to Wáadysáaw Zachariasiewicz, who took care of emigration issues in London, suspected that the majority of the people escaping the country illegally were transmigrants wanting to settle the legal issues with the available authorities to make their departure for other countries easier. In his opinion they were mostly Polish Jews.19 It is difficult to estimate the number of those who decided to leave Sweden, since there are no precise statistics, though it’s likely, however, that by the end of the 1940s there were about 3,000.20 The easing of the Swedish emigration rules encouraged those dissatisfied with the living conditions there to move on—most frequently across the Atlantic. The fact that an estimated 90 per cent of the Polish emigrants had lost their relatives in the war, combined with their desire to live in a free country and not under the communist regime, made it easier for people to decide against returning to their homeland. Another reason was also the need for the post-war reunions of the shattered families. It also seems that there was a gradual appearance of discontent with the difficult conditions for obtaining Swedish citizenship. Furthermore, some of the émigrés felt like second-class inhabitants in the countries in which they resided. For example, Dr. Kornel Jan Fójcik (1913–1989) left for the United States, settled in Chicago and ran his medical practice in Evanston finding it much easier in the U.S. to obtain the rights to practice a profession learned in Poland, than it was in Sweden. Zbigniew Folejewski, a lecturer of Polish at Stockholm University in 1937–1947, and then in Uppsala (to 1951), also looked for an opportunity to develop his academic career on the other side of the Atlantic.21 Prior to his departure from Sweden, he cofounded the scientific journal “Svio-Polonic”. After spending some time in Great Britain and in the United States, in 1967 he left for Canada, where he was a professor of Slavic Studies at various local universities. Zenon Buczewski, an activist in the scouting movement, left for Canada in 1951. Therefore, it was not only the manual workers who were looking for a better life conditions but

19

List Franciszka Stefaniaka do Wáadysáawa Zachariasiewicza w Londynie, Stockholm 4 December 1947, Archiwum Emigracji (The Archive of Polish Emigration Organisations in Stockholm (AES)). This archive has not catalogued these documents, therefore they have no signatures. 20 “Na najbliĪszą chwilĊ,” Biuletyn SPK. Oddziaá Szwecja, 5 March 1951, 3. 21 Born in Vilna. Before World War II become a teacher of Polish in Harbin (Russia) and Stockholm. In 1973 he received the honorary doctorate from the University of Warsaw.

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also the representatives of the intellectual milieus who found it difficult to advance their careers in Sweden. The emigration streams from Sweden went to Israel, Argentina, Australia, Brazil and the U.S. People were leaving both legally and illegally. Those migrations were, in most cases, of an individual nature. However, by the end of 1949 there appeared some possibility of a wider emigration to Canada. Until then, the Canadian recruiting missions had been accepting the representatives of Baltic nations, but now they also got interested in the Poles. The first transport of 52 Polish immigrants set off from Gऺteborg (Gothenburg) at the beginning of 1950. Most of the people who qualified for the journey were young, and fit to work in industry and forestry. Moreover, the Committee very thoroughly examined whether or not the candidate was a communist.22 The Polish Veterans Association was a mediator in the recruitment of the immigrants. For their help the Association charged 20 crowns per volunteer, thus covering the costs of running their office. The interest in the further emigration resulted mainly from a tough financial situation and the unfavourable attitude of the Swedish authorities, which raised the anxiety level of many émigrés. The reason for not leaving Sweden was that a greater distance would separate the émigrés from their homeland, which, mentally, made it impossible to return to Poland in the future and more difficult to contact their loved ones living in Poland. Moreover, not everybody met the age expectations stated by the recruitment committees. In the late 1940s it turned out that Argentina did not renew the promised visas, and Canada offered priority acceptance to the refugees and displaced persons rather than to the already legally settled immigrants.23 The help for the Polish emigrants came from the Polish American Immigration and Relief Committee (PAIRC), which operated in New York from 1947 to 2000.24 Its vice-president, Wáadysáaw Zachariasiewicz, stayed in direct contact with the Polish pro-independence organizations in Sweden and in 1955 travelled to a number of countries, including

22

Józef Nowaczyk, Konsulat RP w Sztokholmie, Sprawozdanie z Īycia Polonii w Szwecji, Stockholm, 30 July 1949, AMSZ, unit 20, file 5, vol. 68. 23 Sprawozdanie Prezydium Rady UchodĨstwa Polskiego w Szwecji za czas od 1 IV do 1 XII 1949, AES. 24 Wáadysáaw Zachariasiewicz, Etos niepodlegáoĞciowy Polonii AmerykaĔskiej (Warszawa: Rytm, 2005), 177, 186.

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Sweden.25 Having returned, in a special report he said that the situation of the Polish emigrants in Sweden looked much better than in other countries in the region, but it did not validate the refusal to aid those who struggled to leave it for the American continent.26 As well as manual workers, Polish students were also interested in migrating from Sweden to America. Continuing their studies in Sweden was problematic, thus the students looked for other options. The management of the Polish students’ organization got in touch with other Polish student associations throughout the world to find scholarship opportunities for Polish students in Sweden. They managed to find places for 16 students in Spanish universities.27 They also tried to find places for Polish students in American, French and Irish universities. Many left for Canada, Argentina and other countries, where the opportunities for European immigrants to settle down seemed much better. For example, Aleksander Kaszuba took the chance to continue his education and find a proper job in Canada. His choice was influenced by the fact that Canada did not demand any proof of financial security from the immigrants, and the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) reimbursed their travel costs.28 In 1955 another young man, a graduate of Swedish aviation studies and a specialist in this field, Kazimierz Jerzy Orlik-Rückemann, a son of General Wilhelm Orlik-Rückemann, decided to go to Canada. He found work in the Institute of Aviation there. There were also illegal ways of leaving Sweden for America. The socalled “wild emigration” was organized by groups of immigrants from the Baltic countries living in Sweden. They were recruiting people who could afford to pay for the illegal, transatlantic trip. It was attractive to those Polish immigrants who were not eligible for legal immigration to Canada or to the United States. Baltic immigrants bought small ships and, for a fee of about 800 crowns, took volunteering travellers across the ocean regardless of their nationality.29 25

Pro-independence organizations were anti-communist and cooperated with the Polish Government in Exile in London. 26 Janusz Cisek, Polski Komitet Imigracyjny w Nowym Jorku (New York: PAIRC, 2003), 85. 27 Korespondencja z prof. Deryngiem, January 1947, Archiwum Instytutu Polskiego i Muzeum im. Gen. Sikorskiego (Polish Institute and Sikorski Museum in London (AIMPS)), A.22, vol. 11. 28 Aleksander Kaszuba, Wspomnienia i zeszyty szwedzkie (Sztutowo: Muzeum Stutthof, 2009), 178. 29 Konsulat RP w Sztokholmie, Sprawozdanie z Īycia Polonii w Szwecji, Stockholm, 30 July 1949, AMSZ, unit 20, file 5, vol. 68.

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These expeditions did not always succeeded in reaching American shores. In September, the Swedish press wrote widely about the story of Victoria, a ship which was definitely inappropriate for a transatlantic crossing. It was built to carry 50 passengers and in September it boarded 400, including 80 Poles. It left from Gऺteborg, heading for Canada. She managed to reach Cork in Ireland but was unable to continue the voyage. The wealthier passengers went on to Canada by air, but the majority stayed in Irish territory. The Polish Refugee Council in Sweden (Rada UchodĨstwa Polskiego w Szwecji (RUP)) warned against such “wild emigration” in a newspaper “WiadomoĞci Polskie”: In most cases these journeys are organized in a lightheaded manner and lead to a loss of the money invested. Frequently the ships are not prepared for the cruises […] no organization will take the responsibility for such enterprise.30

Another wave of emigration took place after 1965, when political changes in Poland made it easier to travel abroad. The Swedes often saw the newcomers as potential communist spies. This view, very often justified, was shared by largely distrustful organizations of older, proindependence immigrants. Their organizations were closed to the newcomers, the majority of whom had left for Sweden for mainly economic reasons. Therefore, they first focused on building the material foundations of their own existence, and did not play a bigger part in the politics and cultural life of émigré societies. However, the “older” groups within the Polish immigrant community were still not satisfied with conditions in Sweden. Unlike the wartime waves of refugees, the post-war escapees were mostly single people with no families or families left behind in Poland. They chose not to emigrate any further away from Poland.31 Help for these immigrants came from the PAIRC representative in Sweden and the pro-independence organizations. One solution was to recruit potential emigrants to the countries overseas. The RUP employees helped them with registration for further emigration at the end of the 1950s. Approximately 500 Polish emigrants took advantage of the opportunity. The consulates of particular countries released approvals for immigration. In 1959 the USA accepted 63 Polish emigrants from Sweden; Canada accepted 60, and Australia 10. 30

Konsulat RP w Sztokholmie, Sprawozdanie z Īycia Polonii za II póárocze 1949 r., Stockholm, 31 January 1950, AMSZ, unit 20, file 5, vol. 68. 31 List zatytuáowany: Szanowny Panie Lulu (Ludwik àubieĔski, PAIRC, Monachium), Stockholm 2 December 1966, AES.

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During the entire period from 1945 to 1960 the search for opportunities for further emigration from Sweden remained static.32 Even in 1967, PAIRC registered 502 people interested in leaving Sweden, including 307 illegal immigrants from Poland. The rest had an unsettled status there.33 A painter, Wanda Lubelska, belonged to the latter group. Before she left for Sweden, she lived in Sopot, while studying at the School of Art in GdaĔsk. Upon completing her third year, she went to Sweden to join her husband, an architect, Andrzej Lubelski, whom she had met in GdaĔsk. She lived in Sweden for ten years. During her stay she completed her education in the Royal Art Academy in Stockholm. However, her problem was that the Polish passport was valid for entry to Sweden and for travel within the country but not for international travel. On the other hand, the Polish illegal immigrants were often offered asylum and provided with a Swedish passport for foreigners (frَmlingspass). The latter document allowed for the addition of various visas and freedom to travel.34 Despite the initial troubles, Wanda Lubelska has been living and painting in the USA since 1968.35 In 1968 there came another political crisis, which scapegoated the Polish Jewish community, and caused yet another wave of emigration. The estimated number of Polish Jews who chose Sweden as their destination varies from 3,000 to 3,500.36 The journeys were very frequently organized by Jewish associations, who were searching for individual families willing to help Polish immigrants. Michaá Rudawski recalled that he had received help from the Finder family from Sollentuna.37 In Sweden, they had been qualified as politically repressed refugees and granted asylum. About 41 per cent of newcomers settled in Stockholm and its vicinity, the rest in other big Swedish cities. These were usually academic centres, which made it easier to find a more intellectual job, and provided opportunities for the young to continue their education. The elderly 32

Zdzisáaw Przyjaákowski, List do Ludwika àubieĔskiego, PAIRC, Stockholm 24 November 1959, AES. 33 Cisek, Polski, 151. 34 List Zdzisáawa Przyjaákowskiego do dyrektora PAIRC, L. àubieĔskiego, w Monachium, Stockholm, 2 November 1966, AES. 35 Agata Ostrowska–Galanis, “Wychodzenie na wysoką skaáĊ,” Kurier Plus, 1 April 2006: 604 (936), 1. 36 Michaá Rudawski, Mój obcy kraj (Warszawa: 1996), 271; “Bilans. Problemy. Zadania,” Nasze Czasy, 4 (1971), 10; Julian Ilicki, Den föränderliga identiteten: om identitetsförändringar hos den yngre generationen polska judar som invandrade till Sverige under åren 1968–1972 (Uppsala: Sällskapet för judaistisk forskning, 1988), 57, 253. 37 Rudawski, Mój obcy kraj, 267.

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immigrants usually chose to stay in Sweden, since the social security and care offered by the Swedish authorities, as well as by the Jewish community, gave them a sense of security. The Jewish community activists encouraged the youth to migrate to Israel. Not many were interested, though. They did not appreciate the discipline and low living standards there. They also did not participate in the religious life of the Jewish community in Sweden and refused to wear head covering, since they had never done so before. Therefore, the Swedish Jews started to criticize them, accusing the arriving youth of trying to avoid the inconveniences of tradition.38 Moreover, the Jewish organizations taught Hebrew, whereas the young people needed to learn Swedish quickly in order to continue their education, or to find a decent job.39 All this intensified the conflicts between the older, wealthier groups who were already settled in Sweden and the newly arriving waves of emigrants from Poland.40 Not surprisingly, some younger representatives of this emigration wave looked for possibilities to emigrate further to North America. One of them recalls: I wanted so much to enter ‘deeper,’ into Swedish life. I liked the place very much, and still I felt like a foreigner. I read Swedish books, flirted with Swedish girls, met their parents, learned their language, habits—still too little to have a sense of full cultural freedom. Sweden, from the very beginning, forced me to very difficult confrontations. […] An additional upsetting aspect of that all was the fact that Swedish people do not respect or appreciate Poles and their work (and in general people from Eastern Europe). When a Swede learns he or she is going to meet or work with a Pole, assumes in advance that she will meet someone uninteresting and from a lower social class—thus we underwent social degradation and this evoked our bitterness.41

When he left for the United States he felt the difference immediately:

38

Raport: Szwecja, AIPN (the Archive of the Institute of National Remembrance, Poland (AIPN)), file: 0236/143/4. 39 Doniesienie TW “Nauczyciel,” Warszawa, 28 December 1972, AIPN, file 0236/143/3; Jackie Jakubowski, “Polens judar,” Judisk Krönika, 1 February 1985, 13. 40 Doniesienie TW “Nauczyciel.” 41 Joanna Wiszniewicz, ĩycie przeciĊte. OpowieĞci pokolenia Marca (Woáowiec: Wydawnictwo Czarne, 2009), 543.

46

Chapter Four …Everything that tortured me in Sweden so far–the alienation, a sense of low self–esteem in comparison to Swedes, their resentment towards Poles […] all that has left me.42

Wanda RapaczyĔska, a daughter of Katarzyna Gruber employed in the Nobel Library in Stockholm, had similar sequence of experiences to the anonymous speaker quoted above. Subsequently, RapaczyĔska studied in the U.S. and there started her career in banking. After returning to Poland, she was from 1992 to 2007 a member of the board of Agora—a company which published “Gazeta Wyborcza”, among others. From 1998 to 2007 she was a president of the company. Nowadays Wanda RapaczyĔska is, according to “Fortune” magazine, in the top ten per cent of the most influential businesswomen in Europe.43 The next migration wave in the 1970s made the social environment of the Polish immigrants even more diverse. Most of the arriving Poles were physical workers. A minimal number of people with an intellectual background had no influence on the social and political life in Sweden. It was very difficult to cross the existing barriers, which forced the immigrants to accept low-paid jobs in rather underpaid professions. Naturally, qualified newcomers, tried to climb the career ladder, but with varying results.44 Polish immigrants holding a university degree were registered in Sweden and most frequently tried to find a job in academic professions (medicine, scientific research) or in production or services.45 The results of the questionnaires distributed among members of representative group of immigrants showed that 78 per cent of Poles wanted to stay in Sweden for good, the rest looking for a place to settle down in other countries or considering returning to Poland.46 For those who arrived illegally or who were granted asylum, there was practically no returning to their native land. Whereas emigration to Sweden was rather final, regardless of political or economic motives behind it, the decisions to go to America were largely related to the individual economic situation.

42

Wiszniewicz, ĩycie, 543. Global Power 50, “Fortune Magazine,” 15 November 2005. 44 Raport, Dotyczy Polonii w okrĊgu konsularnym Sztokholm, AIPN, file 1067/13. 45 “Táumaczenie fragmentu ksiąĪki Dragana Joviusa, ‘Szpiegostwo polskie na rzecz KGB w Szwecji,’” WiadomoĞci Polskie, December/January, 12 (122)-1 (123), 1978/1979, 57. 46 Halina Vigerson, “Vilka egenskaper karakteriserar den polska minoroteten i Sverige? Konskenser för bildningsversamhet,” in Vuxenutbilding i utveckling. Problem–trender, Wit J. Wojtowicz, ed. (Linköping: Universitetet i Linköping, Institutionen för pedagogik och psykologi, 1984), 47. 43

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After the Second World War Sweden indeed became a halfway house in the emigration to North America. This represented, however, a very small group of Polish citizens. Moreover, among them we find both political as well as economic émigrés from Poland. Some left Poland for Sweden with the intention of moving on to America. In many other cases, the transatlantic move was a decision that was the result of dissatisfaction with the economic and professional conditions of the immigrants in Sweden. They often recall the “glass ceiling” which they could not break through (i.e. be promoted) because of their immigrant status. They realized that in the multi-ethnic society of the United States continuing their professional careers would be much easier. Additionally, people who had families in the U.S. or Canada also strove to leave Sweden. Moreover, there were a number of individual reasons which encouraged leaving Scandinavia, e.g. difficulties in assimilating into the new environment. This concerned people of both Polish and Jewish origins. It is also interesting that despite the further emigration, they kept warm memories about Sweden and maintained contact with the people they encountered during their longer or shorter stays in this country.

CHAPTER FIVE THE AMERICAN FUND FOR CZECHOSLOVAK REFUGEES AND ITS LEADER JÁN PAPÁNEK SLAVOMÍR MICHÁLEK

The American Fund for Czechoslovak Refugees (AFCR) was one of the established American and international humanitarian organizations during the Cold War decades.1 Although it did not reach the size of the more recognized Cooperative for American Remittances to Europe (CARE), Humanitas, Amnesty International or the International League for Human Rights, it was undeniably an institution without the help of which tens of thousands of refugees—mainly from Czechoslovakia— would not have been able to “find their feet” in the new democratic world. Ján Papánek, former Czechoslovak diplomat and ambassador at the UN was the founder, long-time leader, and “engine” of this humanitarian organization. The life of Ján Papánek falls neatly within the whole twentieth century (1896–1991), and, for almost the entire century, Papánek participated actively in the struggle against totalitarian regimes, defended the interests of democracy and human rights regardless of race, nationality or religion. He ranks among the most remarkable Slovak personalities in Czechoslovak diplomacy. The Communist coup in Czechoslovakia in February 1948, the violent liquidation of opponents, particularly politicians, journalists, artists, doctors, professors, technical intelligentsia, students as well as manual workers, and the subsequent establishment of “proletarian dictatorship”, resulted in a great stream of emigration, which encompassed whole 1

Submitted study represents a partial result of VEGA Grant Agency project: “Open Economic and Financial Issues between Czechoslovakia and the U.S. A in the Period of 1948–1968” (No. 2/0039/11) and Centre of Excellence project “Slovak History in the History of Europe” (CE SDDE) at the Institute of History of SAS. The author is an associate of the Institute of History at SAS.

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families. Former detention camps, mainly in Germany and Austria, served as the first temporary homes on the way to a new homeland. These people needed help in starting a new life in the free world—both humanitarian and social. Such was the role that Papánek played during the forty years of communist totalitarianism in Czechoslovakia. He managed to establish and successfully operate a fund to support refugees from behind the Iron Curtain. In the very beginning, three people were instrumental in supporting him in this endeavour: Betka Papánková, his wife, Jan Mládek and Juraj Slávik.2

Fig. 5-1: Ján Papánek3

2 3

Mládek and Slávik were former Czechoslovak non-communist diplomats. Author’s private collection.

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Papánek’s early environment, which formed his life, perspective of the world and attitude towards the region and the nation, was Brezová, where he was born on 24 October 1896. The town has a rich history, and is known for its trade and tannery, but also for its strong Slovak national awareness, as well as its connections to other key personalities of the Slovak nation crucial in the politics and diplomacy of the country (e.g. Milan R. Štefánik, Štefan Osuský, Tomáš Tvarožek, Dušan Jurkoviþ, and others).4 World War I and the compulsory military service in the AustroHungarian army interrupted Papánek’s secondary school studies in Jevíþko, Morava. Shortly after his arrival at the Italian front, his division was captured, and nearly two years of changing prisoner-of-war and refugee camps followed. Port Ercole, Santa Maria Capua di Vetere and Padula represented the phases which Papánek and other Slovak and Czech prisoners in Italy had to endure until the Czechoslovak legionary army formation was approved by the Italian government. After that, they could participate in the fight for liberation alongside the Allies. However, Papánek was not directly involved in the first, decisive battle at Piave, but in the summer of 1918, Štefánik sent him to Rome and charged him with editing of the Slovak part of the legionary “Fight!” magazine. After his return from Italy, Papánek exchanged the life of a legionary soldier and journalist for that of a student. He finished his secondary education in Jevíþko and left to study at the Faculty of Law at la Sorbonne in Paris where he earned the degree of Doctor of Law in 1923. Concurrently with studying law, he attended the Ecole Libre des Sciences Politiques, majoring in international relations and diplomacy. Soon after, he earned another Doctor of Law degree at Charles University in Prague in 1928.5 Papánek joined the diplomatic service of Czechoslovakia—the new European state—in the autumn of 1922. His first foreign diplomatic appointment was Budapest (1924–1926). The same position (commercial attaché) followed in Washington, and from 1932 to 1935 he worked in Prague. His activities were that of a parliamentary correspondent for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He also managed the American Slovak Home Association, and led various Czechoslovak legionary organizations. In 1935, Papánek returned to the U.S. as head of the Czechoslovak Consulate 4

Slavomír Michálek, Brezová pod Bradlom, osobnosti (ne)známe (Bratislava: PPB, 1999). 5 Osobný kariérny výkaz, Archív ministerstva zahraniþných vecí ýeskej republiky (The Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Czech Republic (AMZV ýR)), Praha, fond: personálie, Ján Papánek.

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in Pittsburgh. News about the Munich “sell-out” of the republic reached him there. After the Nazi takeover in March 1939, he refused the arrogant calls from Berlin and did not give up the consulate to the Germans. He became the head of the Czechoslovak foreign anti-fascist resistance movement in America. From the summer of 1939, he managed the bureau of information in Chicago (Czechoslovak Foreign Events), which, in 1942, was reorganized and moved to New York (Czechoslovak Information Service). Moreover, he managed the Czechoslovak Exile Red Cross in the USA, worked in the Central European Planning Committee, the Information Organization of the United Nations, the Czechoslovak National Council in America and the compatriot Slovak National Alliance.6 The main task of the information service was to maintain permanent contact with the exiles in London, provide media coverage, information exchange and work coordination with similar allied bureaux of information. A part of this work was also to provide material and financial help for the Czech and Slovak refugees in western Europe and the Czechoslovak units in Great Britain and the Soviet Union. In the spring of 1945, Papánek entered the international diplomatic arena, another significant milestone in his life. As secretary of the Czechoslovak delegation at a conference in San Francisco, he took part in the preparations for the establishment of a global organization, which aimed at guaranteeing peace, stability and the development of democracy in the world. Papánek actively contributed to the work of its committees: II/2—the committee dealing with political and security functions of the Annual General Meeting: and III/2—the committee dealing with the issue of peaceful solutions of disputes at the Security Council. Furthermore, he oversaw the work of the co-ordination committee. The task of this committee was to edit and arrange new Charter material submitted by technical committees and prepare the comprehensive legal document, which would then be submitted to a vote. The committee had 14 members and met 38 times. The result of its work was the text of the Charter summarized into 19 Chapters and 111 Articles.7 San Francisco was a great school of diplomacy for Papánek. From the summer of 1946 he represented Czechoslovakia in the UN. In the autumn of 1947 he assumed the title of an Ambassador Extraordinary and 6

Slovak National Alliance was well known Slovak compatriot organization in the U.S. A with its pro-Czechoslovak orientation. 7 Ján Papánek, Správa o þinnosti Koordinaþného výboru, August 1945, New York Public Library (NYPL), Jan and Betka Papanek Collection, miscelaneous, unmarked box.

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Plenipotentiary. He was the first Slovak to serve as a Czechoslovak representative in the United Nations. Moreover, he chaired the Economic and Social Council in 1947.8 After the Second World War, Papánek returned home for several days. The last time he visited Czechoslovakia was in late June and early July 1947 at the time of negotiations on the Marshall Plan.9 The following spring, the Communists took power in Czechoslovakia, which marked the end of Czechoslovak democracy. Papánek was among some of the country’s most prominent politicians protesting against the coup d’état. Indeed, on the first day of the coup he submitted a protest to Trygve Lie, the UN Secretary General, and accused the USSR of participation in the communist takeover. Papánek, as a Czechoslovak representative to the UN, repeated the protest on 10 March 1948 after the mysterious death of Jan Masaryk—the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Chile gave a helping hand to Papánek at that time. It officially submitted a note repeating his protest.10 Negotiations in the Security Council on whether to establish a committee for investigation of the Prague coup took three months (with Papánek’s participation). However, given the composition of the UN Security Council, his protest had little chance to help resolve the “Czechoslovak issue”. The force and personal arrogance of Andrej Gromyko, the Soviet delegate, influenced the hesitance and inconsistency of the representatives of the western powers—Warren Austin, Alexander Cadogan and Alexandre Parodi. A Soviet veto followed, resulting in the end of Papánek’s protest.11 In the meantime, Prague, controlled by communists, took steps to withdraw Papánek’s accreditation with the UN. However, it was not the end of his work for the global organization. He remained as a member on two of its committees until the end of his term of office. The Czechoslovak communists tried to sabotage his work, for example during the Annual General Meeting in Paris in autumn 1948 they spread false accusations regarding his alleged embezzlement abroad of financial means of the Republic. However, his defence was masterful and “Papánek” was soon, once again, a world press sensation.12 His return home became practically impossible. Thousands of others—Slovak and

8

Slavomír Michálek, Ján Papánek, politik, diplomat, humanista (Bratislava: Veda 1996), 80–90. 9 Pavol Petruf, Marshallov plán, (Bratislava: Veda 1993), 8–9. 10 Jan Papanek, Ten Years After–Czechoslovak Question in the UN (Chicago: Czechoslovak National Council of America, 1958), 4–5. 11 Ibid. 12 Papánek’s advocacy speech on 5 October 1948, NYPL, box 14.

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Czech refugees, who remained in the democratic west—faced the same fate. Providing help to these people became his life’s work. Thus, he established the above-mentioned American Fund for Czechoslovak Refugees, which helped anyone who needed it, not only Czechs or Slovaks, but also Bulgarians, Romanians, Hungarians, Poles, Kurds, Indians or refugees from Indochina. Papánek also managed other significant organizations, for example Humanitas, CARE, the International League for Human Rights, Amnesty International etc. After February 1948, he helped establish a significant exile organization in the USA—the Council of Free Czechoslovakia—and worked as chairman and on the executive committee for many years.13 In spring 1948, Ján Papánek was preoccupied with UN Security Council meetings dealing with his protest against the communist coup in Prague.14 The news he had received from different parts of Europe indicated quite clearly what was happening in Czechoslovakia, i.e. that thousands of refugees were going to need organized help. He had already met Slávik and Mládek on 20 March 1948; Slávik informed him about the number of refugees in Austria and Germany—already nearly 2,000 people. They both agreed on the need to establish an organization and to legalize its work in accordance with American laws. They further agreed that a help centre would first have to be established, and afterwards they would try to obtain U.S. visa permits for the refugees. They also decided that no money should be sent to them, but travel tickets would be purchased instead.15 Whether the American legislature was going to accept the new wave of political refugees was debatable. Slávik took responsibility for this task, since through his friends in Congress he had a possibility, however restricted, of influencing the direction and opinions of people who were to decide about the global refugee issue. Slávik, Mládek and Papánek agreed not to establish a political committee (“neither political lines, nor committees”), and that the organization to help the refugees from communist Czechoslovakia would be managed from North America. 13

Jozef Špetko, Líšky kontra ježe. Slovenská politická emigrácia v rokoch 1948– 1989, analýzy a dokumenty (Bratislava: Kaligram 2002), 108. 14 Jan Papanek, diplomatic note no. 664/48 to the UN Secretary General, Violation of peace by Communists under Soviet pressure in Czechoslovakia in accordance with Article 34 of UN Charter, 26 October 1948, NYPL, Jan and Betka Papanek Collection, box 14. 15 Slavomír Michálek, Ján Papánek, politik, diplomat, humanista (Bratislava: Veda, 1996), 107.

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At this meeting, Slávik raised the issue of what to do with the resigning Czechoslovak diplomats, university students and university professors. While the question of the diplomats remained unresolved at this meeting, as it was not urgent, the need to obtain internships and scholarships for students and professors was established. Regarding the issue of creating an umbrella organization for the refugees, the three participants in the first meeting decided that they would act according to the response of the Department of State. Papánek pointed out the necessity of preparing everything legally and gaining the financial means to help the refugees from private sources as well as from the Department of State. At this meeting, Papánek, Slávik and Mládek also decided to address other persons from among former Czechoslovak diplomats living in Europe.16 From April to May 1948, they received replies approving the establishment of an institution to help the refugees, which can be confirmed by a letter from Adolf Procházka in London to Juraj Slávik, dated 27 April 1948, clearly supportive of the plan they had outlined.17 To set up a fund to help the refugees Papánek, researched ways to implement the plan and consulted several of his lawyer friends. Miles W. Rehor, a lawyer who prepared the charter, the regulations, as well as other legal supporting documentation, provided priceless help. The registration application of the fund that he had helped to prepare was submitted on 24 April 1948 and approved by the New York State Supreme Court on 4 May 1948.18 According to the original proposal, the organization to help the refugees was to be named Tomáš G. Masaryk. However, New York State authorities refused the proposal to avoid confusion since several organizations in the U.S. already operated under the name. The institution was, therefore, named The American Fund for Czechoslovak Refugees. The beginnings of the Fund’s operations were very difficult: finances being insufficient, the first meetings took place in Papánek’s flat. The new U.S. act on refugees had already been prepared at the beginning of 1948.19 According to its provisions, some 205,000 refugees were to be granted immigrant status in the USA over the following two years. However, the act was supposed to include only the refugees from the American occupation zones registered by the International Refugee Organization 16

Ibid. Letter from Procházka to Slávik, 27 April 1948, NYPL, Jan and Betka Papanek Collection, box 13. 18 The New York State Supreme Court proclamation, Ibid., box 18. 19 DP Act of 1948 enacted by the Congress on 18 June 1948, signed by President Harry Truman on 25 June 1949. 17

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(IRO) before 21 April 1947. So it was originally time-limited and did not refer to the refugees from the Czechoslovak Republic. It was Juraj Slávik who, with the help of his friends in the Congress, arranged for an appropriate change and approval of the change in the draft bill so that the Czechoslovak refugees (quota of 2,000) could be included and obtain access to the U.S.20 As can be shown by the “circular letter” from Slávik dated 9 July 1948, he was instrumental in negotiating with the political and visa sections of the Department of State, Ministry of Justice and Immigration Office the approval of entry visas for those Czechoslovak refugees who had already submitted their applications. These people were included in several categories. For instance, one category encompassed those who were still in Italy, Germany and Austria—referred to in the Displaced Persons Act— who were supposed to be allowed legal entry into the U.S. in the amount of 2,000 Czechs and Slovaks. With regard to this category, Slávik’s “circular letter” informed its readers that the Department of State declared that so-called prominent persons, members of parliament, journalists, etc. who had already left with a different, short-term visa should not have left prematurely but have acted in accordance with the DP Act. There were also refugees who escaped from Czechoslovakia through Germany or Austria. However, they were no longer staying in the given country at the time of DP Act’s being passed; Slávik tried to obtain a declaration of legal presumption from the American authorities for them, i.e. that those who had left Germany and Austria to other countries with short-term visas were deemed eligible for the same treatment as those refugees who were still residing in Germany and Austria at the time of enactment of the Displaced Persons Act. Slávik was promised by the Department of State that Americans would pay the travel expenses for the arrival of the first 2,000 refugees from Czechoslovakia. Diplomats who had resigned their posts as well as others who were not refugees from the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic would receive short-term visit visas only in the case they had a re-entry permit to any other country. The circular letter concludes that Slávik was trying to get the 2,000 refugees from Czechoslovakia to the U.S. under the Displaced Persons Act as soon as possible, not over the course of several years. In the conclusion of the circular letter, Slávik stated that after the American offices issued the provisions implementing the DP Act, he

20

Slavomír Michálek et al., eds., Juraj Slávik Neresnický, od politiky cez diplomaciu po exil (Bratislava: Prodama, 2006), 306.

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would immediately pass on the information.21 From February 1948 until the end of 1950, approximately 30,000 people left communist Czechoslovakia. The number increased by more than 400 each month. According to AFCR records, approximately 15,000 people still resided in European camps in 1950, among them 8,000 in the former American, French and British zones of Germany, 2,500 in Austria, 900 in Italy, 2,000 in France, roughly 1,200 in Great Britain, and approximately 1,500 in other European states. Out of this number, about 10,000 were under IRO administration, residing in its camps in Germany, France and Austria.22 The biggest problem and concern of the Fund was to help those who were not included in IRO records. Most of them were living in the German camp of Valka where they were housed in barracks that Hitler had built before the war for mass sporting festivals held in Nuremberg. Help from the IRO was granted only to those in Germany who were residing there before 15 October 1949. After 31 December 1951, when the IRO’s activities were terminated and its functions were not taken over by any new authorities, the responsibility for all the remaining refugees was transferred to Papánek’s Fund. The Fund cooperated with many compatriot organizations. Within a year of its creation, it received help from Slovak émigré groups, e.g. the Slovak Gymnastics Club Sokol, the Slovak National Association, Živena, Slovak Evangelic Association, the Slovak Evangelic Union, and the Myjava Club in the total amount of 10,202 dollars.23 Approximately 150,000 people who left communist Czechoslovakia used its services during the tenure of the AFCR. The Fund helped them in terms of arranging their move, providing temporary financial assistance, as well as helping them in finding first jobs and accommodations. As mentioned above, the beginnings of the Fund’s operations were neither simple nor easy. Ján Papánek was elected AFCR temporary chairman, Rehor and Brackett Lewis were elected vice-chairmen, Rudolf Šturm treasurer, and Andrew Valuchek was elected a committee member. Papánek’s wife—Betka Papánkowa, an American Slovak from Chicago— actively assisted him in his work of forty years for the Fund. Papánek and his wife created an almost inseparable working pair. Betka Papánková was not only the wife of a diplomat: she actively managed the activities of the Czechoslovak Red Cross in America during 21

Juraj Slávik, Circular letter, 9 July 1948, Jan Papánek’s private collection (a copy in the author’s possession). 22 Jan Papánek: Annual report of AFCR, 1951, NYPL, box 8, 4–6. 23 Ibid., 14.

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the war; she managed the work of the exile Council of Czechoslovak Women, and was a member of the American delegation at the conference on security and cooperation in Madrid (Spain) in 1980. Her activities were appreciated in the personal messages sent by several American Presidents.24 The participation of Miles Rehor in AFCR-related work at the beginning of the Fund was equally priceless. This devoted compatriot lawyer was responsible for all the legal acts relating to the articles and registration of the AFCR. The Fund’s next chairman, Brackett Lewis, was originally the head of the YMCA organization in Czechoslovakia after the war. Later, he managed a New York organization called American Relief for Czechoslovakia. Treasurer Rudolf Šturm, who also came from Slovakia, first experienced World War II in detention camps in France and Morocco. From 1941, he worked in New York with Papánek as an employee of the Czechoslovak Information Service. Later he served in the American military. After the war, he lived in Czechoslovakia but left the country after the 1948 communist coup. Papánek’s closest colleagues in the period of the Fund’s establishment also included Andrew Valuchek, the long-time editor of the Slovak compatriot newspaper “Newyorský denník” (New York Daily), and a prominent member of the American Democratic Party (he was the head of National Democratic Committee for many years), head of Slovak “Sokol” (Falcon) in America, and long-time member of management of the compatriot Czechoslovak National Council in America.25 Certain difficulties occurred after the American authorities registered the Fund, such as obtaining a tax exemption from the Office of Federal Financial Management. According to new regulations, the office was willing to grant a tax exemption only after any given institution recognized as charitable had been in existence for a year, which was disadvantageous for the Fund, as voluntary donors counted on the possibility of writing off their donations against tax. In the case of higher donations, they naturally hesitated to contribute them to an organization which did not have the relative tax exemption. Besides, the office requested a modification of the articles of incorporation to include a regulation on the direct participation of the public in the organization, and a declaration that in case of the liquidation of the organization, the remaining balance would devolve to 24

Personal letters from Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, George Bush and Bill Clinton, NYPL, box 47. 25 Slavomír Michálek, Andrew Valuchek–As They Knew Him (Bratislava: Veda 2002), 232.

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the Office of Federal Financial Management. Modified articles according to the financial office requests were approved, and finally, a tax exemption of the donations for the Fund was granted earlier than usually officially possible. The start of the full range of activities of the AFCR, initially planned for the summer of 1948, had to be postponed to the beginning of 1949, due to the UN-related duties of its chairman. Since Papánek was a member of working committees, he was preparing for the UN autumn annual general meeting in Paris. In the meantime, the Refugee Fund enacted that it would help each non-communist refugee from Czechoslovakia regardless of national or political classification. After the end of the aforementioned UN meeting, Papánek left for Germany to visit the refugee camps managed by the American army forces. The worst conditions he witnessed were in the Valka and Ludwigsburg camps: social and material equipment was inadequate, and refugees suffered from cold, humidity and insufficient nutrition. Papánek negotiated with the officials from the IRO, as well as with the American officials in Germany. He handed them a memorandum containing all the insufficiencies and complaints regarding the position of the refugees. Many people had fled without documents, which often resulted in tough investigation by German authorities. Such people were concentrated in the Noisy le Sec camp in France, and similar camps in Austria, Italy and Great Britain. After his return from Europe, Papánek dedicated himself to helping the refugees. James T. Shotwell, chairman of the Endowment for International Peace, and a professor at Columbia University, became the Fund’s new chairman. Committee members and donors were significant personalities like Eleanor Roosevelt, New York senator Herbert V. Lehman, governor of Ohio Frank J. Lausche, and writers Dorothy Thompson, Ruth Mitchell Crawford, Marcia Davenport and others. The Fund was based in New York and established branches in Europe.26 Papánek gradually managed to ensure conditions enabling the AFCR to exist and to bring much-needed help to the refugees on a broad international basis. Furthermore, he secured help from the American government and from some American volunteer organizations. The State Department’s Advisory Committee for Charitable Foreign Help approved the operations of the Fund operations, which was a precondition for obtaining a tax exemption. It became a member of the American Council of Charitable Agencies for Foreign Service, a member of CARE, the 26

Michálek, Ján Papánek, 112.

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Council of Charitable Agencies in Germany and the International Council of Charitable Agencies in Geneva. It also started to closely cooperate with the Intergovernmental Committee for European Migration. As a result of all these acknowledgements and memberships, the AFCR could conclude agreements with the American government and get governmental loans as well as secure additional help from the intergovernmental organizations and some European governments for the benefit of the Czechoslovak refugees. However, the Fund was controlled by the American government and New York State. It had regularly to submit its financial reports to the Advisory Committee for Charitable Foreign Help at the Department of State, which then checked their accuracy and correctness. Papánek’s Fund received the proper registration number VFA-040.27 From May 1948 to June 1949, the AFCR received US$23,517 in cash, in addition to clothes and other necessary things worth US$40,500. Financial and material deliveries were passed on to the refugees immediately. The inevitable expenses of refugee camp representatives were also covered. Furthermore, the assistance extended to students, thus, constituting yet another of the Fund’s activities. By the summer of 1949, it had secured 32 scholarships at American universities for the refugee students, and paid for their transport and accommodation. In order to make the AFCR work more effectively, the Fund started to co-operate with another significant American institution—the American Federation of Labour (AFL). From January 1951, its representative Ted F. Silvey began managing the Fund, which contributed to better coordination of the placement of the people in the U.S. Moreover, new helpers showed interest in joining the small circle of Fund workers: Anna Kvapilova, Alfred Politzer, Jan Hird-Pokorny, Vojtech Jerabek, Elleanor C. Lane, Martha S. Cogan and others. Additional help came from official American organizations. In the spring of 1952, a so-called American Refugee Program was accepted, coordinating activities and helping charitable refugee organizations, including the AFCR. As a sign of significant appreciation of the Fund work as well as the personal appreciation for Jan Papánek, he was elected to the management of the American Council of Charitable Agencies and CARE, which enabled him to find more effective ways to help in 1954.28 In 1959, about 4,000 people were still waiting for help in the European camps, including approximately 500 children. Their position could have 27

Denní Hlasatel, 9 October 1949, 10. Published by the Czechoslovak National Council of America (CNCA) in Chicago. 28 Michálek, Ján Papánek, 112–113.

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been much better if the previously departing refugees had fulfilled their obligations and repaid the Fund upon settling down in the new country. The Fund obtained different loans for each person, mainly from the American government, which each refugee undertook in writing to pay back within a certain period. According to the statistical records and Papánek’s reports, only some 25 per cent of the refugees who settled down in the U.S. actually paid back the loan. This data encompasses the years 1948–1959, beginning with the first refugees who arrived in America aboard the General Black, many of whom did not respond to the requests for reimbursement. Papánek called it a moral shame. It really was a significant financial loss, as it was now more difficult to help those who were still in European camps. An early signal of a new refugee wave was in the form of a departure of many Czechoslovak tourists in the spring of 1967 during Vienna World Ice Hockey Championship. A cultural intelligentsia was awakening as well as students and Czechoslovak youth in general. Many people hoped that the Communist regime in Czechoslovakia could be revived and reformed by Alexander Dubþek’s “socialism with a human face”. Instead, however, the next disaster struck—after the “shameful Munich” and “victorious February” came the “brotherly August”. On 21 August 1968, Soviet troops, with the help of the “befriended armies” of the Warsaw Pact (Poland, the German Democratic Republic, Bulgaria, and Hungary), invaded Czechoslovakia and reminded it with tanks where it belonged. Tens of thousands of Slovak and Czech people spending their holidays abroad refused to return to the occupied state. The capacity of the refugee camps was not sufficient to cover this influx. It was perhaps the most difficult test of the Fund’s viability. The American government helped Papánek again by increasing its immigrant quotas. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) also helped with the co-ordination. The work for every individual refugee was vested in the Fund. It included the organizational ensuring of arrival, first accommodations and employment. At a minimum, the value of the help distributed in countries of the first asylum and to assist migration during a single year (1970) was around US$3.2 million.29 The 1970s marked a significant extension of the international humanitarian aid of the Fund. In 1972, the State Department asked the AFCR to co-operate in relocating the people driven out of Uganda by the dictator Idi Amin.30 The American authorities repeated this request in 29 30

The Annual Report of UNHCR, 1970 (xerox copy), NYPL, box 11. Paul Johnson, DČjiny 20. Století (Praha: Rozmluvy 1991), 518–522.

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1975. It was one of the most extensive relocations of refugees to the U.S. which continued until the beginning of the 1980s. Thereafter, during 1975, it was necessary to quickly relocate 150,000 refugees from Indochina. The AFCR was one of seven agencies chosen by the government for this project. In 1975, the AFCR successfully relocated approximately 15,000 refugees from Vietnam, Thailand and Cambodia. The project continued as more refugees from the countries affected by the war in Vietnam, including Laos, needed help over the course of the following years. Moreover, the Fund participated in assisting about 600 Kurds, in addition to a permanent influx of people from the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic (CSSR) and other states of Central Europe.31 After the fall of the communist regime in Czechoslovakia in November 1989, Papánek’s humanitarian fund lost its original raison d’être. During its forty years of work it had helped approximately 150,000 people. After the split of Czechoslovakia it became the American Fund for Czech and Slovak Relief, and predominantly focused its activities on assisting the Czech Republic and Slovakia in educational and cultural spheres. By the end of the 1980s, Papánek’s struggle against totalitarian regimes (fascist and communist) had already started to lose strength and it was high time for him to leave the work to younger ones. He welcomed the fall of communism in Czechoslovakia, but he had no strength left for a peaceful return home. He died in Scarsdale on 30 November 1991. He holds high state honours, among which the most significant are: the Order of T.G. Masaryk and the Order of the White Double Cross, in memoriam. Apart from the diplomatic and humanitarian work, Papánek did not neglect his legal profession. He worked at Georgetown University in Washington as a member of the Admissions Commission for the Faculty of Law. He lectured on international law and diplomacy at New York University. He wrote hundreds of scholarly articles focusing predominantly on international and legal issues regarding the activities of the Organization of United Nations. Moreover, he wrote three books. His doctoral thesis, La Tchecoslovaquie. Historie Politique et juridique de sa création, depicting a brief history of Slovak and Czech nations, the exile resistance movement, legionary activities, the formation of Czechoslovakia, its international position and its place in international agreements, based on state acts and documents was published in 1923 (Prague: Melantrich, 1923). His next work, Czechoslovakia, World of Tomorrow, was published in New York by International Universities Press in 1945. The subject of interest here is the international and legal position of the Czechoslovak 31

Denní Hlasatel, 30 November 1979, 7.

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Republic after the war, its position in international financial, political and security institutions, internal monetary, territorial, administrative and legislative issues. The third work, Ten Years—Czechoslovak Question in the United Nations (Chicago: Czechoslovak National Council of America 1958), deals exclusively with the UN, particularly with the course of the negotiations regarding the Czechoslovak protest in the Security Council of 1948. The work comprises authentic documents, depositions of the participants, and was the first publication at that time which objectively depicted the UN process at the time of Prague communist coup.32 To summarize briefly the activities of the American Fund for Czechoslovak Refugees, first and foremost, it should be stated that it was funded, existed and operated continuously mainly due to the personal efforts of Ján Papánek. The tasks set at its foundation were to help people fleeing from behind the Iron Curtain—carried out responsibly and in accordance within its financial and personnel means. Assistance extended to those in need and in search of freedom and a new, a better life was the most important humanitarian dimension of Papánek’s AFCR activities and of the Slovak and Czech historical heritage.

32

Jan Papánek, Ten Years After, 110.

CHAPTER SIX THE ORPHANS OF THE REVOLUTION: HUNGARIAN UNDER-AGE REFUGEES OF 1956 BÉLA NÓVÉ

At least fifteen per cent of the Hungarians who have fled to Austria were minors. Most of them arrived with their parents and, as families had priority, they were soon received by a number of Western countries. But the young who came without parents met only closed doors in the whole of the free world. Nobody wants to take responsibility for them and their future. In the meantime, one has long forgotten that it was these young people–most of them 15 to 18-years-old–who, just five months ago, were much admired by the anti-communist countries.1

After the second Soviet invasion, in late 1956 and early 1957, some two hundred thousand refugees fled Hungary, including an estimated 20,000 teenagers, who left without parents or adult escort. These teenagers, as members of a “wartime generation” born mostly in the period 1939–1944, had to experience many kinds of misery, loss and violence from their early childhood. Among them were children adopted or brought up in state orphanages, a great number of industrial apprentices, peasant children from the poorest families, and also Budapest grammar school pupils with an intellectual, and—before 1945—a middle or upper class family background. In the autumn of 1956, many of them took an enthusiastic part in the revolutionary demonstrations and the street fights against the Soviet tanks as well as the communist state security forces. Their fate, after having escaped to the West, followed many different paths. The lucky ones were soon able to leave the refugee camps of Austria and Yugoslavia for one of the 36 host countries worldwide, where host families or hostels for young people received them. They learned languages, finished their secondary studies, then graduated and found 1

Dagens Nyheter, Stockholm, 3 April 1957.

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decent professional careers, returning to visit their native country many years later as well-to-do and respected western citizens. Other escapees drifted for many years, wandering from one country to another, often without papers, living on aid and casual work, or becoming mercenaries in the U.S. Army and the French Foreign Legion, only to be taken to fight in the bloodiest periods of the Algerian and Vietnam wars. However, the most defenceless, as it later turned out, were the refugees of 1956, minors who, after a few months or a few years, returned to Hungary driven back by homesickness and a naïve trust in the deceitful promises of amnesty. Many of them were put in prison or suffered long years of harassment. However, according to the surviving files, the busily reorganized post1956 secret police preferred to recruit its new spies among these youngsters returned from the west. Consequently, they were either left at liberty but had to co-operate, or be imprisoned during the years of massive reprisals. The present study aims to provide an overall view of the “orphans of the revolution”, a huge teenage population which, after the violent shock of 1956, left their native land for three dozen countries worldwide. Their later fate has not thus far been systematically researched. The few scattered sources have hardly been revealed, collected, or published. This also includes the institutional resources such as the documents of the International Red Cross, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), the western immigrant services, the U.S. Army and Navy, the French Foreign Legion, and the erstwhile Hungarian secret police. Nevertheless, exciting stories could be still discovered by reading unpublished memoirs, collecting archive press and radio reports, or by making new sets of oral history interviews with the members of this now over 70-year-old emigrant generation. This study will certainly not be able to accomplish this mighty and long-awaited job on its own, so the author would be most happy to attract the attention of both the wider public and specialists in the history of the Cold War to this rather telling and important part of the Hungarian exodus.

The Size and Effects of the Hungarian Exodus Let us first take a closer look at how many minors left for the west without family after the second Soviet invasion of 4 November 1956. Who were those teenagers, and where did they come from? What fears and desires forced them to leave their native land for the unknown? How were they received in the refugee camps of Austria and Yugoslavia? And what happened to them later, when most of them were transferred to one of the

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three dozen host countries? The present study aims to find reliable answers to all these disquieting questions fifty-six years after 1956. The author— born in 1956 as a “child of the Revolution”—has long felt the need to explore the true facts of the past, which were mostly hidden or falsified throughout the long decades of the communist rule. During the first half of 1957, there were two major, top-secret, research projects carried by the National Statistical Office (Központi Statisztikai Hivatal, or KSH) of Budapest. The first was to establish the causes, circumstances and the numbers of “casualties and mortal cases that occurred during and after the events of 23 October” (i.e. the outbreak of the revolution); the second was to provide confidential information for the then communist leaders about the number, age, profession, address, social status, etc. of those who “had left the country illegally in 1956 and 1957”. The moment of truth had been awaited for 33 years when, on the eve of the radical political changes, both reports were also made available to the wider public.2 The “emigrant-inventory”, a 50 page final report with detailed charts and statistical data completed by mid-May 1957, but published in 68 “confidential” copies only on 13 July 1957, provides an overall analysis of the refugee population, according to its age groups, sex, marital status, profession, address in Hungary and in the host countries, etc., presenting data also about the legal emigrants, the rate of return migrants, and some longer-term effects of the dramatic population loss. All in all, the survey is a scholarly and fairly reliable piece of work, its only serious shortcoming is that it contains data of only three quarters of the overall emigrant population, i.e. of those 151,731 Hungarian citizens who illegally left for abroad and whose names and data were officially reported to the local Hungarian authorities. Otherwise, the registration lists of the refugee camps in Austria and Yugoslavia as well as those of the western host countries can verify most of its figures.3 These latter resources seem to be all the more important, in that the worldwide migration of Hungarian escapees had by no means ended by spring 1957, the closing date of the KSH reports. By that time, the strict 2

The KSH reports were published in a somewhat shortened form in the 1990 October and December issues of Statisztikai Szemle (Review of Statistics) in Budapest. For the text of the 1956 emigrant report see Statisztikai Szemle 12 (1989): 986–1003. 3 See e.g. the detailed UNHCR report on the Hungarian refugees published on 17 June 1957, the most reliable document, that was compiled by the statistical summaries of the Austrian and Yugoslavian refugee camps as well as the immigration figures of the host countries.

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border control and the re-established “Iron Curtain” (the technical fortification of the border with mines, electric alarm systems and barbed wire fences, which had been removed in summer of 1956) blocked the escapees’ way to the west, but according to a UNHCR report, as of 8 May 1957 more than a quarter of the Hungarian refugees were still waiting for onward transport from the Austrian lagers (35,000 persons) and the Yugoslav refugee camps (17,000 persons) to host countries.4 The Swedish liberal daily “Dagens Nyheter”, in relation to these thousands of minors, published a dramatic report from the Austrian lagers in early April, as cited above. In fact, the KSH “emigrant inventory” of May 1957 seems quite an early and inopportune status report, if we bear in mind that the massive migration process to Australia started only in the autumn of 1957, that many thousands of Hungarians from western European countries later moved to the U.S. and Canada, and that the slowly receding waves of the return migrants ended only a decade later (a 1966 Hungarian secret police summary reported 35,000 re-emigrant cases!)5 Another problem is that the number of under-age refugees from this statistical source can be estimated only indirectly, and by using supplementary aids. In response to some recent western sources,6 the KSH report itself readily admitted that its database was far from complete, and by adding another 50,000 persons the real size of the Hungarian refugee population probably reached a total of 200,000. More than the half of the emigrants came from Budapest, more than 50 per cent were under 25, and more than 50 per cent were hosted by overseas countries (mostly the U.S., Canada, and Australia). Two-thirds of the refugees were men, although the male-female ratio of the teenagers was even more unequal, with a massive male dominance of 4

Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, 1 January 1959, A/3828/Rev.1. 5 About the 1956 emigrants who returned to Hungary either by general or individual amnesties a summary of the secret police of 1973 provides the following figures: “In the period of 1957–1963 some 26,300 Hungarian citizens returned. During the next decade (1963–1973) the authorities answered positively 6,203 repatriation requests, and refused them in 2,187 cases. So far all in all some 35,000 resettled”. State Security Archives, Budapest (ÁBTL), 1.11.1.45-13-9/1973. 6 The KSH report repeatedly referred to some “recent western resources,” e.g. the relevant reports of the Austrian and Yugoslavian Ministries of Interior. According to the first one, as of 6 April 1957, altogether 174,704 Hungarian refugees were registered in Austria; meanwhile the later one reported, as of 26 May 1957, about 19,181 Hungarian asylum-seekers. Adding up these basic figures the UNHCR it also confirmed 193,885 as a total of registered Hungarian refugees in its status report published on 18 June 1957.

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4:1—or rather 5:1, as is clearly confirmed by the refugee camp registrations, the documents of adoptions as well as the pupils’ list of the Hungarian secondary schools founded for the minor refugees in Austria in early 1957.7 According to the KSH report, for every one hundred Hungarian citizens there exists an average of 1.5 emigrants, but in the 15–19 age group this ratio rises to 4:1. In Budapest, it is much higher: the male emigrant rate here comes to 5.6 per cent, while in the 15–24 age group it reaches nearly 15 per cent! Another astonishing figure is found in the 21,000 children under 15 who left with their parents. However, the report notes: “…this number does not contain those ca. 10,000 children of the same age group who left without parents”.8 The next age group 15–19, according to the report includes some 22,000 emigrants, among them an estimated 13– 16,000 minors (children under 18). If we add all these components, we may arrive at an estimated number of 21–26,000 under-age children who left their native land without families. Even if the rate of return migrants among them was significantly higher than in the whole refugee population (i.e. every fourth or third of the minors, altogether some 7–9,000 children returned to Hungary), we may safely arrive at the conclusion that in late 1956 and early 1957, there were some 14–18,000 Hungarian minors, who left without family and, from that point on, stayed in one or more of the host countries. The first massive refugee flood in Europe after World War II proved to be a great challenge for the international humanitarian organizations, and they were forced to change their whole system of operations, which had a long-lasting effect, lasting, in fact, until the end of the bipolar world power system. This has remained true up until now, especially for the two largest organizations: the UNHCR and the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC). As for the first, the UNHCR was established in 1951 with only a low budget and a five-year mandate, which was just due to expire at the end of 1956. Small wonder that the Hungarian refugee flood woke up and dramatically mobilized the almost dormant UN. The General Assembly of the UN, in a decision taken in New York on 9 November 1956, declared— in spite of the Soviet protest—that all international humanitarian aid offered to the Hungarian refugees should be coordinated and solely

7

See Alexandra Haas, Ungarn in Tirol. Flüchtlingsschicksale 1945–1956 (Innsbruck-Wien Bozen: Studien Verlag, 2008), 212. 8 Ibid., KSH report, 27.

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conducted by the UNHCR.9 However, its leaders were not received officially either in Moscow or in Budapest, and even the UN Secretary General Dag Hammarskjöld himself was considered persona non grata, though he repeatedly and vainly urged direct talks about the Hungarian issue with both the Hungarian and Soviet leaders. The UNHCR could thus only make moderate efforts from Vienna and Belgrade to find appropriate humanitarian and diplomatic means to tackle the unstoppable flood of refugees, and to supply them with vitally important aid materials and services. This was the moment when—as a result of intensive multilateral talks in Vienna—the UNHCR delegated a number of its important tasks to the International Red Cross Committee, which had its national member organizations in the USSR and Hungary too, although under strict party control. Swiss author Isabelle Vonèche Cardia published plenty of primary source documents in her critical monograph10 on the ICRC’s activities in Hungary, 1956–57. According to it, from the first days of the revolution, the ICRC took a major pioneering mission in transporting and distributing Western aid, in close co-operation with the democratically elected new leadership of the Hungarian Red Cross. The country had suffered wartime devastations and was still paralyzed by a general strike that lasted until the end of the year, so it badly needed material aid of any kind. This led the Soviet-backed Kádár government to renew its co-operation with the ICRC by signing the mid-November agreement, which was valid until June 1957.11 However, the promising start was soon altered by a number of insoluble conflicts: the material aid transport was welcome, but the government demanded exclusive control over the distribution, and refused all efforts by the Swiss staff to provide legal protection and humanitarian help, for example, to the many thousands of interned or imprisoned civilians. Official contacts soon became tense due to the conflicting principles of family unification cases and those of the minor refugees. The Kádár government demanded that the ICRC reveal all the refugee lists of the western host countries, and expected the Swiss representatives to actively help in returning home, as soon as possible, all refugee minors left without parents. However, the Swiss staff—identifying itself with the 9

See the UN General Assembly resolution 1006 (ES–II) held on 9 November 1956. 10 Isabelle Vonèche Cardia, L’octobre hongrois entre croix rouge et drapeau rouge (Bruxelles: Bruylant, 1996) Also available in Hungarian edition: Magyar október– vörös zászló és vörös kereszt között (Budapest: Socio-typo, 1998). 11 Rapport d’activité 1956 (Genève: Comité international de la Croix–Rouge, 1957).

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prevailing western point of view—stubbornly argued that all political refugees were entitled to anonymity and a free choice to decide where they wished to live.12 These western humanitarian principles only served to further anger their communist counterparts, who could never believe or fully grasp such “abstract” ideas.

Emigrants and Re-emigrants The future fate of Hungarian refugees—above all that of the minors— had remained for many years the number one issue of the Cold War propaganda fights, especially when the Kádár government, backed by Soviet tank divisions tried to prove its legitimacy and “population preserving power” by regaining as many refugees as possible. Yet during the first few weeks of the exodus, the western border of the country remained uncontrolled, and the world press on the other side of the breached iron curtain was, nevertheless, eager to find out how many Hungarians “voted with their feet” against the Stalinist dictatorship. True, that before strict border control was reintroduced, there was a massive flow in both directions through the “green”, and soon the “white borders” of western Hungary. (The winter of 1956–1957 was in fact the coldest one in the entire “Cold War period”, with much snow and ice.) This two-way traffic during the early two months was especially typical of teenagers such as 15-year-old Gyula Kozák from a Budapest grammar school and many of his mates, who just wanted to look around in the “free world”, and then returned a few weeks later through the green (or white) borders without being checked or registered by any of the authorities. They could take these western “study and adventure tours” all the more easily because as a result of the chaos left behind by the fighting, there was no teaching in most of the schools in Hungary until January 1957. On 29 November 1956 Reuters reported from Vienna on the safe arrival of the 100,000th Hungarian refugee. On the same day, the Hungarian government publicly demanded that Austria assist all Hungarian minors to return to their native land, and announced that in two days an amnesty would be proclaimed for all Hungarian citizens who had left the country illegally before the end of March 1957.13 As a matter of fact, minors left not only for the west (Austria) and the south (Yugoslavia), but also the east, however, not voluntarily. There were no reports about 12

Ibid. Gardia, Hungarian edition, 55–91. Decree 27/1957 of the Presidential Council. Its full text and comments published in the Hungarian Press Agency’s (MTI) report of 1 December 1956. 13

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them in the communist press, and nor was there any hope of starting any search for them via the Red Cross, since these unfortunate teenagers were all captives of the Red Army and the KGB itself. According to a secret Soviet internal report of 15 November 1956, among the 846 Hungarian prisoners held in the city of Užgorod (Trans-Carpathian region, Ukraine) there were 68 minors of 15 to 17 years, with 9 girls among them.14 As the KGB officer in charge of writing the report suggested, It seems to be necessary to delegate some responsible and competent colleagues (may be even some Hungarian ones) that could urgently revise the cases of these imprisoned Hungarian citizens, and release all those who were arrested by charges unfounded.15

However, this still took another two months. Towards Christmas, Radio Free Europe in Munich, and Radio (no longer “Free”) Kossuth in Budapest entered a passionate propaganda fight, broadcasting frequent reports on emigrants (and return migrants!) and passing messages from the refugees to their families and vice versa. In the meantime, the Kádár government delegated “Repatriating Committees” to both Vienna and Belgrade, and by diplomatic notes demanded the return of the great number of (already further transferred) minor refugees from the western host countries. For the time being, the Hungarian authorities were also busy supplying with special passports those parents who decided to bring home their “prodigal sons” from the Austrian and Yugoslavian refugee camps. Just a week before Christmas, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees landed in Vienna airport, and so did U.S. Vice President Nixon, who brought aid of half a million U.S. dollars, tons of insulin, and the good news for the refugees that the U.S. government was ready to significantly raise the immigrant quota for Hungarians. (It did, in fact, and eventually more than 50,000 Hungarians found new homes in the U.S.)16 Austria—which received 90 per cent of the refugee flood— managed in a couple of weeks to establish hundreds of temporary or lasting asylums ranging from the large camps for many thousands of escapees (e.g. 14

Užgorod, Trans Carpatian Dept. of the State Security (KGB) Archives of Ucrain, fond 43, 1956. “Papers related to Hungarian citizens deported to the Soviet Union.” 15 Ibid. 16 The UNHCR’s statistics published on 17 June 1957 reported only about 33,215 Hungarian refugees arriving in the U.S. to that date, but ongoing immigrant waves from Austria, Yugoslavia and later on some of the western countries raised their number to well over of 50,000 by the early 1960s.

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Eisenstadt, Traiskirchen and Salzburg) through the transit camps of further transports to the west (e.g. Wels, Passau, Ried) to many of the smaller size local asylums throughout the country.17 The under-age refugees were mostly placed in the latter: hotels, pensions, dormitories, villas, castles, nunneries, and, from spring 1957 in the newly founded Hungarian grammar schools. Homes for young people were set up, e.g. in Einbüchel, Filach, Gishül, Hirtenberg, and Krems, and elsewhere. A sorting centre for teenagers was set up in Preding; meanwhile in Katzendorf, Mariazell and elsewhere, special institutes for Hungarian girls were opened.18 The further destinations of refugee minors were in most cases determined by which country’s aid service ran the asylum—e.g. the Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Dutch, or French Red Cross organizations, etc. In any case, Austria played a major role and did her best in settling the Hungarian refugee crisis—a relatively small neutral country at “the buffer zone” that had itself got rid of Soviet military control only a year before. The Austrian government had to find solutions for a number of sensitive humanitarian and human rights problems of the refugee minors, sometimes daring to resist both eastern bloc demands and western political pressures. Yugoslavia, led by Marshal Tito, also took the Hungarian refugee case as a political stake, however, for different reasons and aims. From there, many of the 20,000 Hungarians were finally transported to western host countries, although at the demand of the Hungarian authorities every tenth refugee was returned to his native land with a number of minors among them, and there were also a couple of hundred who stayed in the south Slavic communist state. In fact, Tito’s ambivalent tactics towards both the Eastern and Western blocs could be most obviously seen in the treatment of the under-age escapees. The Yugoslav authorities and the UDB (Uprava Državne Bezbednosti—Tito’s state security forces) sometimes demonstratively protected the latter from the Hungarian border guards and 17 Apart from many thousands of press reports one of the most informative source is that of Erwin A. Schmidt’s monograph: Die Ungarnkrise 1956 und Österreich (Wien: Böhlau Verlag, 2003). The Hungarian secret services were also busy collecting information about the Hungarian refugee camps especially the lagers in Austria. A secret register made in September 1957, provides detailed descriptions about some 300 Austrian refugee camps, temporary and lasting asylums, with their location, capacity, staff, etc.: Nyugati országokban gyĦjtĘlágerek helyei, vezetĘi, személyzete, ÁBTL 4.1.A-1146. 18 Schmidt, Die Ungarnkrise; István Deák, ed., Magyar középiskolák Ausztriában 1956 után: Ungarische Mittelschulen in Österreich nach 1956, (Budapest-Wien: MVSZ, Auszriai Magyar Egyesületek és Szervezetek Központi Szövetsége, 1998), 121.

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espionage (e.g. by expelling a number of Hungarian secret police officers lingering around the refugee camps).19 But at other times, the Yugoslav authorities readily returned the refugees listed by the Hungarian government to their native land. In early December there were temporary asylums set in the border area—in places like Melence, Szenttamás, Ilok, and Palánka—together with the transit camps of Zombor and Lendva. Later, some larger permanent refugee camps were also opened in a number of remote places of Croatia and Serbia.20 The refugee minors still have some rather bitter memories of these. One of them, Sándor Nemes—a first year grammar school boy from the town of Szekszárd, who was 15 at the time of the Revolution, escaped all alone and later got to France, where he joined the Foreign Legion—was interned in Gerovo, a remote place among the high hills of Slavonia. This was a huge casern [military barracks], which earlier had served as a Nazi concentration camp [he recalls his memories 56 years after] … 1.5 meter high snow, barbed-wire fence, watchtowers with machine guns pointing at us from all around… Thousands of us were housed here, all shocked and uncared—for Hungarians: men, women, children and elderly people alike, with a great fear and sadness in their eyes. Everybody wanted to escape from here because of the brutal treatment by the soldiers who wore red stars on their caps. Famine and misery made people miserable monsters. Among the refugees there were frequent cases of theft, fighting, stabbing, and sometimes fatalities. […] I remember a fatal attempt at escape, when the guards opened fire from the watchtowers, and one refugee was shot dead, another gravely injured. A young girl, who was pregnant, committed suicide by jumping out of a third-floor window. […] It went on like this until the next spring.21

Nándor Orbán—a second-year grammar school boy from Nagykanizsa, who fled with three of his classmates to Yugoslavia in early 1957—had similarly grave experiences. Over a period of nine months, he was taken to a dozen different places until he was directed to the Australian “transport 19 See András Rozs, “Az 1956–os forradalom Baranya megyében. Baranyai menekültek Jugoszláviában 1956. november 4. Után,” in ‘56 és Délvidék. Tanulmányok, interjúk, sajtószemelvények, ed. Verona Molnar (Nyitott Távlatok Szabadka: Országos Széchényi Könyvtár, 2002), 22–36. 20 For the reception of the Hungarian refugees in Yugoslavia see Ibid. Cf. Katarina Kovaþeviü: A menekültkérdés Jugoszláviában. In Az 1956–os forradalom visszhangja a szovjet tömb országaiban. Az 1956–os Intézet évkönyve, Budapest, 2007, 134–153. 21 Unpublished set of questionnaires with former Hungarian foreign legionnaires, N2 Memories of Sándor Nemes (Borgo, Corsica), Author’s private collection, 7.

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selection camp” in Eszék. (In the meantime he received the shocking news from home that his father, who used to be the commander of the revolutionary guard in his town, was sentenced to 15 years in prison, and realized that there was no way back for him, either). As he remembers, the painfully long selection process of the Australian immigrant contingent was finally accelerated by the tragedy of another teenager. The latter’s elder sister, a university student and her fiancé had already been selected for the Australian transport, when it turned out, that her under-age brother was not on the list: The boy on that very day deserted through the fence, and threw himself under a fast train. Everybody was deeply moved and outraged; even the “Aussies” seemed to be quite shocked, because from then on, all who had applied before were permitted to leave for Australia. My name was read also soon after this sinister case.22

Family Adoptions How many Hungarian minors were hosted by western families? What were the preferences of their selection, and how did their ultimate fate justify these highly sensitive and risky choices? Though we cannot rely on overall statistical data, by reading contemporary press reports or collecting further information, we may gain the impression, that all in all there were many thousands of host families and adoption cases, especially in Austria, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Britain, and the Benelux and Scandinavian countries. According to the documents of the Swiss Red Cross (SRC), only in Switzerland were there 580 minor Hungarian refugees hosted by Swiss families (plus a number of Hungarian Jewish minors adopted as a result of an active mediation service of the local Jewish organizations.) Their individual files, though yet to be published, have been neatly preserved in the SRC Archives, thus providing a solid basis for statistical conclusions.23 In late 1956 and early 22

Unpublished interview with ’56 emigrant Nándor Orbán made by his younger brother György Orbán in Budapest, June 2011, 40 page manuscript, Author’s private collection. 23 The adoption files of the under-age Hungarian refugees of 1956–57, Special archive collection of the Swiss Red Cross, Bern. These personal documents are still kept strictly confidential. However Dr. T. S. Pataky (St. Gallen, Switzerland), himself a onetime adopted teenage boy in 1956, had been recently allowed to see the list of the close to 600 adoptees, and it was he, who, without mentioning names or personal data, prepared the above statistics at the author’s request.

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1957, 499 Hungarian children arrived in Switzerland without families, most of them young teenagers: the youngest was a three-year-old boy, the oldest a 17-year-old girl. A year later, another group of 80 under-age refugees arrived from Austria, but their files are far less detailed. With the help of the Swiss Red Cross, everyone had a host family within a few days or weeks, but in none of the cases did this mean legal family adoption. The host parents took care of the hosted child, but practiced de facto rather than de jure tutelage. The hosting programme through many donations was generously financed by the SRC, though many of the host families were middle class or even better off. As for the male–female ratio of the hosted children, one-fifth of them were girls. Within a year, 85 of them were returned to Hungary, and 40 others were transferred to a third country. There is, unfortunately, no record of their subsequent fate. However, those who remained, according to the SRC files, were in most cases lucky in finding new families for many years to come, if not for a lifetime. The reception of “the orphans of the revolution” in Italy was similar. As the Hungarian emigrant journalist Zsuzsa SzĘnyi writes in her memoirs of 1956: In Italy it was difficult to find a job even at that time, yet many families offered their help to the young Hungarian escapees. Those under–age refugee boys [most of them miners’ apprentices] arriving from Pécs coalmines were hosted by Italian families.24

Let us now examine individual cases. The 17-year-old orphan Tibor Sámuel Pataky was the son of a state secretary of the mid-war period, whose mother, before her marriage, was a well-known actress. Tibor was arrested in a street raid on the second day of the revolution, kept and interrogated for three days in the central prison of the ÁVH (Államvédelmi Hatóság–(the Hungarian KGB)), though he did not take part in the street fighting. Later, he managed to escape to Austria, and in March 1957 was taken to Glarus (Switzerland) by Dr. Otto Müller, a grammar school teacher, who provided a warm and supporting intellectual family ambiance for him, but without formal adoption. The ambitious refugee boy ended up having an outstanding career, becoming the top manager of the Association of the Swiss Textile Companies—this was in

24

Zsuzsa SzĘnyi, A Triznya–kocsma. Magyar sziget Rómában (Budapest: Kortárs 2006), 25.

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spite of the fact that his host family could not finance his higher education, requiring him to make a living on his own.25 In fact, most adoptions proved to be unsuccessful. The causes of failure may differ in each and every case; much must be attributed to the major mental, social, and cultural differences, as well as the general frustration caused by language barriers. Sometimes even the most dedicated and well-off families had to return the adopted youngster, and, in some grave conflict cases, minor refugees could not be prevented from escaping or committing suicide. The story of Lajos Kiss was possibly one of the most extreme, with a hint of political curiosity. The 13-year-old boy escaped from a state orphanage in Dorog (a mining town in the Transdanubian area), having already been transferred from Austria to Portugal a week before Christmas together with 30 other boys, who were all housed in a children’s home at Santa Mare, Portugal (near Lisbon). As he later remembers: A few days after the ex-governor of Hungary, Miklós Horthy, came to visit us to express, as he said, his compassionate feelings towards the Hungarian youth who shared his fate as a political exile. Finally, his choice fell on me, he took me with him and from then on I could live close to him in his Lisbon residence.26

However, this symbolic adoption, which was intended as a political rather than a personal gesture, was felt to be quite cold and rigid by the “poor proletarian boy from Dorog”, as Lajos Kiss characterized himself. The luxurious treatment soon ended with admiral Horthy’s death just two months later. The teenage boy was dismissed, and thus exposed to all the troubles of a lone and alien child. When I was sent away, I felt like seeing life and lived as a tramp for a while. Later I was taken to an approved school and sent back to Austria, where I was trained as a car mechanic.27

Coming of age a few years later, he left for America, and is still living in Passice, near New York City.

25

An autobiography of Dr. Tibor Sámuel Pataky written in St. Gallen, Switzerland, June 2011, 18 pages manuscript, author’s private archive. 26 Kiválasztottként Horthyéknál (Hosted at Horthy’s home. An interview with Lajos Kiss, published in a countryside daily), Délmagyarország (Szeged), 23 June 1989, 3. 27 Ibid. Interview with Lajos Kiss.

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As with the “Santa Mare transport”, Hungarian refugee minors were taken by smaller groups of 20 to 50 to many of the host countries, such as Austria, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, France, or the Benelux or Scandinavian states. 16-year-old Gyula Sorbán, who later joined the French Foreign Legion and became a clarinet player in its band, was hosted in a Swedish royal resort near Fontainebleau, France, together with a group of 35 Hungarian refugee boys. The members of these transported groups were later either adopted, or, in coming of age, left for work and lived on their own.28

Secondary School Pupils as Refugees in Austria By Resolution 1132/XI on 10 January 1957, the UN General Assembly established the Special Committee on the Problem of Hungary for the purpose of investigating the 1956 revolution in Hungary, the subsequent Soviet military intervention and the circumstances and events that led to the installation of a counter-revolutionary government under János Kádár. Five countries were asked to delegate members to the Committee: Australia, Denmark, Ceylon, Tunisia and Uruguay. Before the “Committee of Five” submitted its first report on the “Hungarian problem”29 to the General Assembly in June 1957, it had interviewed 111 carefully selected refugees in the cities of New York, Rome, Vienna, Geneva, and London. Among them, was a grammar school girl from Budapest, whose testimony was heard and recorded confidentially in Vienna at the end of March 1957 with the identity code of “PP”. The name of the girl and her later fate is still a secret, since the Committee of Five, for good reasons, granted anonymity to all its witnesses—the Soviet UN delegation kept on demanding the disclosure of their list!—but “PP” was hardly chosen as a witness by chance. Even before the revolution, she had been elected by the “Pupils’ Parliament” to the five-member delegation which entered talks on some school reforms with the Ministry of Education. On 23 October, she was one of the 28

From the unpublished set of questionnaires with former Hungarian foreign legionnaires, N1 Memories of Gyula Sorbán (Toulon, France), Author’s private collection, 6. 29 The first report that blamed the Hungarian Stalinist leadership and the Soviet military intervention for the violent conflict was approved by the overwhelming majority by the resolution of the UN General Assembly on 14 September 1957. See United Nations Report of the Special Committee on the Problem of Hungary, General Assembly, Official Records: Eleventh Session, supplement No. 18/A/3592 (New York: UN, 1957).

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organizers of the student demonstration (it was officially banned till the last moment), and the same night she demanded with many thousands the broadcast of the students’ 16 points for radical changes, when the troops of the ÁVH opened fire on the peaceful protesters around the radio building. Later, during the street fighting, she assisted in a hospital in first aid care and the transport of the wounded. She also had close friends among those hundreds of students who were arrested and taken to the prison at Užgorod (USSR) as captives of the KGB, and she herself witnessed some brutal reprisals on the streets against the unarmed students caught by the ÁVH. Following 4 November, “PP” was repeatedly searched for at her home, so she had to go into hiding until she managed to escape to Austria in early February 1957, where she was placed by the Austrian Caritas in a nunnery in Vienna with thirty other refugee girls. There were secondary schools, especially in Budapest and close to the Austrian borders (in cities like GyĘr, Sopron, Sárvár, and Szombathely), from which whole classes fled, often led by their teachers. A good example is the “Berzsenyi” grammar school of the border town of Sopron, which was left almost abandoned after its pupils and teachers had walked to Austria led by director Dr. RezsĘ Peéry, who later became a prominent funding teacher of the Hungarian refugee grammar school which opened in Obertraun.30 Another commonly known example of “corporate emigration” is that of the Special School of Sopron for Training Forestry Technicians. The third and fourth year pupils left together with the students and professors of the local Forestry College, and finally finished their studies in Canada, near Powel Hill, where a Hungarian language training institute was established for the refugee youth.31 In fact, by 1957, the Austrian government managed to establish a complete secondary school system with dormitories for some 2,000 Hungarian pupils, running it for almost six years. In addition, the UNHCR itself, together with the French, Dutch, and Norwegian missions, greatly contributed to the maintenance of the refugee schools. Hungarian language special schools operated for many years in Retz, Spittal an der Drau, Innsbruck, Rum and other places; the best known was Hirtenberg, where hundreds of joiners, locksmiths, car mechanics, and electricians were trained. Thanks to Dutch aid, the Hungarian worker youth in Hochleiten were placed with the Austrians, but in separate rooms. As for the grammar 30

For life and works of Dr. DezsĘ Peéry (1910–1977) see the biography of István Kocsis: Peéry DezsĘ küzdelmei… (Sopron: Berzsenyi Gimnázium, 2006), 176. 31 For further details of Sopron College of Forestry moved to Canada see http://www.hungarianpresence.ca/History/Sopron-Kozak-pt2.cfm (accessed 12 October 2012).

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schools with dormitories, these were all established, with only one exception, in the remote Tirol area. For six years there were more than 800 Hungarian teenagers being educated in five grammar schools: in Grän, Innsbruck, Iselberg, Kammer, and Wiesenhof, with some 160 girls among them—where the representation of the “orphans” (those who fled without family) varied by schools from 60 to 90 per cent. After the last pupils matriculated, all five Hungarian schools were closed in 1963 (since then, the only remaining grammar school for Hungarian emigrant children is in Burg Kastl, Bavaria, Germany founded in 1958).32 Later, most of them managed to pass their “exams” fairly successfully in their adult life, becoming teachers, doctors, engineers, economists, and businessmen, and, since 1990, some of them have resettled in their native land. However, many of their friends on the Hungarian side of the border, who had returned from Austria, had far less promising prospects.

Under-age Re-emigrants as Agents of the Communist Secret Police Among the painfully few files of the Hungarian State Security Archives (Állambiztonsági Szolgálatok Történelmi Levéltára, Budapest—ÁBTL), there were no fewer than eight new registrations of under-age secret spies after 1957—solely from Vas County in western Hungary.33 These young boys, who were obviously all frightened (their illegal escape in late 1956 was never forgiven, despite all the promises of amnesty for their disloyalty), were charged to spy on their comrades, to find out if any of them wanted to leave for Austria, and to watch and report on the homecoming emigrants. As their personal registration files show, most of them were brought up in large labouring or peasant families, left school in 32

For the history of Hungarian secondary schools in Austria following 1956 see ErnĘ Deák, Ungarische Mittelschulen in Österreich nach 1956 (Wien: Zentralverband, 2006). Another well-documented source with dozens of interviews cited is the book of Alexandra Haas, Ungarn in Tirol. Flüchtlingsschicksale 1945– 1956 (Insbruck–Wien–Bozen: Studien Verlag, 2008). The life career of the ’56 Hungarian minor refugees maturated in Austria was researched and published by András Lénárt, “Fluchtgeschichten von 1956er Jugendlichen,” in Ibolya Mörber– Zoltán Fónagy, eds., Die ungarische Revolution und Österreich 1956 (Wien: Czernin Verlag, 2006), 465–495. 33 The ABTL files of the eight minor spies from Vas county: “Csontos,” B-87943; “Koltai RezsĘ,” B-87185; M-5546; “Lázár,” B-90294, M-35221; “Söptei,” B106875; M-9936; “Szamosi,” B-96913; M-7827; M-13712; “Kerekes János,” B85112; M-4001; “Puskás,” B-86812; M-5356; “Sirály,” B-92784, M-1027.

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their early teens, and took poorly paid hard work on state farms or in factories close to the Austrian border (in places like Ják, Ikervár, Pusztasomorja or Szombathely). After one or two years, most of them were dismissed from the agents’ network as “inappropriate” or “with no chance of getting operative information”. However, one of them became publicly known as an agent, and there was also one with the pseudonym “Puskás” who, after a while, was courageous enough to refuse to spy on his own friends. There was only one among these eight under-age spies who kept on serving for the longer term: a high school boy with the pseudonym “Lázár”, from the border town of Szombathely. He later gained a law degree and managed to make a decent countryside career as a state company lawyer in the active service of the Communist secret police until 1972, at the age of 33, when he was finally released.34 Many of his lengthy reports reveal the doubtful character of an intelligent, ambitious, yet morally disintegrated young man. Regarding the overall picture we should note that the large network of spies suddenly collapsed during the days of the revolution, and thus the whole system had to be completely rebuilt from scratch, especially the “youth sector”. This is reflected in the confidential notes of a secret report given in early 1958 by the sub-department of the Hungarian Ministry of the Interior II/5-f entitled: On the present political situation of the secondary school pupils and teachers.35 As its summary argues: There are whole counties, where our operative corps have no more than just one or two agents to rely on. […] In the city of Szeged [the educational and regional centre in south-east of Hungary], for instance, where there are three grammar schools, two teachers training schools and ten technical schools, we have presently only one single agent to control all of them.36

It is not surprising that a year later the Operative Department of the Dzerzhinsky Police Academy of Budapest edited a confidential report in 300 copies, written by police captain Emil Zalai, entitled: Special tasks of the operative counter–intelligence work in fighting against some hostile elements infiltrated among the youth, which dedicates a whole chapter to

34

For the agent register file and agent reports of “Lázár” see ÁBTL B-90294, and ÁBTL M-35221. 35 Secret report on the hostile elements controlled by II/5-f sub-department of the Ministry of the Interior, 8 January 1958, Appendix 36, State Security Archives, Budapest, ÁBTL A–985/2. 36 Ibid., 2.

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the issue of “How to recruit and use new agents from among the youth”. 37 Here are some encouraging guidelines for the would-be state security officers: It can easily happen, even if we have collected a sufficient amount of damning data about the candidate, that our efforts to recruit him or her finally fails, because of the lack of thorough character analysis or a certain forcing fanaticism shown by the officer. […] Even to acquire damning data may sometimes well prove to be difficult. However, we should not be discouraged by these failures, since now we can successfully rely on the step-by-step method of recruitment, which, after sufficient scrutiny, will no doubt reach its goal.38

Among the minors who returned from the west and were then forced to become secret spies, one of the gravest cases is that of a prison agent with the pseudonym “Pál Csorba”. His handwritten reports given for more than six years, from 1960 to 1966, have survived in four thick files,39 and are read even today as shocking testimonies which preserve the words and characters of many dozens of his fellow prisoners, among them some prominent intellectuals and politicians, like István Bibó, Árpád Göncz, JenĘ Széll, and Ferenc Mérei, with more or less fidelity. The secret “reporter” himself was made a spy at the age of twenty, soon after the hunger strike of the political prisoners at Vác was violently suppressed in March of 1960. He is still living among us as a respected natural scientist and protector of the environment, though his autobiography is silent about this dark secret of his youth. In autumn 1956, he was a third year secondary schoolboy who joined the revolutionary armed group of Széna tér (Hay Market Square), then left for Austria in mid-November, engaged in some emigrant plots and was finally recruited as an agent by British intelligence, which repeatedly sent him back to Budapest on secret missions. On his third trip to Hungary, at the end of January 1957, he was caught and arrested, sentenced to twelve years prison, which he spent in two prisons in Budapest (FĘ utca and GyĦjtĘfogház), in Vác and Márianosztra, and was released in spring 1963 under the general amnesty. In his regular reports on István Bibó and other fellow prisoners, there is a striking paradox: whilst 37 Special tasks of the counter-intelligence operative work in fighting against the hostile elements infiltrated among the youth, by Captain Béla Zalai, published by the Operative Department of the Dzerzhinsky Police Academy, Budapest, 21 January 1959. 38 Ibid., 13. 39 Agent reports given by “Csorba Pál” in 4 files, ÁBTL-M18130; M-24608, M24608/1-2.

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he himself is obviously becoming more and more broken, he describes in the utmost detail the bravest deeds of the others, although with some understandable negative comments in addition. For instance, the way in which outstanding middle age scholars, writers and politicians, such as Bibó, Göncz, and Mérei taught and protected the uneducated young workers, tried to help those in trouble, and took great personal risks by passing secret messages out of prison, etc. Thus, their betrayer “Csorba”, willy-nilly, became the true chronicler of comradeship, prisoners’ solidarity, and loyalty to the high moral standards of the revolution.

Victimization of Teenage Freedom Fighters In László Eörsi’s half a dozen monographs on the revolutionary armed groups of Budapest, published thus far,40 we find many minors who bravely took part in the street fighting and rescue of the wounded, among them dozens of teenage boys who later escaped to the west, but soon returned to Hungary and suffered many years of imprisonment or longterm police harassment. There is no space here to present all the individual cases, so we mention some of the typical groups of minors victimized by the ruthless reprisals after 1956. In the medieval part of Buda castle during the 1950s, in one of the oldest buildings of Úri utca (Gentlemen’s Street), there was a dormitory maintained for mason-apprentices. Here, many teenage boys with a country background joined the freedom fighters of Széna tér (Hay Market Square) from the very outbreak of the revolution. They provided patrol and courier services, prepared Molotov cocktails to attack Soviet tanks, and often fought themselves. Later, many of them fled to the west without parents, as did 17-year-old Árpád Képes. He took part in the street fighting, then escaped to the west, and drifted through some 16 countries worldwide, until he joined the French Foreign Legion, where, a few months later he escaped from Algeria, returning to Hungary at the end of 1958, and was arrested.41 Apart from him, there were at least some six more mason-apprentices from the Úri utca, all minors when they joined the freedom fighters in 1956, who were sentenced from 6 to 8 years in prison.

40

See László Eörsi’s latest monograph: A "Baross Köztársaság” 1956 (Budapest, L’Harmattan: 2011). For further biographies and photos see also the website of the author: www.eorsilaszlo.hu (accessed 12 October 2012). 41 Secret police interrogation file of the arrested Árpád Képes of February 1959, ÁBTL 3.1.9. V-144896.

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Another case leads us to the rural correction school for minors in the village of Aszód. Here there was a 14 year-old boy, named Gergely Fodor (“Spiny”), an orphan brought up in state children’s homes, who in October 1956 persuaded a dozen of his comrades to escape, arm themselves from the local military casern, and then march some 30 miles to Budapest in order to join the revolutionaries there. The hell-bent troop of teenage boys first offered their services to the largest stronghold of freedom fighters at Corvin alley, then left for the hilly Buda side of the city and joined the revolutionary militia at Schmidt Castle. Their task as scouts was to monitor the strategic lines of the Soviet tank invasion towards the capital, which they not only monitored but also tried to block by daring actions, e.g. blowing up a bridge in the path of the Russian tanks near the wood of Bag. Soon after the fighting ended, six boys from the “Aszód squadron” were caught and sentenced to from five to nine years in prison.42 The sacrifice of the Oroszlány apprentice miners is even more tragic and moving. There were some 400 of them, all boys aged 14–17, trained at the coal-mines of Oroszlány, and who, in the second week of the revolution were sent back to their distant homes in the eastern part of Hungary. However, they could not get further than the Eastern Railway Station in Budapest, since the Soviet Army was heavily blocking all the railways leading east. Among these 400, some 90 voluntarily joined the insurgents of the Baross Square group just a night before the beginning of the second Soviet military invasion of October 4. The next morning they became the first victims of the dreadful attack. Many of them died, were wounded or disappeared; others managed to escape to the west, but later, when they returned, were caught and imprisoned for many years.43 Finally, let me just mention two individual cases to illustrate the merciless character of the reprisals after 1956. The first one is that of Károly Novák, a minor insurgent from the Práter street group (a workers’ district of Budapest), who was lucky to escape to the west in late 1956; but in the summer of 1958, he returned from England, and was arrested. Although the dreaded judge Gusztáv Tutsek could not find any evidence that he had committed violent deeds during the revolution when he was only 16, the court sentenced him in the first instance to capital punishment, which was only reduced to a 10-year prison sentence by the superior court. 42

Interview with Gergely Fodor made by László Eörsi, Budapest, April 1992, The Oral History Archives ( OHA) of 1956 Institute, Budapest, N 397, 137. 43 Some of their names preserved by archive court and secret police files–e.g. that of István Czibulya, Ferenc D. Tóth, Zoltán Grega, Róbert Horváth, Károly Klárik, and Sándor Nagy. Cited also with further details by Eörsi, A “Baross Köztársaság,” 451–500.

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Another unlucky re-emigrant of the same age was Tibor Rajna, (“Blondy”), an insurgent of the TĦzoltó (Fire brigade) Street group, who returned from West Germany in the summer of 1957. Sentenced as an adult, he received 8 years for the first, and 12 years for the second, instance.44 Both onetime minor freedom fighters were released in the spring of 1963 under the “general” amnesty.45

Refugee Minors Who Joined the U.S. Army and the French Foreign Legion At the beginning of 1963, the first year of the “Kádárist consolidation”, police colonel Lajos Karasz, the head of the counter-intelligence division (BM III/II dept.) of the Hungarian Ministry of the Interior ordered all of its 20 sub-divisions (19 in the country, and in Budapest) to search for data on all Hungarians who had joined “the hostile imperialist armies” i.e. the French Foreign Legion and the U.S. Army (some eight to ten thousand men). Unfortunately, only two dossiers have survived in the State Security Historical Archives (ÁBTL): the GyĘr-Sopron county (re: the U.S. soldiers), and the Pest county file (re: the legions).46 Let us start with the Hungarian “emigrant contingent” of the U.S. Army after 1956. At the end of the secret file from GyĘr-Sopron county there is a detailed registration list of 134 men who fled to the west and then joined the U.S. Army. Nearly a third of these were under-age when they fled in late 1956, but their real number may in fact be three times that, due to the lack of data from the Hungarian communist secret service, and many of the “hiding cases”.47 So this may in reality add up to nearly the complement of a “peacetime company”—i.e. 3x38=114—that left from a 44 As for Novák’s case see the documents of trial „Fáncsik György és tsai,” Budapest City Archive (BFL) 9024/59; For Rajna’s case see the documents of trial „Szirmai Ottó és tsai,” BFL 9024/59 as well as an interview made by László Eörsi in 1990 for the OHA of 1956 Institute, Budapest N 324, 120. 45 The government decree 4/1963 proclaimed liberty to “all political prisoners” on 21 March 1963. As a result of the so-called “UN” or “General Amnesty” some 4,000 convicted were released from Hungarian prisons. However, ca. 500 political prisoners of 1956, especially workers and those who took active part in the fights were still kept behind the bars, often till early 1970s. 46 For U.S. soldiers from GyĘr-Sopron county see ÁBTL 3.1.5. O-18563/1. For members of the Foreign Legion see ÁBTL O–3.5.1.17446. 47 List of the U.S. soldiers from GyĘr-Sopron county: ÁBTL 3.1.5. O-18563/1, 163–178. Out of the 134 mercenaries registered after their discharge or escape, 25 emigrants returned to Hungary before 1965.

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single Hungarian county alone, out of the 20. Thus this number (114) multiplied by 20 allows the cautious nationwide extrapolation that there were altogether some 2,500 Hungarian under-age emigrants who later joined the American Army. True, not all of them did so voluntarily, since by the escalation of the Vietnam War from the mid-1960s more and more of the conscripts were being taken to the Indochinese battlefields, including many young Hungarian immigrants, most of whom were, at that point, U.S. citizens. Their individual careers are revealing. There were many emigrant minors who did not even have to cross the Atlantic to serve in the American army. They could have enlisted at almost any of the U.S. military bases in West Germany, Italy, or France for a dogwatch or a labour service of a few years, like Zoltán D., a locksmith apprentice from the city of GyĘr, who served on a number of U.S. military bases in West Germany before returning to Hungary, and the above-mentioned Tibor Rajna (“Blondy”), who with some pals from Austria was first transported to Belgium. From there, he went illegally to West Germany just to join the U.S. Army at its Frankfurt headquarters. Other minors, if departing early enough from home, could easily have joined the first refugee transport to the “New World”, where, a few years, later they could volunteer either in the army or navy. The armed services could certainly offer much better prospects for those who had already finished two or three years in a technical or grammar school before they left their native country. If they were studious and tough enough, they could easily pass their exams to become warrant officers and officers, and then the expenses of a higher education would be largely covered by the Pentagon in return for their engagement in the army for an allotted period of time, once graduated.48 Among these young men, more and more arrived for short family visits home from the mid-1960s, as American citizens and U.S. Army officers on leave engaged in a higher education. A secret police report written in late 1965 in GyĘr mentioned about nine such visitors in GyĘr-Sopron County alone, among them there were four, who in late 1956, had escaped as minors.49 Here is the typical career of Zoltán B. who was born in GyĘr in 1939: He spent his holiday with his sister in the village of Bágyogszovát from 28 July to 4 September. He had left for Austria as a minor in November 1956, 48

Az USA hadseregében szolgálatot teljesítĘ és szolgálatot teljesített magyar személyek (Secret report on Hungarian citizens served or still serving in the U.S. Army), GyĘr, 21 December 1965, ÁBTL 3.1.5. O-18563/1, 51. 49 Ibid., 52.

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and from there, he immigrated to the USA half a year later. From 1959 until 1961 he served in the U.S. Army, and then he received a fellowship for his studies at a University of Economics. He is about to start the fifth year now with a monthly grant of $275. When questioned, he firmly refused to answer any questions about the U.S. Army, stating cynically that he cannot provide us any such information.50

However, not all U.S. soldiers’ careers were success stories. According to an agent report of June 1963, Zoltán J. (born in Budapest, 1940) sent a secret message to his parents living in the village of BĘnyrétalap (west Hungary), …letting them know that he joined the U.S. Army, and is presently doing his service in West Germany. As he confidentially informed his parents, he was not allowed to give his address. However, he was planning to desert and return home as soon as possible, before he would be taken to fight in Indochina.51

It seems that the three main sources of information for the secret police were the regular mail control, secret agent reports, and the questioning of the exiles’ relatives. Further “adventures” could be read in the records of secret police interrogations of those who returned. László M. (born in GyĘr in 1940), for example, was transported from the camp of Salzburg to Cleveland, from where he later joined the U.S. Navy. As a mariner, he served on the submarine Carton Conny until May 1962, when he escaped from an Italian naval base, and returned illegally to Hungary.52 Another under-age escapee István K. (also born in GyĘr, in 1939) was first transported from the Austrian refugee camp to a children’s home in Rome with a group of minors. As he related upon his returning to Hungary, he volunteered in the U.S. Army in March 1957 on “the agitation of some American employees”, who frequently visited them. Soon thereafter he was shipped to Fort Jackson, where after six months’ training, he was sent to Frankfurt am Main and Augsburg. There he served until April 1960, when he deserted, took a train to Vienna and crossed the border illegally into Hungary. Finally both young men received amnesty and, from then on, were employed as untrained workers in the Wagon Factory of GyĘr.53 These Cold War “picaresques” found in the secret police files suggest an endless variety of lonesome cases of necessity. 50

Ibid., 53. Cited from a secret agent’s report of 13 June 1963, Ibid., 32. 52 Ibid., 54. 53 Ibid., ÁBTL 3.1.5. O-18563/1, 54. 51

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As to the same age group of minors who later joined the Legion, we are lucky to have far more substantive sources.54 Out of the estimated 500 who engaged in the French colonial corps in the period between 1956 and 1965, we managed to thus far identify around 250 volunteers (the entire headcount of Hungarian legions in the period is calculated at 3,000).55 Here we can rely on not just a great number of secret police documents (agent and police reports, archive letters and photographs, minutes of interrogations of the legions deserted, etc.), for the research was also recently extended to the Archives of the Legion (Centre Documentation, and Bureau des Anciens) in Aubagne, where no Hungarian historian had previously visited.56 Moreover, in the summer of 2011, we were lucky to find a circle of Hungarian veterans (anciens amicales) in Provence, with whom we started to record oral history interviews as well as a documentary film entitled Patria nostra (they had all fled as minors in late 1956, and served 15 to 30 years in the Legion, and today belong to a veteran community of about 25 members in Provence, and some seventy all over France). These much varied sources all suggest that, apart from their common early experiences (wartime childhood, 1956, Algeria, etc.), each legionnaire created a different life career. Even their beginnings and individual motives for joining the Legion varied greatly. By studying the details of those roughly 250 biographies, we find surprisingly different social origins: some of them were brought up in state homes as orphans or abandoned children, others came from large peasant and workers’ families, but there can also be found among them children with intellectual, middle class, or even aristocratic family backgrounds, to whom the distinguished descent was only “honoured” by constant detriments and humiliation under communist rule. Many of them had dropped out of school and were forced 54 See the Legion’s confidential yearly report of statistics (Bilans Annuels) of e.g. 1959, 1960, or such monographs referring to them, like Alain Gandy, La Légion en Algérie 1954-1962 (Presses de la Cité, Paris, 1992); Pierre Sergent-Bertrand de Castelbajac, La Légion (Paris: Lafayette, 1985). 55 Our research in May 2012 in the Legion’s Archive, Aubagne with my colleague János Marczisovszky focused primarily on the role and proportion of the Hungarian volunteers after 1956, and involved a systematic study of such onetime secret documents like those of the recruiting policies (Selection et Incorporation), the wartime diaries of different regiments (Journaux des Marchés et Operations), and the yearly statistical reports (Bilans Annuels) in the period of 1956–1965. 56 The documentary film Patria Nostra directed by the author is a production of Dunatáj Studio, Budapest. Since October 2011, we managed to record 22 hourlong scenes both in France and Hungary among the ’56 veterans. The film was planned for completion by the end of 2012.

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to take poorly paid slave-like work in mines and factories, while others were put behind bars as young teenagers for rebelliousness, vagrancy, minor thefts or just for trying to escape to the west through the Iron Curtain.57 Small wonder that in the autumn of 1956 they were all enthusiastically involved in the protest demonstrations and the revolutionary unrest which they, well over seventy, still remember as their “battle baptism”. 13-yearold János Spátay volunteered as a courier, passing secret messages (sewed in a football) from the isolated revolutionary troops through the bridges of Budapest blocked heavily by Russian tanks. 14-year-old Béla Huber from Sopron was the first who threw a hand grenade at the local headquarters of ÁVH, and stayed well armed and hidden in the woods along the western border with other teenage boys for a month after the adult insurgents had all fled to Austria. 16-year-old Gyula Sorbán took up arms on the first night at the siege of the radio building, and for days was busy producing “Molotov cocktails” until his leg was gravely injured, hit by a Russian tank grenade. Sándor Soós, a 17-year-old apprentice miner from Oroszlány protected the entrance of the New York Palace (a hotel and press centre in downtown Budapest) with a light machine gun, and only fled to the west with the last groups of insurgents one week after the second Soviet invasion had begun. The boys mentioned above, together with many of their would-be fellows in the Legion, happened to know each other back in Hungary, but in most cases only became close friends when they encountered each other again in north Africa during the fighting in Algeria. The Hungarians who joined the Legion a decade before, at the end of World War II (mostly as teenage war captives in French camps), had experienced the ravaging fighting in Indochina, but the volunteers after 1956 served in Algeria, and then on Corsica, Chad, Madagascar, Tahiti, and other places. To begin with, all recruits signed a contract for five years, but there were many who did not serve their time. Some could only stand it for a few weeks, though others did a service that qualified them for a permanent stay in France or French citizenship; however there were a number of seniors among them who after 16 to 30 years ended their careers as ensigns, the highest rank of warrant officers (Legionnaires were entitled to a pension after fifteen years and eight months’ service, and, as a rule, only native French citizens can become officers in the Legion). It is noteworthy that desertion (or at least an attempt at it) occurs in every fourth case of the Hungarian legionnaires, 57

For further biographical details see some of the archival Hungarian state security files: ÁBTL O-17446; O-19402; O-19600/1-3; O-8-060/1-3; O-16519; O-17018; O-13157–13162.

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especially after mid-1958, when the war became more savage in Algeria. On the other hand, a soldier could be dismissed from the Legion not just through proven mental or physical incapacity, but also by keeping secret some important biographical facts. Thus, there were many Hungarian recruits dismissed later—through the mediation of the International Red Cross—because they had concealed the fact that they were under 18 when they joined the Legion. The Deuxième Bureau (the French military counter-intelligence service) also disclosed some ex-officers and paid party apparatchiks among the Hungarian volunteers.58 But why did so many minor refugees choose to join the Foreign Legion? We might suspect that the adventures offered in popular pulp stories were alluring enough. Yet there were obviously more weighty motives as well. First of all, most of these teenage boys were driven far from their homes by the endless grievances suffered since their early childhood, and the fear of reprisals for those who took part in the revolutionary fight, which was no doubt soon justified as we have seen from the massive manhunt even for under-age insurgents. However, similarly heavy pressures later pushed them to the recruiting offices of the Legion: misery, famine, and homelessness, once the regular aid for refugees or the temporary jobs were gone. The losses of this generation of the legionnaires, the number of those who were lost, injured, or killed in the Algerian fighting, are still to be explored by further research. The same holds true for the deserters, or those who kept on serving for long decades, so that we can see realistically what asylum was offered for the displaced Hungarian youth by the French colonial army, promising a new homeland to all the homeless with its traditional slogan: Legio [est] patria nostra.

Conclusion As we have seen in a number of cases, many of the emigrant and reemigrant Hungarian youth on both sides of the Iron Curtain remained for long years, if not for a lifetime, hostages of the Cold War. Lonely and defenceless, falling from one trap into another, not many of them were able to choose their future fate freely, nor ever to enjoy a normal adult life. This—although for different reasons and to different extents—equally stands for those who, as stateless youths, drifted through at least a good 58

Information from Hungarian veteran legionnaires László Szabó (Nizza) and Tibor Szecskó (Aix-en-Provence, France). Similar cases are often reported in onetime Hungarian secret files too, e.g. in ÁBTL 3.1.5. O-19600/1-3, and ÁBTL 3.2.5. O-8-092/1.

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dozen countries, changing their jobs frequently, in ports, dockyards, factories, and mines; for those who joined foreign armies as mercenaries, or those who after a couple of months or years returned to their “homeland”, which often received them with massive police harassment, court cases, imprisonment, or forced into the shameful shadow the life of a spy, with a lifelong stigma and a sense of guilt. But, in the beginning, the life of the less deviant minor was not any better—lives that were hopelessly stuck for years in refugee camps, the victims of the immigration bureaucracies, or those who became easy prey for western intelligence and propaganda services. These powerful organizations all wanted to use the large crowds of the immigrant Hungarian youth for their own purposes, in their own corporate interests. And we should not forget that it took many more years even for the “free world” to get rid of the spy hysteria and the gloomy threats of a third world war.

CHAPTER SEVEN EXILES OR EMIGRANTS? POLISH COMPOSERS IN AMERICA MAJA TROCHIMCZYK

While exploring the “émigré” identity of Polonia1 communities in the U.S. it is easy to observe that music and dance played a fundamental role as markers of Polishness.2 Stanislaus Blejwas studied the proliferation of Polish choirs that provided a focus for communal life, way of introducing youth into Polish language and culture and celebrating religious and national festivities in song.3 The ubiquity of folk dancers and children in Polish (mostly Cracovian) costumes at the various public celebrations is also a widespread phenomenon. Emigrants who crossed the ocean za chlebem (to earn their bread) replicated their folk culture in their new communities. Newcomers from other regions joined and their children sung the melodies, danced the steps, and wore the costumes of the “Old Country”.4 Since the 1960s they had been welcoming defectors from 1

For an overview of the history of American Polonia see John J. Bukowczyk, A History of the Polish Americans (Somerset, NJ: Transaction Press, rev. ed., 2007); various aspects of communal life and individual biographies are in James Pula, ed., The Polish American Encyclopedia (Jefferson, NC: McFarland Publishing, 2011). 2 Polish-Americans defined their ethnicity in their publications—literature and the media, Polish-language newspapers—by celebrating Polish holidays, etc. Polish Americans were by no means unified, with each group of immigrants creating their own institutions and defining their “national selves” in a different fashion. Mary Patrice Erdmans traced these distinctions in Opposite Poles: Immigrants and Ethnics in Polish Chicago, 1976–1990 (University Park, Penn.: Pensylvania State University Press, 1990), 25. See also Richard D. Alba, Victor Nee, Remaking The American Mainstream: Assimilation And Contemporary Immigration (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2005). 3 Stanislaus A. Blejwas, Choral Patriotism: The Polish Singers Alliance of America 1888–1998 (New York: University of Rochester Press, 2005). 4 Key publications about Polish folklore in America included: Sula Benet, Song,

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Mazowsze and ĝląsk, the Polish State Folk Song and Dance Ensembles, and the official Polish model of highly stylized folk dance, transformed into lavish, Broadway-style shows.5 As their preferred dance genre for personal use, they favoured the polka, which originated in Bohemia and was equally popular in Germany.6 What the emigrant communities did not embrace was the music by and of their own: Polish émigré composers who arrived with them, but were forgotten, unless they maintained strong connections to Poland.7 As James Pula recently observed, PolishAmerican communities have shown a remarkable form of cultural amnesia, by “remembering Poland, but not Polonia”.8 In selecting names of exiles and emigrants for this study, I considered the following issues: did the émigré composers consider themselves Polish after leaving Poland? Did they assert their Polish identity in language (words, titles of pieces, using the Polish language in daily life), or in music (dances, melodies, or topics)? What external markers of national/ethnic identity did they use? Did they join Polish-American communities upon arrival in the US? I included their names if the answer to the majority of these questions was “yes”. However, I also considered issues pertaining to their artistic standing: Did they find a place in music history? Were they integrated into Polish music history and remembered by Polish scholars? Did emigration help or harm their artistic status?

Dance, and Customs of Peasant Poland (New York: AMS, 1979, first published in 1951); Ada Dziewanowska, Polish Folk Dances and Songs: A Step–by–Step Guide (New York: Hippocrene Books, 1997, and subsequent reprints); Maja Trochimczyk, Polish Dance in Southern California, East European Monographs Series No. 662 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007). 5 Maja Trochimczyk, “The Impact of State Ensembles Mazowsze and ĝląsk on Polish Folk Dance Movement in California,” Polish American Studies 63, no. 1 (Spring 2006), 5–39. 6 See the comparison of the “polonaise” and the “polka” as Poland’s national dance, in Maja Trochimczyk, Polish Dance, chapter 3. For a history of the polka see Keil Charles and Angeliki V. Keil. Polka Happiness (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1992); for its place in Polonia, see Erdmans, Opposite Poles. 7 Published studies of Polish-American music included besides Blejwas’s monumental volume, folk dance anthologies, and polka studies, Aleksander Janta-PoáczyĔski, A History of Nineteenth Century American-Polish Music (New York: The Kosciuszko Foundation, 1982, 2nd ed., 1992). The volume, a result of 15 years of study by a World War II veteran, includes a three-page index of composers whose names had never been recognized by historians. 8 Paper read at the Fifth Workshop on American Ethnicity, Kraków, Jagiellonian University, 28 May 2012.

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An important question relates to defining a “Polish composer”. My survey includes classical musicians, who composed for the concert hall, even if they were primarily known as popular music artists, but excludes performers who did not compose, such as classical pianists. The most famous among them was undoubtedly the great Polish patriot, pianist Arthur Rubinstein (1887–1982), an American citizen since 1946.9 Stylistic reasons—the traditional exclusion of popular music from Polish music history—underlie omitting song-writers without any classical music works to their credit, such as Krzysztof Klenczon (1942–1981), guitarist, and the leader of Poland’s pre-eminent rock group Czerwone Gitary in 1965–1970 before his move to Chicago in 1973. I likewise exclude representatives of other music professions, such as musicologists or music historians, though a consideration of Karol Berger (b. 1947), Professor of Fine Arts at Stanford University, or Halina Goldberg (b. 1957), a Chopin specialist at Indiana University, would have allowed me to study the forced exile of Polish Jews in 1968.10 Among “classical” composers, I selected musicians from historical lands of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, of Polish and/or Jewish descent, if they were raised speaking Polish and continued associating with Polish culture, language and communities after emigrating to the U.S. Thus, ethnic Poles and Jews assimilated to Polish culture are considered on an equal footing; however the list of “Polish” composers omits those emigrants who upon arriving in the U.S. integrated solely into the Jewish American or American community.11 The identification of Polish ethnicity with religion has been an issue that John J. Bukowczyk examined in “Polish Americans, Ethnicity and Otherness”, focusing on the formation of ethnic and national identities among Polish immigrants in the U.S. 12 As Bukowczyk observed, the historical multi-ethnicity of the Polish state has 9

Arthur Rubinstein, My Young Years (New York: Knopf, 1973) and My Many Years (New York: Knopf, 1980); Harold C. Schonberg, The Great Pianists (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1987). 10 I invited both scholars to share their stories with me for an article on the year 1968, but Karol Berger declined. See Maja Trochimczyk, “1968–Operation Danube, ISCM, and Polish Music,” Proceedings of the International Conference Polish Music After 1945 held at Christ Church University, Canterbury, U.K., in May 2009. 11 I further discuss this issue in Maja Trochimczyk, “The Question of Identity: Polish-Jewish Composers in California,” in Polin: Studies in Polish Jewry vol. 19, Polish-Jewish Relations in North America, Antony Polonsky and Mieczysáaw B. B. Biskupski, eds. (London: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2007). 12 John J. Bukowczyk, “Polish Americans, Ethnicity and Otherness,” The Polish Review 43 no. 3 (1998), 299–313.

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not been reflected in the construction of a fictional, timeless and ethnically unified Polish Nation which the American Polonia saw as its idealized “Old World homeland”. Moreover, this “grand, formative synthesis” defined “the core of immigrant ethnic identity as co-equally Polish and Roman Catholic” and presented an obstacle to inclusion of other emigrants from Poland, primarily “Jewish Poles”, in the community of Polonia.13

Composers in Exile I–Freedom Fighters There are two main groups of immigrant composers from Poland in the U.S., and the distinction between them is based on an answer to the question “why” the decision to leave was made: was it by force, circumstance or by choice? The largest group of musicians consists of those who had to emigrate owing to historical and political circumstances: they were uprooted by uprisings, social unrest, prosecution, or wars. To name them, I borrow the label of “freedom fighters” from Teofil Lachowicz’s study of Polish veterans in the U.S.14 In his overview of musician-veterans, Lachowicz, a military historian, relied on the work of Aleksander Janta-PoáczyĔski, who identified over 20 composers active in the U.S. in the first half of the nineteenth century, including a sizeable group of veterans of the November Uprising of 1830–31.15 The most distinguished name in this group was that of Julian Fontana (1810–1869), Chopin’s childhood friend and confidante who spent ten years in the U.S., from 1842 to 1850, and returned to Paris where he edited Chopin’s posthumous works and died in obscurity.16 All Polish music scholars are aware of his name, though few know his music.17 Edward B. Bohuszewicz (1813–1848), forcibly deported in 1834 by the Austrian authorities,18 was recognized for his human qualities on his 13

Bukowczyk, 302. Teofil Lachowicz, Polish Freedom Fighters on American Soil: Polish Veterans in America from the Revolutionary War to 1939 (Minneapolis, MN: Two Harbors Press, 2011). 15 Janta-PoáczyĔski, American Polish Music. 16 Fontana is better known as a source about Chopin’s life and work, than in his own right. Living in Chopin’s shadow, he failed to establish himself in the music world and committed suicide in 1869 due to extreme poverty. See Magdalena Oliferko, Fontana i Chopin w Listach (Fontana and Chopin in Letters) (Warszawa: Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina, 2009). 17 He is recognized as having lived “In the Shadow of Chopin” in the title of his website, www.julianfontana.com (accessed 12 October 2012). 18 See Teofil Lachowicz, Polish Freedom Fighters, 34. 14

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tombstone: Banished, in poverty, from the country where he was born in affluence, he found, with us, a home; and with manly fortitude made the accomplishments of his youth not only a source of honest independence, but of generous aid to his exiled countrymen. Gentle, just and virtuous, he won the love of many and respect of all.19

Nonetheless, he did not win recognition of Polish music historians; this neglect was due, in part, to the fact that he was primarily an author of popular dances and songs, such as Beautiful Spring Waltz, Yankee Polka, or The Polish Pilgrim. Adam Kurek (d. 1867), from the same November Uprising, arrived from France in 1833 and worked as a bandmaster in Boston. He also composed popular marches and dances, such as Twelve Admired Quicksteps, subtitled “To the Memory of Lost Poland”, published in 1842.20 Other neglected composers of “forgettable” music included Edward KaĔski, who penned both words and music for the timeless gem, My Grandma’s Advice,21 and Maximilian (Mackiewicz) Zuboff, the author of Grand Victoria Waltz and The Washington Light Infantry Quick Step, published in 1842 in Philadelphia.22 According to Janta-PoáczyĔski and Lachowicz these well educated members of the Polish nobility earned their living after their forced exile by performing, teaching, and composing music.23 Jan N. Pychowski (1818–1900) arrived in the U.S. in the mid-1850s, and his emigration may be credited to the upheaval of the 1846 Rabacja, or Peasant Rising in Galicia and the 1848 Spring of Nations. This 19

Cited from Jen Snoots, Edward B. Bohuszewicz’s Memorial, Swan Point Cemetery, Providence, Rhode Island. Find a Grave Memorial No. 22508293; http://www.findagrave.com/cgi–bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=22508293 (accessed 10 June 2012). 20 Kurek came to the U.S. in 1833 via France and composed numerous marches and dances for the Boston Brigade Band, published and performed through the 1840s in Boston. See Lachowicz, Polish Freedom Fighters, 34. 21 Edward KaĔski, My Grandma’s Advice, series Christy’s Minstrels’ Series Popular Songs for the Pianoforte with Choruses–Musical Bouquet Edition No. 2272 (London: Chas. Sheard & Co. Music Publishers, 1890). 22 By Ld. Meignen & Co, a copy is in the special collections of the University of Pennsylvania, http://www.library.upenn.edu/collections/rbm/keffer/queen.html (accessed 12 October 2012). 23 See Janta-PoáczyĔski, American-Polish Music, 41–49; on Bohuszewicz see 22– 26; on Fontana, 53–55; on GawroĔski, 58–64 on Kurek. Lachowicz summarizes his predecessor’s work in Polish Freedom Fighters, 32–36.

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forgotten composer and music teacher was active in New York and New Jersey beginning in the 1850s, but with the exception of JantaPoáczyĔski’s monograph his name is absent from histories of Polish music. In some music reference books, such as the New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, Pychowski is mistakenly listed as a Bohemian, not a Pole.24 I found his name in an American translation of Franz Liszt’s biography of Chopin by Martha Walker Cook (1807–1874).25 Her translation, dedicated to the Polish composer, was first published in 186326 and had reached its fourth edition by 1880, disseminating the name of Pychowski, her beloved teacher and mentor. Cook considered Pychowski “a composer of true, deep, and highly original genius”. The Library of Congress lists some of his works: Festival March in E-flat Major; Adagio and Polka Brilliante, Op. 21; and En Avant! An Evening on the Water. Pychowski’s Perpetual Canon for Violin and Viola appeared in The Musical World and New York Musical Times of 3 September 1853. Vera Brodsky Lawrence mentions him among composers performed by the New York American Music Association in 1857.27 Furthermore, he is listed as the teacher of an organist and composer Samuel Augustus Ward (1847–1903), best remembered for having penned the melody used in America, the Beautiful. Clearly, there is a lot more to be known about Pychowski and we should claim him for Polish music history. In the 1860s, Pychowski’s generation of exiles was followed to America by another wave of veterans. Jarosáaw ZieliĔski (1847–1922) had a hard time settling in after leaving Poland in the wake of the fateful January Uprising. This pianist, composer and music critic fared even worse in Polish music history than Pychowski: few music scholars know about his existence and the New Grove Dictionary does not even contain an entry about him. In the U.S., he may be found in Janta-PoáczyĔski’s study and among 900 Poles profiled in the Polish Bibliographical 24

“Jan Pychowski” in New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians II (2000). Martha Walker Cook (1807–1874) published essays in the Continental Monthly Magazine and served for a time as its editor; in addition to translating Chopin’s biography, she also translated works of Polish romantic literature, e.t. including poetry by Zygmunt KrasiĔski. 26 Franz Liszt, F. Chopin, Nicole Priollaud, ed., reprint (Paris: L. Levy, 1990). English translation, The Life of Chopin, transl. Martha Walker Cook, first published in 1863, Project Gutenberg, http://infomotions.com/etexts/gutenberg/dirs/etext03/lfcpn10.htm (accessed 12 October 2012). 27 Vera Brodsky Lawrence, Strong on Music: The New York Music Scene in the Days of George Templeton Strong, vol. 3, Repercussions, 1857–1862 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 73. 25

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Dictionary (1992). 28 Born in Lubicz Królewski in Poland, he studied in Lvov (Lemberg) with Chopin’s disciple, Karol Mikuli (1819–1897). After further expanding his musical horizons in Vienna and Italy, ZieliĔski fought in the January Uprising and was seriously wounded in 1863. He emigrated to the U.S. in 1864 and participated in the American Civil War, having enlisted in the Union Army. After the end of hostilities, concert tours took him all across the U.S., and he spent time in Michigan, Florida, New York, Alabama, and California. According to Sáownik Muzyków Polskich (1964), he founded a music school in Los Angeles and died in Santa Barbara.29 ZieliĔski composed character pieces for piano, songs, and transcriptions. His publications include a music textbook, and an encyclopaedic article on “The Poles in Music” (1902) in Paderewski’s A Century Library of Music,30 reprinted in Polish Music Journal in 2002.31 The article is notable for its in-depth review of the history of Polish music, from the pre-Christian Slavic times and famous composers of the Renaissance, to ZieliĔski’s contemporaries.32 It should suffice to quote just one statement: The temperament of the Slav does not tolerate oppression nor even constraint; hence, while the attention of music students in other countries was centred on the artificial application of the principles of harmony, Polish musicians, without disdaining the rules of counterpoint, showed a freedom of form and variety of rhythm exclusively Slavonic and particularly Polish.

Composers in Exile II—Escaping Hitler Hitler’s rise to power in 1933 resulted in the departure for America of 28 Stanley S. Sokol, Sharon F. Mrotek Kissane, Alfred L. Abramowicz, The Polish Biographical Dictionary: Profiles of Nearly 900 Poles Who Have Made Lasting Contributions to World Civilization (Wauconda, IL: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 1992). 29 Sáownik Muzyków Polskich (Kraków: PWM, 1964). 30 Ignacy Jan Paderewski et al., eds., The Century Library of Music, vol. 18 (New York: The Century Co., 1902), 591–608. 31 Jaroslaw Zielinski, “The Poles in Music,” Polish Music Journal 5, no. 2 (Winter 2002) http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/5.2.02/polandzielinski.html (accessed 12 October 2012) 32 Maja Trochimczyk, “Chopin and the ‘Polish Race’ On National Ideologies and the Chopin Reception,” in Halina Goldberg, ed., The Age of Chopin: Interdisciplinary Inquiries (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004), 278–313.

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three composers of Jewish descent who anticipated the dangers lying ahead, Karol Rathaus (1895–1954), Bronisáaw Kaper (1902–1983) and Jerzy Fitelberg (1903–1951), who arrived in the late 1930s. Two nonJewish Poles, brothers Feliks and Wiktor àabuĔski, made the same choice in 1935–36, after the success of Wiktor’s “reconnaissance” concert tour in 1929. Their remarkable foresight helped these composers to survive and to save their immediate families; however, emigration had a detrimental impact on the careers of some of them, especially Rathaus and Fitelberg. Karol Rathaus (1895–1954), recognized as an “American composer of Polish origin”, was born in Tarnopol, Galicia, and was a proud citizen of the Austro-Hungarian Empire until his departure from Europe.33 He studied composition first in Vienna and then in Berlin, following his teacher, the then famous opera composer, Franz Schreker (1878–1934).34 It is in Berlin (1926–1932) that he experienced his greatest compositional triumphs. He reflected: Perhaps it was pure chance, mere coincidence, that I was successful in Germany, and virtually only in Germany. I was content to be judged, without exception, on the quality of my work...35

In 1932, in the face of growing anti-Semitism in Germany, Rathaus moved to Paris, then to London, and finally to the U.S. The fact that in 1935 his name was placed on the infamous Goebbels-Liste of modern composers of entartete Musik or “degenerate music”, did not help.36 It estranged him from his musical milieu in Germany, where he had thrived before his works were banned until the end of World War II. His arrival in New York in 1938, with a Polish passport, resulted from an invitation to teach at the newly formed Queens College; he remained there as a 33 Martin Schüssler, “’Karol Rathaus—An American Composer of Polish Origin...’ The Development of an Americanized View of Rathaus and its Consequences for the Reception of His Music,” Polish Music Journal 6, no. 1 (2003); http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/6.1.03/schussler.html, (accessed 15 May 2012); Martin Schüssler, Karol Rathaus (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2000). 34 Christopher Hailey, Franz Schreker, 1878–1934: a cultural biography (London and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993). 35 Karol Rathaus, letter to Hans Heinsheimer, 24 April 1933, Stadt und Landesbibliothek, Vienna; cited from Schüssler, “Karol Rathaus,” 2003. 36 Friedrich Geiger, “Die ‘Goebbels-Liste’ vom 1. September 1935. Eine Quelle zur Komponistenverfolgung im NS–Staat,” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 59 no. 2 (2002), 104–112. See also Martin Anderson, “Degeneration, Regeneration (‘Entartete Musik’),” Tempo, New Series, 210 (Oct., 1999), 52–56.

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professor until his death, participating in a variety of musical activities, such as co-founding the American League of Composers, organizing concerts of the International Society for Contemporary Music, and teaching.37 While earning a living as a music professor and film composer, he did not promote his own music (he penned over 70 pieces). Martin Schüssler writes that living in exile broke Rathaus’s spirit and harmed his compositional ability: To all outward appearances, Rathaus seemed a friendly, satisfied, confident personality. Those of his friends who knew him better, however, describe him as a man deeply embittered by the fate he had suffered, which had, in his eyes, destroyed his aspirations as a serious composer. His son put it dramatically: ‘The Nazis killed him’—meaning that being driven from Europe as a refugee had made Rathaus capitulate as a serious composer.38

Rathaus’s friendships and interactions with the greatest composers and musicians in America are amply documented in correspondence, including exchanges with such notables as composers Luigi Dallapiccola, Ernst Krenek, Arnold Schoenberg, and Roger Sessions, and conductors Dimitri Mitropoulos, Bruno Walter, Leopold Stokowski and Artur RodziĔski. Rathaus was also involved in Polish-American organizations, such as the Polish Institute of Arts and Sciences of America. His return to Polish culture during the war is indicated in the titles of pieces composed in the 1940s: Mazurka (1941) and Three Polish Dances (1942) dedicated to Paderewski, Polonaise Symphonique for orchestra and a setting of an ancient Polish anthem, Gaude Mater Polonia for four-part mixed choir and piano, both from 1943. These works “are a direct outcome of Rathaus’s intense patriotic interest in these years”.39 Yet, this late patriotism did not help. Polish-Americans forgot about Rathaus; the fact that his major works were all written in German and premiered in Germany was, perhaps, one reason for his cultural distance from the country of his origins.40

37 Boris Schwarz, “Karol Rathaus,” The Musical Quarterly 41, no. 4 (Oct. 1955): 481–495. 38 Schüssler, “Karol Rathaus.” 39 Ibid. 40 Jolanta Guzy-Pasiak, “MiĊdzy Schrekerem a Schönbergiem–z zagadnieĔ twórczoĞci Karola Rathausa” (Between Schreker and Schönberg–Selected Issues From The Works of Karol Rathaus), Muzyka 52, no. 3 (2007): 101–122.

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Bronisáaw (Bronislau) Kaper (1902–1983) was born in Warsaw, where he studied law and music.41 After living in Berlin in the 1920s and in Paris after 1933, he was hired by MGM and moved to California. He became one of the leading film composers associated with the “Mittel-Europa Strain” in Hollywood.42 Since film music was his primary compositional arena, he had not suffered the identity and displacement issues that troubled Rathaus. During his 28 years’ work for MGM, Kaper scored over 150 films including such classics as The Marx Brothers’ A Night at the Opera (1935), The Brothers Karamazov (1958), Mutiny on the Bounty (1962, with Marlon Brando), and Lord Jim (1965, with Peter O’Toole). According to Thomas, many of Kaper’s scores were composed for “runof-the-mill products, the glossy film entertainments for which the studio became famous and wealthy”.43 His contributions to Hollywood film music history were recognized by an Oscar for the hit song from the film Lili, entitled Hi Lili, Hi Lo (1953). According to Mindy Kaye, Kaper considered “himself an unpaid ‘Polish Ambassador’ in the U.S. ”44 Kaper’s creative connections with Polish themes found the most vivid expression in a Broadway musical Polonaise (1945) based on Chopin’s works and inspired by a Polish tenor, Jan Kiepura and his wife, soprano, Martha Eggerth.45 The cast of characters in this musical included General 41 Biographical information about Kaper is available from the entry in the Grove Music Online, ed. L. Macy, http://www.grovemusic.com (accessed 12 October 2012), and from scattered sources: Tony Thomas, Music for the Movies (New York: A. S. Barnes and Co., 1973); W. F. Krasnoborski, “Interview with B. Kaper,” Soundtrack Collector’s Newsletter 12, no. 2 (1975): 13; Ibid., 3 (1976): 3; Tony Thomas, Film Score: the View from the Podium (New York: A. S. Barnes and Co., 1979), 115–25; V. J. Francillon, ed., Film Composers Guide (Los Angeles, 1990), 223–4. Mindy Kaye, entry for Polish Americans in California 1827–1977 and Who's Who, vol. 1, Father Jacek Przygoda, ed. (San Francisco: Polish American Historical Association California Chapter, 1978), 122. 42 Thomas, Music for the Movies, 87. Composers from this group included also: Herbert Stothart, Franz Waxman, Miklos Rozsa, André Previn, Bernard Herrmann, Alfred Newman, and David Raksin. For Kaper’s recollection of his work for Hollywood see Scoring Hollywood Movies, interviews conducted in 1975, American Film Institute/Louis B. Mayer Oral History Collection, part 1, no. 13. The microfilm of a portion of the typescript is available from Glen Rock, N.J.: Microfilming Corp. of America, 1977. 43 Thomas, 87. 44 Kaye, 122. 45 The musical Polonaise with music by Chopin arranged by Kaper, was played on Broadway from 6 October 1945 to 12 January 1946 at the Alvin and Adelphi Theatres. There were 113 performances of this work, produced by W. Horace

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Thaddeus KoĞciuszko (sung by Kiepura), a young girl, Marysia (Marisha, sung by Eggerth), as well as General Washington, and assorted soldiers. The patriotic, Polish-American subject matter must have been quite appealing to Poles in America right after the war, and the musical had 113 performances. Despite these successes the composer’s name does not appear in the two-volume Dictionary of Polish Musicians, the main music biography reference source published in Poland in 1963–1969.46 According to Leon T. Báaszczyk who served on the editorial board, the Dictionary was censored, and the number of Jewish musicians participating in Polish culture reduced by an arbitrary rejection of numerous entries.47 Kaper’s acceptance as a Polish composer was possible only when popular music lost its stigma as non-artistic and when his Jewish roots were not mentioned, e.g. in Polish Americans in California, a short entry in the New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (1980), and the new edition of this reference work published in 2000 (online in 2001). Similarly, entries in the 1995 one-volume Polish Encyklopedia Muzyki and in the 1997 volume of the Encyklopedia Muzyczna PWM do not provide references to either Kaper’s Jewish background or his American citizenship, designating him instead as a “Polish composer” of popular film music active in the U.S.48 Kaper’s American film music and jazz standards are not recognized as particularly Polish in style or cultural location. His film scores were praised for “fluency, melodic charm and fine, elegant craftsmanship” and for forging links between the popular and the symphonic styles, with a strong influence of late European romanticism.49 Interestingly, his main theme from On Green Dolphin Street (1947), picked up by Miles Davis, became a jazz standard and so did the song Invitation from the eponymous Schmidlapp in association with Harry Bloomfield; with text by Gottfried Reinhardt and Anthony Veiller and song texts by John La Touche. 46 Józef ChomiĔski, ed., Sáownik muzyków polskich (Dictionary of Polish Musicians) (Kraków: PWM, 1963, 1969, two vols.). 47 Prof. Báaszczyk authored entries on Jewish musicians for this Dictionary and was told to keep them out of the publication. After thirty years of additional research he completed a dictionary of Jewish musicians active in Poland that arose from this unpublished material; the volume has not been printed yet. 48 Wacáaw Panek, “Bronisáaw Kaper,” entry in Encyklopedia Muzyczna PWM (Kraków: PWM, 1997), 24; entry in Encyklopedia Muzyki (Warszawa: PWN, 1995). 49 Christopher Palmer, “Bronislau Kaper,” entry in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. S. Sadie, vol. 9 (London: Macmillan, 1980), 798. Christopher Palmer and Randall D. Larson, “Bronislaw Kaper,” entry in Grove Music Online.

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1952 film.50 While beloved by jazzmen, his music does not provide a focal point for national pride in Poland: he had left his country of origin too early and had not established himself as a composer of Polish music before his departure. This is, perhaps, one reason why his posthumous “Polish” existence is so precarious, while his American identity is beyond doubt. Classic Hollywood film music was created by immigrants from various European countries; it was their choice to become American after settling in their new homeland. Far less recognition was accorded to Jerzy Fitelberg (1903–1951), a composer of concert music who lived in New York. Unlike his father, composer and conductor Grzegorz Fitelberg (1879–1953)51 who returned to Poland after surviving the war in South America, Jerzy chose emigration. Like Karol Rathaus and conductor Artur RodziĔski, he studied with Franz Schreker at the Berlin’s Hochschule für Musik. Being Jewish determined the path of his life: threatened by Hitler’s rise to power, he left Berlin for Paris in 1933. In 1935 his name was included on Goebbels’s infamous list of “degenerate” composers.52 He shared this “honour” with Rathaus and the most interesting European composers. Paris was too close to Berlin: in 1939, Fitelberg abandoned Europe altogether for the U.S. and settled in New York. He became active in American musical life before his premature death in 1951, in the same year that saw the arrival of Roman Maciejewski (1910–1998) who moved to California from Sweden. In the lively, artistic climate of New York, Fitelberg became an active member of the American League of Composers and wrote over 80 pieces, including symphonies and suites for orchestra, concerti for clarinet, piano and cello with orchestra, string quartets, mazurkas, and so forth. “Modern Music” magazine recognized Fitelberg, along with Igor Markievitch and a “fistful of forgotten Russians”, as “the heroes of the day, the sensational new creative talents hailed by the critics”.53 The scattered efforts of Gary Fitelberg, the composer’s Los Angeles cousin and amateur music

50

Miles Davis liked On Green Dolphin Street and played it with various musicians; an excellent recording with Miles, Johnny Coltrane, Bill Evans, Cannonball Adderly, Paul Chambers and Jimmy Cobb is Miles’58 album issued by Columbia. 51 Leon Markiewicz, ed., Grzegorz Fitelberg–Korespondencja (Katowice: Fundacja Konkursów Dyrygentów im. G. Fitelberga, 2003). 52 Friedrich Geiger, Die “Goebbels-Liste.” 53 Eric Salzman, “Modern Music in Retrospect,” Perspectives of New Music 2, no. 2 (1964): 14–20.

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historian, to publicize Jerzy Fitelberg’s achievements have not yet led to a general reappraisal of his historical standing.54 As noted above, Rathaus, Kaper and Fitelberg escaped persecution by the Nazis. Hitler’s ascendancy may have also motivated the emigration of two Poles, the àabuĔski brothers, Wiktor (1895–1974) and Feliks (1892– 1979), whose departures—in 1935 and 1936 respectively—may be credited to economic motives, i.e. career opportunities as performers and college professors. The brothers studied in Moscow, St. Petersburg, Warsaw, and Paris. Feliks (Felix) àabuĔski is better known as a composer; his brother as a pianist. After completing composition studies with Witold Maliszewski, the teacher of Witold Lutosáawski and an heir to the Russian tradition of Rimsky-Korsakov and Stravinsky, àabuĔski went with other young Polish composers to hone his compositional skills and perfect the neo-classical idiom with Nadia Boulanger. His Parisian studies at the École Normale de Musique (also with Paul Dukas) lasted from 1924 to 1928. At this time, in 1926, he co-founded the Association of Young Polish Composers in Paris and became the organization’s president in 1930–33. After a brief stay back in Poland (1934–36), he emigrated to the U.S. in 1936, becoming an American citizen in 1941, as well as the president of the International Society for Contemporary Music (American section). In the U.S., àabuĔski taught composition in New York and at the College-Conservatory of Music at the University of Cincinnati. His neoclassical, perfectly crafted works have not received many performances in Poland, though they have been played by numerous American ensembles. Both brothers are noted in short entries in the Polish Sáownik Muzyków Polskich (1964) and in the New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians. However, Adrian Thomas’s 2005 survey of Polish music after Szymanowski does not even mention their names.55 Feliks àabuĔski’s former student, 54 Gary Fitelberg mentions Jerzy in his various contributions to the Polish Music Newsletter, for instance a profile of Gregor Piatigorsky to whom Jerzy dedicated two cello compositions that the cellist edited and recorded, Sonata for Unaccompanied Cello (Omega C1000 1948/Chester) and the Duo for Violin and Cello (Omega Music Publishers). Polish Music Newsletter 17, no. 4 (April 2011). Similarly, his obituary and tribute to Roman Totenberg focuses on the violinist’s connections to the Fitelberg family, Polish News, May 2012, http://www.polishnews.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=38 47:a–special–tribute–to–polish–violinist–and–virtuoso–roman–totenberg– &catid=83:wiadomoci–ze–wiata–news–from–around–the–world&Itemid=200 (accessed 13 October 2012). 55 Thomas, Polish Music.

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American musicologist James Wierzbicki, summarized his mentor’s approach, often described as “romantic”, but more akin to neo-classical style and quoted him as saying: ‘I believe in well-defined melody, symmetrical, well–balanced form, and economy of means in achieving ultimate results,’ he told one biographer. Among his goals he also included self-expression, ear-pleasing sonic combinations, and—perhaps most importantly—a desire to communicate with listeners.56

The compositions of Feliks’s younger brother, Wiktor (Victor) àabuĔski focus on his instrument, the piano—his main title to fame was being a virtuoso pianist. àabuĔski’s debut at Carnegie Hall in 1928 was followed by his first American tour in 1929; its success motivated him to return to America permanently in 1935. In addition to concert giving, he became a piano professor and eventually the director of the Kansas City Conservatory and a professor at the University of Missouri in Kansas City where he lived from 1937 to his death in 1974.57 Both brothers made major contributions to American musical life, yet did not receive recognition from Polish Americans. Feliks’s traditional compositional style did not attract the attention of historians of Polish music, e.g. Adrian Thomas, whose main criteria for fame were creative originality and inventiveness in the avant-garde world of contemporary music. World War II and its aftermath caused the greatest upheaval in music history. New arrivals to the U.S. included Alexander Tansman (1897– 1986) whose prominence in Paris in the interwar period translated into a worldwide recognition of his patriotic Rhapsodies polonaise for piano and orchestra (1940), a homage to the defenders of Warsaw struggling against the German invaders in September 1939. This piece—a call to arms on Poland’s behalf—contained a poignant musical expression of the Poles’ misguided hope that England would have come to their rescue: in the climax, the national anthems of Poland (Dąbrowski Mazurka) and England (God Save the Queen) were intertwined in a musical counterpoint that 56

James Wierzbicki, “Traditional Values in a Century of Flux: The Music of Feliks àabuĔski (1892–1979),” Polish Music Journal 4, no. 1 (2011), http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/4.1.01/wierzbicki4_1 (accessed 10 April 2012). The biographer that is mentioned was David Ewen, author of an entry on àabuĔski in his American Music: A Biographical Dictionary (New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1982), 403. 57 J. Richard Belanger, Wiktor àabuĔski: Polish-American Musician in Kansas City, 1937–1974: A Case Study, EdD Dissertation, Columbia University Teacher's College, 1982.

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portrayed the tragic fate of Polish resistance fighters, a hope later betrayed in the Yalta Treaty when the country was allotted to the Soviet sphere of influence. Numerous American performances of the Polish Rhapsody stimulated empathy with the Polish cause in the 1940s. Here, Tansman’s musical activity paralleled the pro-Polish lobbying conducted by Ignacy Jan Paderewski during World War I.58 Paris, Tansman’s home, was an important intermediary step on the composer’s way to America. Polish exiles include several former members of the Association of Young Polish Musicians in Paris (Association des Jeunes Musiciens Polonais), founded in 1926: the àabuĔski brothers, Maciejewski, Kondracki, and Kassern. Except for the àabuĔskis, these composers came to the U.S. after the war, once it became clear that the Soviet domination was going to last, and Stalinist repressions intensified. A former secretary of the Association, Michaá Kondracki (1902–1984) was a student of Roman Statkowski and Karol Szymanowski in Warsaw, as well as of Nadia Boulanger and Arthur Honegger in Paris, thus sharing an artistic trajectory with an entire group.59 While studying in Paris, he served as the Secretary of the young composers’ group in 1931. After completing his studies, Kondracki returned to Poland, where he proceeded to work as a journalist, folklore collector, and composer. He published articles in a variety of periodicals. A co-founder and vice-president of the Polish Society for Contemporary Music, he was also fascinated by the folklore of Carpathian Mountains that he collected and quoted. Nonetheless, the outbreak of the war caught him abroad and he continued on, first to Brazil (1940) and then to the U.S. (1943). After the war, while his return to Poland was impossible because of his work for the Voice of America, his reports about American musical life appeared for long periods in the fortnightly Ruch Muzyczny. He composed in a neo-classical style, with Polish folk inspirations from Mazovia, Kurpie and the Tatra Mountains; the same traditions inspired Szymanowski, Kondracki’s teacher and mentor. An interest in folklore persisted after his emigration and some of his later works are based on folklore from Brazil. 58

For source information about Paderewski’s activities see Józef Oráowski, ed. Ignacy Jan Paderewski i odbudowa Polski (I. J.Paderewski the reconstruction of Poland) 2 vols. (Chicago: The Stanek Press, 1939–1940). For the image of Paderewski in English-language poetry, see Maja Trochimczyk, “Paderewski in Poetry: Master of Harmonies or Poland's Savior?” in “Paderewski and Polish Emigres in America;” special issue of the Polish Music Journal 4, no. 1 (Summer 2001). 59 Adam MrygoĔ, “Michaá Kondracki,” in ElĪbieta DziĊbowska, ed., Encyklopedia muzyczna PWM, vol. 5 (Kraków: Polskie Wydawnictwo Muzyczne, 1997), 158.

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Composers in Exile III—Escaping Stalin An extremely dramatic path to exile was taken by Tadeusz Zygfryd Kassern (1904–1957). A noted composer and music critic of Jewish descent born in Lemberg (Lvov), he spent the obligatory year abroad studying with Nadia Boulanger in Paris (1931) and joined the Association of Young Polish Composers in Paris. Upon returning home he worked as a music critic in PoznaĔ. From 1940 to about 1942, he lived in hiding in Kraków. To escape an imminent arrest he went to Warsaw, where he stayed in hiding for the next two years (as Tadeusz SroczyĔski). The end of the Warsaw Uprising sent him off to Zakopane. In 1945 he took up the post of Poland’s cultural attaché in New York. The increasing repression in Stalinist Poland resulted in his deciding to seek political asylum after three years of representing the Polish People’s Republic in the international arena. He became a political refugee in December 1948 and was granted a permanent residency in 1956. His interesting œuvre include many choral pieces, concerti for unusual instruments, like a double bass or a voice, and several operas—The Anointed (1951) and Eros and Psyche (1953), to libretti based on Jerzy ĩuáawski’s works. But not all of his music is forgotten: his two-act 1953 musical comedy Komedia o niemej Īonie (Comedy of a Mute Wife), based on a stage play by Anatole France, has been performed in recent years in GdaĔsk (2006) and PoznaĔ (2011).60 Other composers exiled by the war included the Anders Army veteran and pop music star, Henry Vars (1902–1977), who arrived in California in 1947 as a Polish Army veteran and enjoyed a successful film music career; Roman Maciejewski (1910–1998) who lived in Sweden from 1939 and emigrated to the U.S. in 1951; and Roman Ryterband (1914–1978), who, like Maciejewski survived the war years abroad, in Switzerland, but moved to Canada in 1955, before settling in the U.S. in 1960. During his inter-war career, Poland’s foremost film composer, Henryk Warszawski (b. 1902 in Warsaw, d. 1977 in Beverly Hills) shortened his last name to Henryk Wars.61 After emigrating to the U.S. in 1947 the 60

Violetta Kostka of the University of GdaĔsk was instrumental in arranging the first performance of this work. See Violetta Kostka, “The rediscovery of Comedy of the Dumb Wife (1953) by Polish composer Tadeusz Kassern” in Studies in Musical Theatre 4, no. 1 (August 2010): 45–52. 61 Biographical information based on interviews with Elizabeth Vars conducted by Dr. Linda Schubert for her paper “Film Scores of Henry Vars in the United States: An Overview” published online, in Polish Music Journal 4, no. 1 (2001), http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/4.1.01/schubert4_1.html (accessed 12 October 2012).

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composer renamed himself again to become Henry Vars: this variant preserves the Polish sound of the last name and is indicative of the shift in his national identity from Polish to American. In Poland, he had established himself as the composer of the country’s greatest hits. A graduate of the Warsaw Conservatory (1925, composition studies with Roman Statkowski and Emil Máynarski), he was one of the first composers to introduce American influences (jazz and dances) to Polish popular music. Jazz, but not polkas. His thriving career was cut short by the outbreak of World War II. Vars’s war-time saga as a soldier in the Polish Army had many chapters.62 After the war, he became a successful film composer and he scored music for about 60 movies and TV shows, e.g. Flipper, a TV series about the adventures of a friendly dolphin (1964– 68).63 Musicologist Linda Schubert summarized his film music career: He wrote scores and cues—often unaccredited—for a variety of pictures including westerns, mysteries, crime, and horror films… Vars worked smoothly within film music conventions that emphasized melody, leitmotifs, and late Romantic instrumentation and harmonic movement. Vars was, however, unique in the wide range of musical experience that he brought to his scores, having worked not only as a conductor and pianist but as a composer of concert hall works, jazz pieces and popular songs.64

Although his name appears in books on Jewish culture in Poland,65 Vars’s music belongs to Polish popular culture and remains one of its pillars. Some efforts to publicize his “classical-style” works, stylistically 62

Entry “Henry Vars (Wars),” website of the Polish Music Center, created in 2001 by Maja Trochimczyk, updated in 2005 by Krysta Close. http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/composer/vars.html (accessed 12 October 2012). The site’s information comes from interviews with Mrs. Vars and from the entry by Mindy Kaye, “Henry Vars (1902–1977),” in Polish Americans in California, 1827–1977, and Who's Who, Jacek Przygoda, ed. (Los Angeles: Polish American Historical Association, California Chapter, Loyola Marymount University, 1978). 63 For more information about American films of Henry Vars see the article by Schubert cited above. 64 Schubert, “Film Scores,” http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/4.1.01/schubert4_1.html (accessed 12 October 2012). 65 For instance, Marian Fuks, Muzyka ocalona (Saved Music) (Warsaw: 1989), 99. Mrs. Elizabeth Vars, the composer's widow, repeatedly protested against my wish to discuss the Jewish background of her husband, first presented at the Polish/Jewish Music Conference in 1998. She was fearful that the “ethnic label” might do a disservice to the appreciation of Vars’s art.

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akin to Gershwin and including “a full-length Symphony No. 1, a three– movement symphonic suite, City Sketches, a Piano Concerto, and numerous other orchestral works and arrangements”, have not borne much fruit.66 Vars’s focus on popular and film music may have caused, but does not justify, his absence from such major reference works as The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (editions of 1980, 2000, and 2001 online). Roman Maciejewski’s 26 years as an organist and choral director in Los Angeles were forgotten by his émigré compatriots, and only after his death have serious efforts been made to reintroduce him into the history of Polish music. Born in Berlin, he studied piano there, and piano and composition in PoznaĔ (1924–1930) and Warsaw, in both latter cities with Kazimierz Sikorski. He went to Paris for an “obligatory” course in neo– classicism with Nadia Boulanger (1934–38) and became a member of the Association of Young Polish Musicians in Paris in 1935, and later the group’s Secretary (1935) and Vice-President (1936). After marrying a Swedish dancer, Elvi Gallen, Maciejewski moved to Sweden (1939– 1951). He emigrated to the U.S. in 1951 and lived in the Los Angeles area until 1977, working as a church organist, director of the Roman Choir and composer of religious music, e.g. seven masses for this ensemble, including six accompanied by orchestra (The Carol Mass, Missa Brevis, The Mass of Resurrection, etc.). Other works include a handful of orchestral pieces and a large number of solo piano compositions, including a set of fascinating mazurkas.67 Maciejewski’s main claim to fame is the extravagantly extensive Missa Pro Defunctis (Requiem), composed in 1944–1959, premiered at the Warsaw Autumn Festival in 1960 and first performed abroad in 1975 in Los Angeles by the Los Angeles Master Chorale, thanks to the efforts of a Polish-American group, the Helena Modjeska Art and Culture Club.68 In a typed note in the score, the composer explained his motives for creating the monumental work: Deeply depressed by the horrors, destruction and atrocities of the Second World War, I felt the urge to make a contribution to the efforts of peace66

Cited from Vars’s biography at USC Polish Music Center, http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/VarsGala.html (accessed 10 May 2012). 67 Recorded by Michaá Wesoáowski, Works by Roman Maciejewski (dB Productions, 2010, B0000DD2W3), and by Anna BroĪek, Roman Maciejewski: Complete Mazurkas (Sarton, n.d., B005HFJCNY). 68 Information about the concert is in the archives of the Modjeska Club’s founder, Leonidas Dudarew OssetyĔski, in the special collections of the Polish Museum of America, Chicago.

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loving people to arouse a general awareness of the tragic absurdity of war. Convinced that lack of respect for life is due to ignorance of the universal order and the divine law of love, I dedicated my Requiem to the victims of human ignorance and in the first place to those who died in wars of all times.69

Due to the untiring efforts of the composer’s brother Wojciech Maciejewski, a Warsaw theatre director, Roman’s music remained in the concert repertoire. A Maciejewski Society formed in his hometown of Leszno in 1997 helped transform the tenth anniversary of his death into a massive celebration, marked with eight different performances of the enormous Requiem.70 There were also two scholarly conferences and two doctoral dissertations (by Marlena Wieczorek and Aleksandra AdamskaOsada) focused on his œuvre and contribution to Polish music history.71 The only community that completely forgot him was that of American Polonia. While the full integration of Tansman, Vars (Wars), and Maciejewski into Polish music culture has been successful, Roman Ryterband (1914– 1979) remains unknown.72 Like Vars and Kaper, he emigrated to the U.S. and struggled with building a new life in the new country. Born in àódĨ,73 Ryterband studied music and law (M.A. in law, Warsaw, 1937). He then sought refuge in Switzerland, where he began to compose and conduct while studying musicology at the University of Berne (to 1944). After the tragedy of the Holocaust and the Soviet occupation of Poland, Ryterband did not want to stay in Europe. He left Switzerland for Canada barely a year after becoming Swiss citizen in 1954. For five years he worked for 69 Maciejewski’s note about the history of Requiem, typescript, n.d., copy at Polish Music Center, University of Southern California, Los Angeles. 70 The 2008–2009 performances took place in Leszno, PoznaĔ, CzĊstochowa, Bydgoszcz, Kraków, Rzeszów, Warszawa, àódĨ. Website: “Roman Maciejewski – Obchody 10. Rocznicy Smierci” in culture.pl, http://www.culture.pl/kalendarz– pelna–tresc/–/eo_event_asset_publisher/L6vx/content/roman–maciejewski– obchody–10–rocznicy–smierci (accessed 20 June 2012). 71 Marlena Wieczorek, Roman Maciejewski– losy kompozytora i droga twórcza od ‘PieĞni kurpiowskich’ do ‘Requiem’ (Uniwersytet PoznaĔski, Instytut Muzykologii, advisor Danuta JasiĔska, 2008); Aleksandra Adamska-Osada, Roman Maciejewski– biografia, postawa twórcza–duchowoĞü w Ğwietle korespondencji kompozytora i ‘Requiem’ jako opus vitae (Akademia Muzyczna w Warszawie, advisor Stanisáaw Dąbek, 2008). 72 I discuss his life and identity in “A Question of Identity,” in Polin. 73 Biographical information about Ryterband is based on Ryterband Papers at the Polish Music Center, donated by Clarissa Ryterband, including typewritten biography, list of works and an assortment of press clippings and copies.

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the Canadian Broadcasting Company (CBC) in Montreal, lectured at McGill University, and directed a Polish chorus. In 1960, he moved to Chicago to teach at the Chicago Conservatory College. In 1964, he became an American citizen; in the following year he was recognized as “the Outstanding New Citizen of the Year” by the Citizen Council of Chicago. The final move, to Palm Springs, California, occurred in 1967. He was the founder of the Palm Springs Festival of Music and Art; he also taught and performed new music as a soloist and chamber music artist.74 A citizen of the Russian empire, Poland, Switzerland, Canada and the U.S., Ryterband was recognized by Polish-Americans as a fellow émigré, but was unknown in Poland. Art Zygmont’s entry in the second volume of Polish Americans in California, as well as Polish-language sources,75 omit the Jewish dimension of Ryterband’s life. Ryterband did the same for his friends: he did not identify the Jewish heritage of Vars and Kaper in a 1966 article published in the “Polish American Daily Zgoda” in Chicago.76 However, in his musical life, he did not make an either/or choice between his Jewish and Polish identities and participated in cultural activities of both groups. Ryterband stylized and arranged melodies of Polish, Jewish, Swiss, Russian, Italian, African-American and Amerindian provenance.77 His pieces include Rhapsodia Helvetica for trombone and piano, Italian fantasy for women’s choir, Trois ballades hébraiques for violin and piano, Song of the Plains of Poland for saxophone and piano, and song settings of Polish texts. His most ambitious Polish project was Suite polonaise of 10 regional dances for piano (arranged for orchestra) of 1950. It was dedicated to His Holiness Pope John Paul II in 1978 and rewarded with a

74

Art Zygmont, “Roman Ryterband,” in Polish Americans in California, vol. 2, ed. Henrietta Simons (Los Angeles: National Center for Urban Ethnic Affairs & Polish American Historical Association, 1995), 91–92. 75 Zygmont, entry on Ryterband in Polish-Americans, and anonymous report, “Kompozytor i propagator muzyki polskiej” (Composer and Promoter of Polish Music), in Ruch Muzyczny (1976, no date or page number given), press clipping in Roman Ryterband Papers, Polish Music Center. 76 Roman Ryterband, “Co Īycie niesie” (What life brings), Dziennik Związkowy Zgoda (1 November 1966), 1. 77 Ryterband’s fascination with music of American Indians started after he settled in Palm Springs. In addition to composing Two Desert Scenes for flute and harp, with an Indian rattle in the second movement, he wrote an article about “Agua Caliente and Their Music” for The Indian Historian 12, no. 4 (1979): 2–9. Ryterband’s letters to Marian Anderson about this dedication are located in her papers at the University of Pennsylvania Library, Special Collections.

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Papal blessing in the same year.78 In the context of American Polonia’s self-definition as Polish and Catholic, the Suite’s dedication to the Polish Pope is as significant element of his attempted assimilation to Polonia, as is his use of stylized regional and national dances. The composer’s evolving national status—with multiple allegiances, Polish, Jewish, Swiss, Canadian and American—may be hard to relate to for people who tend to see the world in simplistic national terms. Having lived, by choice and circumstance, in a number of different countries, having survived the war and destruction, the composer regretted the suffering and discord caused by differences between the world’s people. Ryterband described music as “the most sublime international language” that should be used to advocate understanding between peoples divided by too many differences which “make our world colourful and sparkling, but overplayed they produce discord, unrest, and suffering”. 79

Émigré Composers from Partitioned Poland In contrast to exiled composers who could not go back, émigré composers searched for better opportunities in music and life, and their decisions to leave Poland and/or stay in the U.S., were motivated by artistic, pragmatic, and personal reasons. Some of the exiles mentioned above could also be placed in this category, especially those who had left Poland to live in another western country. Edward Sobolewski (or Johann Friedrich Eduard Sobolewski (1808–1872)) was born in Königsberg, studied in Berlin with Carl Maria von Weber, and worked as a choral and music theatre conductor in Königsberg and Bremen (1854–1859). He became one of Robert Schumann’s friends, a member of his Davidsbündler, and a correspondent of the “Neue Zeitschrift fĦr Musik” (pen name: J. Feski).80 He emigrated in 1859, first to Milwaukee and then to St. Louis, where he was the first conductor of the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra 78

This dedication earned the composer a letter of thanks from the Papal secretary, with the Pope’s “apostolic blessing” and assurances of prayer on the composer’s behalf. The letter is written in Polish and dated 6 February 1979. Copy at RRP, Polish Music Center. 79 One page statement on color paper with red ink, original at Harvard University, printout in RRP, Polish Music Center. 80 Facts from Sobolewski’s biography on the website of the University of Washington’s Gaylord Music Library–Special Collections, http://library.wustl.edu/units/music/spec/sobolewski.html (accessed 12 October 2012). Based on an entry in Ernst C. Krohn, The Dictionary of American Biography, vol. 17 (1935): 390.

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until 1866. He composed operas, and taught music and composition. Despite increased Germanization efforts and a growing anti-Polish pressure in Eastern Prussia, Sobolewski could have remained in his home province, even if it afforded him somewhat more limited career opportunities. Interestingly, his first piece written in America was an opera, Mohega, performed in 1859 in Milwaukee, and presenting an “episode from the Revolutionary War, the libretto celebrating the love and tragic end of Count Pulaski and the Indian maid Mohega during the siege of Savannah in 1779”.81 Like Sobolewski, a Polish Jewish émigré who was not forced to leave by war or politics, and though several generations later, Roman Ryterband, could have stayed in Switzerland, just as the former refugee Roman Maciejewski could have remained in Sweden. These composers arrived in the “intermediate countries” before the war started and could have stayed where they lived after it ended. Nonetheless, composers who appear to have emigrated solely for economic and social reasons, may have had a political motivation as well, for instance the Adamowski brothers, the cellist Józef and the violinist Tymoteusz/Timothee (1857–1943) who started giving concerts in America in 1879, and for decades performed with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Born in Warsaw, they may have resented the ever-strengthening Russification of their homeland and the limited musical horizons in its provincial towns. The scant attention given to the life and work of Timothee Adamowski may have resulted from the small number of his compositions, because his career certainly merited attention.82 A virtuoso violinist and a student of Apolinary Kątski in Warsaw, Adamowski polished his technique at the Paris Conservatoire. His main title to fame was serving as the concertmaster of the Boston Symphony Orchestra (1884– 1908) and conductor of the Boston Pops Orchestra 1890–1894. Furthermore, he taught at the New England Conservatory of Music until 1933. He published small chamber music pieces in a romantic style, such as his song I Arise from the Dreams of Thee to a poem by Shelley. He is also known to have composed songs, Polish dances, and violin pieces.83 Together with his

81

Cited from the entry by Ernst C. Krohn, Ibid. He was first mentioned in Rupert Hughes, The Musical Guide (Boston: McClure, Phillips and Co., 1903); see also W.L. Hubbard’s The American History and Encyclopedia of Music (Boston, 1910), reprinted in 2005; and entries in Barker’s Dictionary of Musicians, and the New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (2000). 83 According to Barker’s Dictionary of Musicians, fifth edition, ed. Nicolas Slonimsky (New York: Schirmer, 1958), 82

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brother, Józef Adamowski (1862–1930), a talented cellist and his wife, pianist Antoinette Szumowski-Adamowski (1868–1938), Timothee performed in the Adamowski Trio established in 1888. Earlier, he had founded the eponymously named Adamowski String Quartet. Highly successful and well integrated into American musical life, the Adamowski family continued promoting the Polish cause through publications (especially by Antoinette), composition (Timothee), and concerts. They also took under their wing the young virtuoso Ignacy Jan Paderewski in a mutually beneficial relationship (Antoinette was his only female student).84 A book of Adamowski’s biographical material, mostly reprints, was recently edited by Harding Ozihel, but there are no studies of his life or work.85 A pianist-composer of the subsequent generation, Zygmunt (Sigismond) Stojowski (1870–1946), studied with Wáadysáaw ĩeleĔski in Kraków, and Léo Delibes and Jules Massenet at the Paris Conservatoire. He was also one of Paderewski’s piano students. Among his contributions to émigré cultural and political life was the creation of a Polish culture club, called Koáo Polskie (Polish Circle); the Polish Institute, which preceded the venerable Polish Institute of Arts and Sciences of America in New York; and serving as vice-president and member of the executive committee of the American Polish Relief Committee of New York, fundraising for Polish victims of World War I.86 He studied in Paris, and was a dedicated “neo-romantic”—Stojowski never accepted modernist styles (even Ravel and Debussy were too radical for him). After emigrating to the U.S. in 1905, he settled in New York, teaching at the Institute of Musical Arts in New York, at Juilliard, and later exclusively in his own studio. A noted http://www.archive.org/stream/bakersbiographic1958bake/bakersbiographic1958b ake_djvu.txt (accessed 12 October 2012). 84 A connection to Paderewski was strengthened by the daughter of Józef and Antoinette, Helenka Adamowska–Panteleoni, who performed in a play “The Spirit of Poland” in 1917, as a benefit for the Polish Relief Fund, and in 1941 founded Paderewski Fund for Polish Relief, as well as fundraised for the Red Cross and, after the war, volunteered for UNICEF. See Jan Pirkey, A Gift from the Heart: Profile of Helenka Adamowska Pantaleoni, American Volunteer and Founding Spirit of UNICEF (Franktown, Colorado: JP Enterprises, 1986). 85 Harding Ozihel, Timothee Adamowski (New York: The Frac Press, 2012). 86 “Zygmunt Stojowski and His Times,” special issue of the Polish Music Journal 5, no. 2 (2002), http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/5.2.02/contents.html (accessed 24 April 2012). The issue included a biography, list of works, and bibliography by Joseph A. Herter and selected writings and reviews edited by the present author. Joseph A. Herter, Zygmunt Stojowski–Life and Music, vol. 10, Polish Music History (Los Angeles: Figueroa Press, 2007).

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piano teacher, he published several interpretation studies. Interestingly, his approach to writing about music was hopelessly old-fashioned, to quote only a fragment of his 1915 study of Chopin’s Impromptu No. 1 (Op. 29): To analyse the subtle charm, to translate into words the radiance and fragrance, the storm and stress, the alternating grace and depth, the flights and depressions, the ever-changing but eloquent moods of that music, which vibrates like a human heart laid bare, would seem as impossible as to pull down a star from the moonlit skies or catch a cloud swiftly wandering across space, vaporous yet shining, or thunder-laden … It is the privilege of high art, of romantic art in particular, if the term be taken in its emotional and imaginative sense, to create in man the illusion of Paradise Lost.87

Nonetheless, his pianistic talents earned the recognition of American music critics, including Henry Krehbiel, and Arthur G. Burgoyne, who penned a humorous poem about Stojowski and Stokowski’s joint performance in Pittsburg in 1912: Stojowski from the ivories brings out a magic tone. Among the pianistic sharps he nobly holds his own. He plays glissandos, tremolos, sforzandos, trills, et cet. With dexterity that never fails excitement to beget, Alone he is a starski. So it should be a delight When Stokowski and Stojowski for high artski’s sake unite. 88

Stojowski was active serving Polish and Polish-American causes, an effort recognized by Poland (order Polonia Restituta in 1924) and the U.S. (the Distinguished Service Medal during World War II). Of note should be his connection to Paderewski, whom he adored and declared to be his greatest musical influence as a pianist and a composer. Stojowski had Paderewski’s endorsement as a pianist dated 13 May 1924, and created a metal stamp to print it for distribution and publicity: It has been my privilege and my joy to assist Mr. Sigismund Stojowski in his studies as a pianist for a number of years. Remarkable pianist and 87

Zygmunt Stojowski, A Master Lesson on Chopin's First Impromptu (Philadelphia: Theodore Presser Co., 1915). Reprinted in Polish Music Journal 5 no. 2 (2002), http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/5.2.02/stojowskichopin.html (accessed 12 May 2012). 88 “Stokowski and Stojowski – A Poem by Arthur G. Burgoyne” edited by Joseph A. Herter, Polish Music Journal 4, no. 1 (2001), http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/4.1.01/stojowskipoem.html (accessed 26 June 2012).

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composer, extraordinary musician, highly educated and refined man, he has done me the honour of adopting my manner and style to such an extent, that whenever listening to some young people who have enjoyed his guidance, and tuition, I have the impression to hear my own pupils. Among the few really great piano pedagogues of the day, Mr. Stojowski occupies a very prominent position, for he has no superior.89

Since Stojowski is now recognized by all major reference works, including the New Grove Dictionary of Music, Sáownik Muzyków Polskich, etc., his standing in Polish music history seems secure. Is there a problem with his reception, then? Was his stature diminished because of his emigration? Could he have become Poland’s “Szymanowski” instead of languishing in the shadows? His late romantic style, rooted in the styles of Tchaikovsky and Paderewski (he shared the focus on emotion and clarity of form of the former, and the patriotic zeal and pianistic virtuosity of the latter), doomed him to obscurity after the victory of Szymanowski’s modernism in the 1920s. The very conservative musical style that Stojowski persevered in using throughout his career, and his lack of interest in any modernist trends, have relegated this talented émigré to the second rank of composers. They are known to have existed and created, but are not considered truly important for the development of musical language. History is written from the perspective of the winners and the victory of the modernist orientation of Karol Szymanowski and his followers, including Witold Lutosáawski, made late romantics like Zygmunt Stojowski, Ignacy Jan Paderewski (and their teachers, Zygmunt Noskowski and Wáadysáaw ĩeleĔski) appear historically much less significant than they were during their lifetimes in the development of Polish music. Needless to say, Stojowski’s 1905 arrival in New York followed in the footsteps of his ten-year-older friend and mentor, Ignacy Jan Paderewski (1860–1941), who has been touring the U.S. since 1891, and whose ownership of a California estate in Paso Robles and long periods spent on American soil entitles him to at least a mention in the current study. Paderewski himself had famous predecessors and competitors: pianistcomposers: Leopold Godowsky (1870–1938) who started giving concerts in the U.S. in 1884, and divided his life between Europe and America until 89

Cited in Maja Trochimczyk, “Stojowski, Paderewski, and Polish Music in America,” Polish Music Journal 5, no. 2 (2003), http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/5.2.02/trointroduction.html (accessed 12 October 2012).

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the outbreak of World War I, and Józef Hofmann (1876–1957) who moved to the U.S. during World War I and became an American citizen in 1926 and the director of the Curtis Institute of Music in 1927–1938. Both well-known musicians became secularized Jewish-Americans, not PolishAmericans: they rose to prominent positions in American musical life, being primarily recognized as pianists.

Twentieth Century Émigré Composers and Musicians The majority of Polish composers who emigrated between the 1920s and 1950s did so for political reasons, and are justly counted among the exiles. A smaller group of musicians left in search of more fulfilling career opportunities and to develop their full artistic potential in a more significant musical milieu than the provincial Warsaw or Kraków. Paweá (Paul) KochaĔski (1887–1934), a dedicatee of Karol Szymanowski’s violin concerti, a contributor to his violin technique, and a devoted promoter of his music, remained in the U.S. at the end of a concert tour in 1921, to teach at the Juilliard School of Music and travel around the world as a well–regarded soloist and chamber musician.90 At the same time, he started to pay more attention to composing. According to his biographer, Tyrone Greive: The dates of KochaĔski’s published works span from 1922, i.e. the year after KochaĔski moved to the United States, to 1933, the year before his death. This increasing focus on composition indicates that writing and transcribing had become important priorities alongside performing and teaching during approximately the last quarter of KochaĔski’s life.91

In the composer’s obituary, the Dean of the Juilliard School of Music, John Erskin stated: “Had he lived, I believe he would have distinguished himself in composition, to which his attention was turning”.92 Nonetheless, KochaĔski published only two compositions, Souvenir d’un lieu cher, Op. 42, No. 3 and Flight (Caprice), and wrote violin parts for Szymanowski’s 90

Tyrone Greive, “KochaĔski’s Collaborative Work as Reflected in His Manuscript Collection,” Polish Music Journal 1, no. 1 (1998), http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/1.1.98/kochanski_part1.html; and http://www.usc.edu/dept/polish_music/PMJ/issue/1.1.98/kochanski_part2.html, (accessed 12 May 2012). 91 Greive, “Kochanski.” 92 “Paul Kochanski, Violinist, Is Dead,” The New York Times, 13 January 1934, 13, col. 4.

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Dance Sauvage and L’Aube, both 1925.93 His arrangements of symphonic or orchestral pieces for violin and piano include Szymanowski’s Song of Roxanne from the opera King Roger, Dance from the ballet Harnasie and a Kurpie Song. A remarkable compositional education of conductor Artur RodziĔski (1892–1958) who had studied with Franz Schreker (the renowned Austrian composer and teacher of Karol Rathaus and Jerzy Fitelberg), did not translate into a composing career. Instead, this charismatic musician, who arrived in Philadelphia in 1925 upon an invitation from Leopold Stokowski, became the artistic director of major American orchestras: The Los Angeles Philharmonic (1929–1933), The Cleveland Orchestra (1933– 1943), The New York Philharmonic (1943–1947), and others. In his prominent posts, he promoted contemporary music and made a significant number of recordings. Like KochaĔski, he is remembered as a performer, not a composer.94 Economic and professional reasons for emigration can be assigned to notable composers born during or after World War II, like Marta PtaszyĔska (b. 1943), composer-percussionist and a professor at the University of Chicago, pianist-composer Marek ĩebrowski (b. 1953, director of USC Polish Music Centre and the Paderewski Festival in Paso Robles, and a resident of Boston for over 20 years), or a film composer, Jan A.P. Kaczmarek (b. 1953). They were followed by younger musicians, Jarosáaw KapuĞciĔski95 (b. 1964) who teaches intermedia composing with sound and images at Stanford University, and a film composer Abel Korzeniowski (b. 1972). They left to study, perform, and compose; PtaszyĔska’s 1972 departure upon an invitation from the Cleveland Conservatory of Music, was soon followed by her contemporaries, jazz musicians Adam Makowicz (b. 1940), Michaá Urbaniak (b. 1943) and Urszula Dudziak (b. 1943). This group could be said to be motivated equally by opportunities to further their artistic careers and by unfavourable political circumstances 93

See Greive, “KochaĔski,” part I. Biographical information based on Halina RodziĔski, Our Two Lives (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1975). There are no scholarly studies of Rodzinski’s life, though he is listed in major reference works, e.g., Sadie, Stanley; Hitchcock, H. Wiley (Ed.). The New Grove Dictionary of American Music. (London and New York, MacMillan, Grove's Dictionaries of Music, 1986). 95 See http://www.jaroslawkapuscinski.com/ (accessed 12 October 2012) with a reprint of KapuĞciĔski’s article on his theory of intermedia composing, first put forward in his D.M.A. thesis at the University of California, San Diego (1997), and published as “Basic Theory of Intermedia Composing with Sounds and Images,” in Monochord. De musica acta, studia et commentarii 19 (1998): 43–50. 94

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that, however, fell short of open repression of these talented musicians. Jan A.P. Kaczmarek emigrated in 1989, when the oppressive system fell apart, and KapuĞciĔski in 1991, after receiving his M.A. from the Warsaw Academy of Music. It is notable that all these composers and musicians maintained a close relationship with musical life in Poland, and an associated “Polish” musical identity, instead of shifting to a hyphenated émigré identity. They thus remained fully integrated into Polish music history—and this reliance on maintaining an artistic presence in Poland is a key factor that distinguishes those who are remembered from those who have been forgotten.

How to be Polish in Music? This “existential” connection to the Polish cultural community is just one of the ways of defining Polishness in music. While externalizing their sense of self, composers may express their ethnic or national affiliation in their musical works—by the selection of themes, titles, languages, formal and melodic models. They may also make explicit declarations of ethnicity, or manifest their sense of ethnic/national belonging in their daily lives, including the language used at home, the forms of the names used professionally, the choice of social circles and community activities, etc. Additional indirect proofs of ethnic sympathies and allegiances are provided by such factors as searching contacts with Poland and travelling there, or making charitable donations for Polish causes. Finally, the “reception” history provides the general understanding of a composer’s ethnicity and national identity: being Polish, or of a multi-national background may be simply proven by the majority of references in international directories, books, dictionaries, and other sources. While defining “Polish” or “Polish-American” identity is rather straightforward when using criteria listed in categories B (life) and C (reception), it is important to note that I do not consider the expression of national identity in the light of some elusive “national spirit”, or “national character trait”—such as the French “clarity”, German “order”, Russian “brooding displays of emotion”, or the Polish “heroic and noble spirit”— as these traits were defined in the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century, especially by writers active in the U.S.96 Instead of 96 See, for instance, general statements about the Polish soul, in “The Soul of Poland in Music” by Michael J. Piduch, The Etude Magazine 39, no. 3 (March 1921) and Antonina Szumowska-Adamowska, “The Appreciation of Chopin,” The Etude Magazine 28, no. 8 (August 1910), both reprinted in the Polish Music Journal 5, no. 2 (2002).

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engaging in such speculative and old-fashioned national soul-searching, I will base my review of the identity question on a number of criteria listed in Table 1 in three categories, pertaining to music, life and reception of émigré composers. Tab. 7-1: Identity criteria of Polish émigré composers Music a) texts b) subjects c) genres, e.g. mazurka quotations (e.g. Chopin, folklore, anthems) d) melodic and rhythmic elements, esp. from dances e) performance and program context

Life a) name b) language c) citizenship d) writing and publishing in Polish e) presence in Polish American community f) charitable activities for Polish causes g) presence in Poland

Reception a) entries in the New Grove and international reference sources b) entries in Polish American directories c) monographs published, especially in Poland d) attribution in the press and other media

I purposely omitted religion from among factors determining the national identity of composers, thus making it possible to consider both Timothee Adamowski and equally Polish-American Jerzy Fitelberg. It does not matter, from a musical perspective, though, as it has been shown, it does matter from the Polonia point of view. According to Mary Patrice Erdmans, among Polish community organizations, only the Polish National Alliance allowed, to a certain degree, a secular definition of nationality, based on citizenship, not narrowly understood religious ethnicity associated with Catholicism. More widespread was the stance taken, for instance, by the Polish Roman Catholic Union which “divorced statehood from nationhood, declaring that a nation of Poles existed wherever Poles maintained their linguistic and religious ties”.97 That is, a Pole could only be Catholic.

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Polish Americans were by no means unified, with each group of immigrants creating their own institutions and defining their “national selves” in a different fashion. Erdmans, Opposite Poles, 25.

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Another issue concerns the use of musical language to define national identity. The musical styles of nineteenth century classical and popular repertoires were not as divergent as those developed in the twentieth. Based on shared tenets of tonality, metric rhythm, and set forms, both types of music had overlapping values and principles. At the end of the nineteenth century the gap was greater, but not insurmountable. Thus, Polish music based on folklore could become popular (the pop composers continued on in the same vein). Some composers used Tatra Mountains folklore for defining “Polishness” in music, others remained in the plains Mazovia and post-Chopin mazurkas.98 It was the watershed of World War I that ended with a new beginning: the emergence of musical modernism at the grave of classical-romantic tonality (in the form of twin neo-classical and dodecaphonic styles). Of these two options, “neo-classicism” left more room to compromise. It allowed for the ongoing incorporation of “Polish” elements of style into a new musical language (melodies and rhythms from Polish folklore, national and religious anthems, etc.). Here was can place a multitude of compositions based on mazurkas, polonaises, or cracoviennes, musical works inspired by and with quotations from Chopin, arrangements of Bogurodzica or Gaude Mater Poloniae, and more. After World War II and a further radicalization of contemporary compositional language, the use of Polish texts and themes from the history of the Polish nation was a way of remaining in the national spotlight (e.g. PtaszyĔska’s Listy Polskie). Poles in Hollywood and jazz musicians were less constrained by national considerations, since both genres were more international in style, with set conventions. In films, composers were responsible for creating “hit” songs and setting the stage for action, the mood for drama, as well as adding local colour in their scores. In jazz, likewise, it was the musicality, not nationality that mattered. The names of jazz musicians are recognized in Poland and among American Polonia. Perhaps, it is the genre of classical music, especially in its most experimental guise, that hinders the acceptance of its creators as “national” symbols and their inclusion in the Polish American cultural patrimony. Moreover, modern technology, in the form of air travel, recordings and the distribution of CDs or MP3s, completely changed the landscape for the later generations of musicians, including PtaszyĔska, and the film composer Jan A. P. Kaczmarek who could, as it were, be in two places at once. With financial and technological resources, these émigrés could 98

Maja Trochimczyk, “Searching for Poland’s Soul: Paderewski and Szymanowski in the Tatras,” in A Romantic Century in Polish Music, Maja Trochimczyk, ed., (Los Angeles: Moonrise Press, 2009), 179–219.

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establish themselves in both communities simultaneously and be recognized on two continents. Prior to these technological developments, composers had to assimilate into their new cultures or go back; they could succeed only either/or, in their new OR old country. Their life-stories were different, but all involved transnational shifts and personal identity struggles, dealing with multi-national citizenship options and the choices of remaining in the U.S. or returning to Europe. These “displaced persons” were faced with one of the most difficult tasks—that of redefining their personal and national selves, expressed in their personal and public lives as well as in their music. The war and its aftermath caused a disruption in music history, as well as in the careers and individual status of composers who had to switch professions, or resign themselves to living and dying in obscurity. What American has not felt his heart beat sympathetically to the sad and tragic story of the destinies of Poland? […] We contemplate the fruits of her genius with a sentiment of veneration, while we think how bright a star in the intellectual firmament she might have been if her great minds had not had their energies crippled by the hand of oppression.99

Thus spake A. N. Jakubowski in The Remembrances of a Polish Exile in 1836, and so we could still say today, to summarize the overview of over 100 years of Polish émigré and exile composers.

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A. N. Jakubowski (handwritten note), The Remembrances of a Polish Exile (Albany, Philadelphia: Haswell & Fleu Printers, 1836), http://ia600409.us.archive.org/10/items/remembrancesofpo00jaku/remembrancesof po00jaku_bw.pdf (accessed 12 October 2012).

PART II: TRANSATLANTIC CROSSINGS

CHAPTER EIGHT TRIESTE AS A PORT OF EMIGRATION FROM EAST AND SOUTHEAST EUROPE ALEKSEJ KALC

The transport of emigrants and the role of seaports as outlets of emigration traffic represent less resounding but very important aspects in the process of mass European overseas emigration in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. These aspects find their expression in the logistics, which enabled the increasing and faster movement of masses of people between continents. The economic importance and political backgrounds of this vast technical and organizational apparatus are worthy of attention. The transport of the steerage, or third class, passengers as overseas emigrants, which were defined by the protective emigrant legislation, evolved, indeed, to a vast economic activity in the nineteenth century. It included the many strategic interests of shipping companies, ports and countries as well as their national economies. Therefore, in the background of the transoceanic travel, which constituted a remarkable passage in the emigrants’ experience and symbolically influenced the public imagination, severe competition for dominance over the emigrants’ transport and profits as well as strategic interests took place. The establishment of regular shipping lines for emigrants and the development of Trieste as a port of emigration are closely connected with the above-mentioned political and economic scenario. At the same time, the role of Trieste in the transportation of emigrants was conditioned by its geographic position and the geopolitical changes in the Upper Adriatic region at the end of the First and Second World Wars; the wars also define the three phases in the history of Trieste as an emigration port. The first phase, from 1903 to 1914, coincided with the climax of Trieste’s development as the main Austrian port and with the peak of mass emigration from east and south-east Europe to America. This phase was the most prominent, although the quantity and economic dimensions of the

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emigrants’ transport remained far below the average of other leading European emigration ports.1 The second phase took place between the World Wars, when after the annexation of Trieste by Italy, the city lost its previous maritime importance and became merely one among many Italian ports still depending on the traditional, but geopolitically and economically completely changed central European hinterland. As in the first phase, in the 1920s and 1930s Trieste served as the gateway for migratory currents from east and south-east Europe, as well as for the flow of Italian emigration. Because of the restrictions on immigration imposed by the U.S. government after 1921, the traffic to North America subsided, while that to South America expanded. As a whole, transatlantic migratory traffic decreased in comparison with the past. A peculiarity of this phase was the role Trieste played as a point of departure for Jewish emigration to Palestine. These emigrants originated mostly from Poland but also from other east European countries. Jewish emigrants also came from Nazi Germany, and after the introduction of racial laws, from Italy as well. From 1920 to 1943 the Italian Committee for the Assistance of Jewish Emigrants operated in Trieste as an agency designated to organize this emigration. It was the successor of the Committee for Jewish emigrants established in 1908 to assist Polish and Russian Jews emigrating via Trieste to North America.2 According to some estimates, transit towards Palestine numbered about 150,000.3 The last stage of emigration began after the Second World War. In that period, Trieste became a transit station for political refugees from communist countries. Its operations were closely related to the question of the demarcation between Italy and Yugoslavia, as well as to the specific social, economic and political problems of Trieste. For the first two years after the war, the city was under British and American military 1

On this phase see Franz Markitan, Triest als Auswandererhafen (Wien: Verlag des Österreichischen St. Raphael-Vereines, 1911); Hans Chmelar, Höhepunkte der österreichischen Auswanderung: Die Auswanderung aus den im Reichsrat vertretenen Königreichen und Ländern in den Jahren 1905—1914 (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1974); Giorgio Valussi, “Le migrazioni transoceaniche europee attraverso il porto di Trieste nel periodo 1903– 1914,” Quaderni a cura del Centro Studi Economico–Politici 'E. Vanoni' di Trieste (1971/2): 34–38; Aleksej Kalc, “Prekooceansko izseljevanje skozi Trst 1903– 1914,” Zgodovinski þasopis 46, no. 4 (1992): 479–496. 2 Tullia Catalan, “L'emigrazione ebraica in Palestina attraverso il porto di Trieste (1908–1938),” Qualestoria 19, no. 2-3 (1991): 57–107. 3 Marco Berchich, “Il comitato di assistenza agli emigranti ebrei di Trieste (1920– 1940): flussi migratori e normative,” Qualestoria 34, no. 2 (2006): 23.

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administration, subsequently becoming the Free Territory of Trieste. In 1954, it was annexed by Italy. Thousands of people left the city at that time for economic as well as political reasons. Most of them migrated to Australia. This most recent phase is still present in the historic memory of the city.4 Let us return to the phase before World War I, which is the core subject of this chapter. Throughout the nineteenth century, goods and busy passenger traffic passed through the port of Trieste; chiefly along the regular routes within the Adriatic Sea, and increasingly to further destinations. Emigrant passengers who were leaving Europe for other continents also used the Mediterranean and transatlantic lines. However, migratory traffic as a regular organized service remained foreign to Trieste up until the decade before the First World War. This was a substantial delay, considering the rising numbers of emigrants from the AustroHungarian monarchy from the 1880s onwards, when this state was ranked among the most conspicuous emigration areas in Europe.5 The large migratory currents from Austria-Hungary, which mostly headed for the United States, passed through ports in Northern Europe, especially Rotterdam, Antwerp, Bremen and Hamburg. Payments for the transportation and for the transportation and for covering the emigrants’ needs en route, constituting large amounts of Austrian capital, flowed in that direction as well. The loss of the many opportunities for development of the transatlantic passenger traffic imperilled the expansion of the country’s own maritime economy. Also, the stream of Austro-Hungarian emigrants flowing overseas via North European ports imperilled the migratory processes themselves. Foreign steamship companies ran them and the state could not adequately control and protect the emigrants. It was less able to direct the migratory currents in its own interest and on behalf of the emigrants. 4

About this phase see Carlo Donato, Pio Nodari, Emigrazione giuliana nel mondo: note introduttive (Trieste: La Mongolfiera, Villaggio del fanciullo, 1996); Aleksej Kalc, “Selitvena gibanja ob zahodnih mejah slovenskega etniþnega prostora: teme in problemi,” Annales. Sereries historia et sociologia, 7 (1997): 193–214; Piero Purini, Metamorfosi etniche: i cambiamenti di popolazione a Trieste, Gorizia, Fiume e in Istria: 1914–1975 (Udine: Kappa Vu, 2010); Panjek Aleksander, Tržaška obnova. Ekonomske in migracijske politike na Svobodnem tržaškem ozemlju (Koper: Annales, 2011); Francesco Fait, L'emigrazione giuliana in Australia (1954–1961) (Udine, Regione autonoma Friuli–Venezia Giulia: ERMI, 1999). 5 Hans Chmelar, Höhepunkte der österreichischen Auswanderung: Die Auswanderung aus den im Reichsrat vertretenen Königreichen und Ländern in den Jahren 1905— 1914 (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1974): 30.

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In late 1903, the first emigrants departed from Trieste for New York as part of a regular fortnightly cargo and passenger service established by the English Cunard Line, in Rijeka, including Trieste among its intermediate stops. In the middle of 1904 a competitive, direct line from Trieste to New York and New Orleans was established by the Austrian domestic company Österreichische Schiffahtsaktiengesellschaft, better known as AustroAmericana. It was when both main Austro-Hungarian ports (Trieste and Rijeka) entered the international steerage traffic and soon opened new transatlantic routes to America in the North Adriatic Sea. From November 1903, when the first steamer with emigrants sailed from Trieste, until August 1914, when the outbreak of war halted emigration, about 290,000 emigrants used the port of Trieste. About 220,000 or 76 per cent of them travelled using the transatlantic lines to America. 70,000 made return voyages from America to Europe. Traffic was quite modest in the beginning and increased slowly to 20,000 and then to 25,000 passengers annually after 1908, when the lines to South America, run by AustroAmericana, joined the lines operating to the U.S. Emigration transit greatly increased in 1913, which coincides with the peak of European transatlantic emigration, when more than 50,000 passengers boarded for America at the port of Trieste. This movement was also supported by the new connections to Canada, which were established in 1912 by the Canadian Pacific Railway Company and by the Austro-Americana. Before 1914, the main destination for the emigrants leaving from Trieste was the United States, with 22 per cent of transatlantic passengers going to Argentina and Brazil, and 5 per cent to Canada (Tab. 8-1). About 40 per cent of the passengers originated from the Austrian part of the Monarchy, mostly from Galicia, the core pool of transoceanic emigration from the Austrian part of the state. The other major contingents originated from Dalmatia, the Littoral and Carniola. About 20 per cent of emigrants originated from the Hungarian part of the monarchy and from Bosnia and Herzegovina. And around 40 per cent originated in other countries, mostly Russia, Italy, Greece and Turkey (Tab. 8-2). The volume of the traffic via Rijeka was slightly larger than in Trieste, since it involved around 305,000 emigrants.6 The differences between the two ports were that Rijeka operated connections to North America only, and that the emigration streams leaving via this port originated almost exclusively from the Hungarian part of the monarchy. As for return routes via Trieste, they were mostly used by Austro-Hungarian citizens (Tab. 86

William Klinger, “La Cunard nel Quarnero: Fiume–NewYork (1904–1914),” Quaderni del Centro di Ricerche Storiche–Rovigno, 22 (2011): 43.

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3). This and the relatively large volume of the return traffic via Trieste were due to the fact that Austrian re-emigrants were more prone to use a domestic port for their return. On the other hand, the volume of the transit was determined by the fact that the steamers of the Cunard Line on their route to Europe stopped in Trieste first where, before embarking passengers for the next passage to New York, they disembarked the returnees, who were transported to Rijeka by rail.7 Among the steamship companies which ran emigration lines through the port of Trieste the leading role was played by the Austro-Americana: being Austrian, it enjoyed special privileges, granted by the government in order to support its competition with the foreign shipping companies. It was an effort to shift as much as possible of the Austrian migratory currents to the domestic ports. The Austro-Americana was authorized to have its agents in all of the Austrian communes (Gemeinde), while the other firms which were licensed for conducting emigration business were allowed to operate only in regional capital cities.8 From 1904 to 1914 the steamers of the Austro-Americana transported more than 183,000 emigrants from Trieste to America (Tab. 8-4). This amounted to around 83 per cent of all the emigration transit through Trieste. 26.6 per cent of the passengers travelled to South America (Austro-Americana monopolized this flow), 2.7 per cent travelled to Canada, and 70.7 per cent headed for the United States. The emigration traffic to the United States was shared between the Austro-Americana and the Cunard Line in the average ratio of 80 per cent to 20 per cent. However, for many years the Cunard Line’s share was much smaller. It increased considerably in 1913 (42 per cent), which was chiefly due to a foreign emigrant rush, the majority of whom travelled to the United States on the Cunard Line (68.6 per cent). Until that time, the Austrian company carried the bulk of the foreign transit. Concurrently, the migratory traffic to Canada was shared equally between the Austro-Americana (51.3 per cent) and the Canadian Pacific Railway Company (48.7 per cent). For the above-stated reason, the return migratory traffic was distributed more equally between the Austro-Americana and Cunard lines. Between 1911 and 1914, for which period we have data relating to individual companies, the Austro-Americana, the Cunard Line and the Canadian Pacific Railway

7

Hans Chmelar, Höhepunkte der österreichischen Auswanderung: 81. Richard Riedl, Die Organisation der Auswanderung in Österreich. Bericht über die vorläufige Ergebnisse der im k.k. Handelsministerium durchgeführten Untersuchung (Wien: K.k. Handels–Ministerium, 1913): 64; Prospetto per passeggeri di terza classe (Trieste: Austro-Americana, not dated), 3.

8

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Company transported 61 per cent, 37.8 per cent and 1.2 per cent of the returnees respectively. The Austrian company was also the only one that had its own adequately regulated facilities for the reception and accommodation of its passengers prior to their departure, after it took possession of the former Maritime Hospice in 1905 and reorganized it for this purpose. They could accommodate 800 persons and satisfied all the emigrants’ needs. The passengers of the Cunard Line, by contrast, were accommodated in the Municipal Hospice, by families in private homes, and with the assistance of the local branch of the Society of St. Raphael, in some Catholic institutions. As for food, the soup kitchen supplied it.9 In 1913, though, when the migration increased considerably, both Cunard and the Canadian Pacific Railway Company accommodated their passengers in rooms and private hotels of inferior quality in the old part of the city. Besides the precarious hygiene and sanitary conditions in such places, public order problems also arose, since for want of adequate premises emigrants roamed in the streets.10 The traffic through Trieste and Rijeka represented only a small part of all transoceanic emigration from the Austro-Hungarian monarchy in the period under consideration. One fourth of all emigrants from the Hungarian part travelled through Rijeka on ships of the Cunard Line from Liverpool, the English monopolist in emigration transport in this port. The role of Trieste as the Austrian national emigration port was modest, because only 7 per cent of the emigrants from the Austrian part used it to travel to America. This happened despite the above-mentioned protection and the privileged position of the domestic company, Austro-Americana. The main part of the transoceanic emigration from the Monarchy, since the mass emigration occurred in east and south-east Europe in the 1880s, evolved through northern European ports. In the years 1906–1912, the share of the emigrants from Austria-Hungary constituted 45 per cent to nearly 54 per cent of the migratory transit through Bremen and Hamburg, with 25 to 30 per cent of it being the migrants originating from Austria. It is also worth noting that during those years large numbers of Austrian, Hungarian and foreign emigrants passed through Trieste by rail and by sea on their way to other ports of emigration. From 1903 to 1910, there were

9

Franz Markitan, Triest als Auswandererhafen (Wien: Verlag des Österreichischen St. Raphael-Vereines, 1911): 17. 10 I. R. Governo Marittimo in Trieste, 1914, Archivio di Stato di Trieste, Atti Generali, b. 876, N. 14616.

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more than 31,000. Most of them went to Le Havre, while the others mainly headed for Genoa or for German ports.11 The question here is why the role and the participation of both main Austro-Hungarian ports, Trieste and Rijeka, remained so modest in the local as well as the international emigration transport. The answer is complex and has to be discussed by considering several presumptions and scenarios. Firstly, one must consider the geographically more favourable location of German ports, which were more than 1,000 miles closer to North America than the north Adriatic ports. At the same time, the main original areas of the flow of emigration through Trieste, namely Galicia, Bukovina and Russia, were as equally remote from the Adriatic as from the North Sea. Trieste was a rather favourable point of departure for South America, but the emigration from the Austrian provinces showed scarce interest in these destinations. However, the geographical factor and practical reasons were not decisive, since even from regions nearer to Trieste and Rijeka, considerable migratory currents headed for ports in northern Europe, although because of the long and also strenuous land journey, emigrants actually spent as much time on the road than if they had passed through the domestic ports for their travel to America.12 Therefore, we should try to connect this fact with the construction of the international logistics of transoceanic emigration and related interests. The role of Trieste and Rijeka as hubs should be considered and evaluated against the background of the international migratory network. The so-called “emigration affair”, namely the organization of emigration and transport of emigrants in the area of east and south-east Europe to 11

Richard Pflügl, “Die Überseeische österreichische Wanderung in den Jahren 1904 und 1905 und die Einwanderungsverhältnisse in den wichtigsten überseeischen Staaten in diesen Jahren,” Statistische Monatschrift, Neue Folge, 11 (Wien: K.k.Statishe Zentralkommission, 1906): 496–497; Richard Pflügl, “Die Überseeische österreichische Wanderung in den Jahren 1906 und 1907 und die Einwanderungsverhältnisse in den wichtigsten überseeischen Staaten in diesen Jahren,” Statistische Monatschrift, Neue Folge, 14 (Wien: K.k.Statishe Zentralkommission, 1909): 240–249; Karl Englisch, “Die Überseeische österreichische Wanderung in den Jahren 1908 und 1909 und die Einwanderungsverhältnisse in den wichtigsten überseeischen Staaten in diesen Jahren,” Statistische Monatschrift, Neue Folge, 15 (Wien: K.k.Statishe Zentralkommission, 1910): 722–723. 12 Hans Chmelar, Höhepunkte der österreichischen Auswanderung: 70; Erich Murken, Die grossen transatlantischen Linienreederei–Verbände, Poolsund Interessengemeinschaften bis zum Ausbruch des Weltkrieges (Jena: G. Fisher, 1922): 258; Markitan, Triest als Auswandererhafen: 18.

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North America, was managed by the Nordatlantischer Dampfer Linien Verband (North Atlantic Shipping Association), also known as the Zwischendeck-pool or “steerage-pool”. This cartel dominated by the Norddeutscher Lloyd from Bremen and the Hamburg Amerika Linie from Hamburg, emerged in 1891 with the purpose of preventing price wars. Such wars had affected the shipping companies in previous years, when the focal point of European emigration started moving to eastern parts of the continent. The cartel operated according to the emigration transport quotas, which were distributed among individual partners and their ports. The cartel’s purpose was also to rationalize the organization of transport and the entire logistics. By increasing emigration from eastern Europe, the main goal of this organization was to preserve transport in its own hands and to ensure it in Bremen, Hamburg, Antwerp and Rotterdam. Here, the cartel had two enemies: the competition from Britain and the governments of the emigrant-sending countries, who were aware of the importance of opening national emigration ports from the economic point of view, as well as of the emigration policy and control ones. As mentioned above, Austro-Hungary also discussed the issue of regulating emigration and directing its flow through domestic ports. In 1904, Hungary made crucial steps in this area by concluding an agreement with the Cunard Line to establish lines for emigrants in Rijeka, and by adopting the emigration act that directed a part of the national emigration towards the domestic port. This intrusion by English competition into the Zwischendeck-pool’s sphere of interest brought about the opening of the Adriatic front in the competition for the east European emigration transport. Initially, the North Atlantic Shipping Association reacted to this by organizing an advertising campaign directed against the English company. It aimed, among other things, to influence the American authorities by representing the passengers of the Cunard Line as immigrants who were breaking United States immigration law. When the English company obtained from the Hungarian government a regulation which allowing Hungarian citizens to emigrate only through the domestic port, the cartel began a price contest. It ended eight months later, when an agreement was reached and the Cunard Line gave up its monopoly on Hungarian emigration. At the same time, the North Atlantic Shipping Association decided to open a rival line for emigrants in Trieste in order to compete with the English company. This decision was justified by the additional cogent fact that just at that time the Austrian government had prepared the draft of the new emigration law, which envisaged the shift the Austrian transatlantic

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emigration to the domestic port, thus fostering Austrian shipping activities. Before something similar to the events in Rijeka could occur in this case, the cartel decided to intervene in Trieste. It did not do so directly through one of its companies, but by including the Trieste shipping company Austro-Americana, which had its own North American cargo routes, and risked its downfall with the arrival of Cunard Line to Rijeka. The North Atlantic cartel offered the Austrian company financial participation in the opening of this emigration line and a share of four per cent of the east European steerage passenger traffic. This caused a paradoxical situation, namely, that the opening of emigration traffic via an Austrian national port was enabled by a cartel that originally aimed at preventing the emergence of national emigration ports. The Austro-Americana’s share was initially advantageous. However, the assignment of the quota itself was an obstacle to the further development of Trieste as a port of emigration, although mechanisms which allowed the migratory transit to increase were also established. The agreement with the North Atlantic cartel, which among other things obliged the Austro-Americana to assist all the companies of the cartel through the network of its agents, allowed it to exceed its quota, on condition that it paid the cartel 100 marks for each additional passenger. The Austrian company was also entitled to request a revision of the agreement and the increase its share if the excess of its quota persists, but this provision was not enforceable before 1913. Until then the quota had to remain unchanged. If the Austro-Americana’s traffic did not reach the agreed limit, the company received 100 marks from the cartel for each missing passenger. Moreover, the company was allowed to embark additional Italian, Greek, Turkish, Spanish, Asian and African passengers in all Mediterranean ports (except for the French) along its route from Trieste to New York. Because of these provisions the Austro-Americana was not really motivated to expand its recruiting activities domestically or to strengthen the migration flow through the port of Trieste. As the emigration business in other Mediterranean ports, especially in Patraj and Almeira, grew, it was more advantageous for the company to fill the space which remained vacant in Trieste with passengers embarking in other ports along the route.13 By opening Trieste as an emigration port, the “steerage-pool”, and especially its German members, managed to protect their strategic interests. They did not oust the Cunard Line from the Adriatic, but kept 13

Riedl, Die Organisation der Auswanderung in Österreich, 13–16; Murken, Die grossen transatlantischen Linienreederei-Verbände, 256–263.

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hold of the bulk of both the Austrian and the Hungarian emigration. The Austro-Americana, while serving the cartel as an asset in the fight against British competition, had the opportunity to expand into a large and profitable shipping firm. The Austrian state, its economy and emigrants themselves were those who were mostly hurt in this process along with the port of Trieste, which did not manage to efficiently use passenger transport to its advantage. In the decade before World War I, emigration became one of the most pressing social, economic, and even military problems, due to the flight of persons liable for military service. In governmental circles, the desire to solve this question was absent due to disagreements of who was competent to regulate it. The failure to accept the governmental drafts of the emigration law in 1904, 1908 and 1913, as well as of other related bills is eloquent enough. While shifting migratory currents from their traditional routes was very difficult, the lack of legal provisions which would regulate emigration reduced the power of the Austrian government to direct emigrants through Trieste. So at the very time when the emigration service in the domestic port was established, the government was already outpaced by private economic interests and competition. A change emerged in 1913 when the Canadian Pacific Railway Company opened a line for Canada in Trieste. By opening a competitive line for Canada, Austro-Americana operated as the first line of the North Atlantic cartel in the fight against the intrusion of the Canadian shipping company. This also caused a split between the German partners and shook the firmness of the cartel. The measures taken by the government in Vienna was of key importance since it encouraged some Austrian banks to buy German shares in Austro-Americana. Therefore, by conducting direct negotiations with the cartel, the government acquired a ten per cent share in the entire east European emigration transport for Trieste and the Austrian company. This was a great victory for the Trieste emigration port, for the local shipping company and for resolving the “emigration issue” in Austria. With the shots in Sarajevo, however, all this was destined to only remain on paper.

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Tab. 8-1: Emigration through the port of Trieste in the period 1903– 1914 by the destination country14

14

Aleksej Kalc, “Prekooceansko izseljevanje,” 484.

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Tab. 8-2: Emigration through the port of Trieste from 1905 to 1914 by Austro-Hungarian regions and foreign states15

15

Ibid., 485.

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Tab. 8-3: The return migratory movement through the port of Trieste in the years 1910–1914 by the destination of the returnees16 1910

1911

1912

1913

1914

Total

Austria

3,142

5,487

5,318

4,761

3,959

22,667

Hungary

32,223

6,391

4,949

4,906

9,148

6,829

Bosnia and Herzegovina

80

185

222

185

128

800

AUSTRIA-HUNGARY

9,613

10,621

10,446

14,094

10,916

55,690

475

1,112

3,292

1,200

1,521

7,600

FOREIGN STATES

16

Ibid., 488.

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Tab. 8-4: The emigration traffic of the Austro-Americana and the Cunard Line from Trieste to the United States in the years 1903–1914 by the origin of the emigrants17

17

Ibid., 489.

CHAPTER NINE SÁNDOR TONELLI’S ULTONIA: A “WRITTEN PHOTOGRAPH” OF AN EMIGRANT VOYAGE ISTVÁN KORNÉL VIDA

The last quarter of the nineteenth century saw an unprecedented wave of emigrants leaving Hungary behind, the overwhelming majority with the intention of settling in the United States of America.1 Although based on the different types of statistical sources (Hungarian official emigration statistics, the passenger lists of European ports and U.S. immigration statistics), it is very difficult to offer more than a guesstimate of the exact number of emigrants from Hungary, but it can be assumed that approximately 1.3 to 1.5 million people wound up in the United States.2 Many of them were guest workers (“birds of passage”, as they were frequently referred to in the contemporary American press), who completed the transatlantic voyage several times, travelling back and forth between the United States and their home country with the intention of eventually returning to Hungary, purchasing a small portion of land and settling down.3 1

I wish to express my most sincere gratitude to the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation for providing support for my research and writing this article. It is a revised and extended version of my paper delivered at the “East Central Europe in Exile: Patterns of Transatlantic Migrations” conference in GdaĔsk, Poland (31 May–3 June 2012). Research for this article was also funded by 2011–13. TÁMOP-4-2.2/B-10/1-2010-0024. 2 Julianna Puskás, Kivándorló magyarok az Egyesült Államokban (Budapest: Akadémiai kiadó, 1982), 61–63. 3 For reliable analyses of Hungarian emigration to the United States, see Julianna Puskás, Ties That Bind, Ties That Divide: 100 Years of Hungarian Experience in the United States. (New York: Holmes and Meier, 2000), Zoltán FejĘs, Chicagói magyarok két nemzedéke, 1890-1940 (Budapest: Közép-Európai Intézet, 1993).

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The intensity of this wave of emigration, which corresponded with a similar population outflow from other countries of east central, as well, as southern Europe, peaked in the middle of the first decade of the twentieth century: in 1905 there were 7.9 Hungarian emigrants per 1,000 inhabitants, in 1906—8.1, whereas in 1907 it reached 9.3 per 1,000.4 In this period, transatlantic emigration from Hungary was considerable even by comparison with the international context, although in the long run it can be evaluated only as one of medium intensity. Emigration from the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy in general was multi-ethnic by nature, and the same can be said about the ethnic distribution of emigrants from Hungary alone: non-Magyars outnumbered Magyars by two to one and by comparing this ratio with domestic population proportions it becomes clear that non-Magyar ethnic groups emigrated in numbers larger than their proportion in Hungary’s total population. This mass exodus of primarily young single males, most of whom had been employed in agriculture as landless labourers, caused grave concern in Hungary, first in the early 1880s, especially in the counties that were the primary “sending” regions. They turned to the government urging it to take steps to curb massive emigration. The government, however, refused to do so, claiming: According to the ideas of the present age, it is impossible to prohibit emigration, for we know that the right to emigrate is guaranteed in the constitution.5

Therefore, the piece of legislation passed in 1882 prohibited only the activities of emigration agents, and, despite the continuous pressure on the part of the disgruntled counties, no restrictive emigration law followed. By the first years of the twentieth century, the situation gave rise to even more concern, so a bill regulating emigration was presented for debate. The government emphasized that it had absolutely no intention of stopping emigration, but intended to oversee and direct it. Consequently, more than half of the articles dealt with the transportation in order to “ensure that the entrepreneurs who handle the shipping of the migrants be subject to the

For a documentary study: The Hazardous Quest: Hungarian Immigrants in the United States, 1895-1920, Albert Tezla, ed., (Budapest: Corvina Books, 1993). 4 Puskás, Kivándorló magyarok, 65. 5 “Indoklás a kivándorlási ügynökségekrĘl” szóló törvényjavaslathoz. (Argumentation to the Bill About Emigration Agents) No. 1074, OrszággyĦlés. KépviselĘház Iratai (Parliament. Documents of the House or Representatives (OKI)), XXIV, 242–245.

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strictest control and work under the inspection of the Hungarian authorities”.6 Interestingly enough, the resulting Act actually did not initiate any measures against mass emigration: even men who were of military age could get emigration permits from the local authorities. The government, however, signed a highly controversial contract with the British Cunard Shipping line, in the original version of which it had agreed to guarantee the company 30,000 adult, third-class passengers annually, for which it soon found itself in a crossfire of criticism from inside Hungary for serving as an emigration agent as well as from abroad where it was accused of artificially restricting competition.7 Prime Minister Kálmán Széll privately left no doubt about his true intentions: My main purpose in regulating emigration was to channel the migratory process, which today is flowing toward German harbours, into our harbour, Fiume... I declare that indeed I always did plan that the emigrants who until now have enriched the German seaports were no longer to do so but were to go instead to Fiume and to travel from our own harbour, on our own means of transportation, so that all that was jeopardized or had been lost to us economically and even nationally, should now benefit our harbour.8

The direct service between Fiume (Rijeka) and New York introduced by the British Cunard Line made the port of Fiume a major transit point for migrants from central Europe and Cunard was thus basically granted a monopoly. It managed to oust the agents of German shipping companies previously controlling the Hungarian migrant market. In return, the Hungarian government gained a somewhat better control of the flow of emigrants from Hungary. The “Fiumean operation” triggered a global tariff war in 1905–1906, which brought down the prices of Atlantic crossings and, as a result, European emigration to the United States reached its historic high. Although the alleged goal of the Hungarian government was to provide protection for those leaving the country, the immigrants themselves did 6

3 December 1902, December 1902, OrszággyĦlés. KépviselĘházi Napló (Parliament. Proceedings of the House of Representatives (OKN)) IX, 271–272. 7 Miklós Hanuska-József Parádi, “A polgári magyar állam határĘrizete törvényi szabályozásának kezdete és tapasztalatai, 1867–1919,” Pécsi HatárĘr Tudományos Közlemények (2005), 179. 8 Prime Minister Kálmán Széll’s response to the interpellation of Ferenc Buzath, OKN, XV, 274–275.

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not find the newly adopted rules at all beneficial: Due to the global tariff war in 1905–1906, transatlantic ticket prices fell considerably, which brought down the prices of Atlantic crossings, but this barely applied to ships of the Hungarian-American Line on the routes between Fiume and New York. The Atlantic crossing, with the departure from Fiume, was not only more expensive but also considerably longer than from elsewhere (the trip often took 19–23 days, whereas from Hamburg, for example, crossing the Atlantic took only 14–17 days, depending on the ship).9 The Hungarian authorities used every possible method to channel Hungarian emigrants to Fiume, from administrative ones (issuing passports only to those who were heading to Fiume), through requiring them to buy the tickets from their agencies, even to confiscating pre-paid tickets sent by the prospective emigrants’ relatives in America. What is more, Cunard seemed incapable of handling this wave of emigrants: people often had to wait in Fiume for days or even weeks, or, were transported by train and boat via Antwerp and Cardiff to Newcastle and left for America from there. In the first years of the twentieth century, both the counties and the government deployed commissioners to investigate the migratory process, especially the conditions on the transatlantic crossing. They did not, however, prove to be successful: the shipping companies most often did not even let the commissioners anywhere close to the steerage (not that they were particularly eager to take a close look themselves), so the reports usually revealed few if any problems regarding the service provided by the companies. The commissioners rarely bothered travelling all the way to America: they usually got off at Gibraltar and returned to Hungary aboard the next steamer, travelling first or second class, of course. But it was not only the authorities that attempted to analyse the emigration process. Pre-eminent scholars, historians and economists, as well as sociologists, scrutinizing the possible causes and consequences of this wave of emigration, published several academic quality studies.10

9

For a contemporary comparison of the shipping companies’ prices and services, see Ede Egan, “A kivándorlás üzeme és a fiume-newyorki vonal jelentĘsége,” A Magyar Mérnök- és Építészegylet Közlönye 37, no. 12 (1903): 548-557. 10 The causes and consequences of emigration from Hungary were investigated by the Országos Magyar Gazdasági Egyesület (Hungarian National Economic Association), Magyar Közgazdasági Társaság (Hungarian Economic Society), Magyar Földrajzi Társaság (Hungarian Geographic Society), Országos Nemzeti Szövetség (Hungarian National Association), among others. One of the most thorough scholarly works scrutinizing the issue was Gusztáv Thirring, A magyarországi kivándorlás és a

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What these analyses required, however, was reliable statistics, sources and first-hand information, all of which were hard to come by. Official statistics were disorganized, incomprehensive and, for the reasons mentioned above, untrustworthy. Among those who felt that radical changes were needed in approach and research methods was Sándor Tonelli (1882 NógrádverĘce—1950 Budapest), a young sociologist and economic publicist.11 Tonelli, who had studied law at the University of Budapest and earned a doctorate, had a keen interest in revealing the real causes and consequences of the mass exodus from Hungary. As a sociologist, he was well trained in the application of qualitative research methods and became convinced that the only way to take the true measure of the scope and nature of the phenomenon was through direct observation which the government commissioners had neither the chance nor the inclination to do. As he told his friends in conversation at a dining club in November 1907: MPs only saw a breathing emigrant when they leaned their elbows on the hand-rails of the first or the second deck and saw the Hungarians heading for America bustle about below them. They did not have the chance to familiarize themselves with the life, the service and the treatment in the steerage.12

Eventually he concluded: The life of the emigrants and what really motivated them to emigrate can be revealed only if somebody undertakes to take the voyage to America disguised as an emigrant and overseas, as a person seeking employment, visits some larger Hungarian settlements.13

One of his friends challenged him, if he were fool enough, to go on such a journey and he accepted the challenge. His dining companions worked out the details of the voyage right away: Tonelli would “request a passport as an assistant photographer so that he would be able to take

külföldi magyarság (Emigration from Hungary and Hungarians Abroad), (Budapest: Kilián Frigyes utóda, 1904). 11 For Tonelli’s short biography, see Hungarian Online Lexicon of Biography, http://mek.oszk.hu/00300/00355/html/ABC15363/15838.htm (accessed 3 August 2012). 12 Sándor Tonelli, Ultonia: Egy kivándorló hajó története (Budapest: Királyi Magyar Egyetemi Nyomda, 1929), 10. All the excerpts from Tonelli’s book have been translated by the author of this article. 13 Tonelli, Ultonia, 12.

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photos on board the ship and bring back home authentic proof with him”.14 There were some police officers in the company who could help him acquire a fake passport and they decided that he would purchase a ticket for the Cunard ship Ultonia, which was to depart from Fiume for New York on November 20. They managed to keep Tonelli’s adventurous enterprise a complete secret, and only a handful of people in Budapest, Fiume and New York were involved. The last week of November 1907 found Tonelli in Fiume. Having purchased his ticket and passing the initial medical examinations (according to U.S. immigration laws shipping companies were required to return to Europe each emigrant denied access for medical reasons at their own expense, thus they tried to weed out the obviously ineligible even before the ships’ departure). Tonelli visited the infamous “Emigrants’ Hotel”, the two-storey building, which usually housed 800–1,600 emigrants before their embarkation. He was so repelled by the conditions he found there, particularly by the common bathing pool full of dirty, suspiciouslooking water that he bribed the staff to let him out into the city of Fiume where friends put him up. On the day of the Ultonia’s departure, he returned “changed a great deal by the worn-out clothes, the outgrown old greatcoat, and the little dirt that he had smeared his face as a precaution”. With his disguise complete, he boarded the Ultonia. The British passenger steamer was 10,402 tons, and had been built by C. S. Swan & Hunter, Ltd., Newcastle, in 1898. Originally, it had been launched for the cargo and cattle trade, but she was fitted with 3rd class accommodation for 675 passengers in 1899. Finally, the ship was completely rebuilt in 1904 to accommodate 120 2nd class and 2,100 3rd class passengers according to the needs of the Cunard Company, and in order to maximize the profit from the transatlantic emigrant business. (The ship met her doom on 27 June 1917, en route from New York to London, when she was torpedoed by the German submarine U-53, about 190 miles south-west of Fastnet, Ireland.) On this particular trip, Tonelli shared the steerage with 1,278 emigrants heading for America in “pursuit of happiness”. At 11:00 am on 26 November 1907, the Ultonia raised anchor and slowly shoved out of the harbour to set off on a voyage that was to take 24 days. The Hungarian sociologist recalled a young man who had penned a poem commemorating their departure and bidding farewell to their homeland. Later, he asked the author for the text and included segments of it in his book:

14

Ibid., 12.

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Goodbye, Land of Distress. Good-bye dear Hungarian borders. Your son kneels down on your sacred land. Tears brim his gloomy eyes. Shouldn’t we all weep along with the poet? We have every reason to and we should also bid farewell. Why? Because we are leaving the land where we were born and where our cradle rocked, where our mother fostered us with sweet milk and where each leaf of grass is an old acquaintance.15

Moving as the poem intended to be, it remained practically unnoticed and without response from the overwhelming majority of their apathetic travel companions who felt very insecure and were confused about how to relate to the homeland they had left behind and the country, which they had chosen to start all over again. Tonelli specified the following as the ultimate goals of his trip and investigations: Before the renewal of the contract with the Cunard Company, I wanted to gain first-hand experience concerning the route via Fiume, about the quality of service on board the Cunard ships and learn the views of the emigrants and remigrants on the various shipping companies. My other goal was to acquire practical knowledge on the issue of emigration: I intended to gather the possibly exact personal data of as many people as possible on the ship and in America, learn what had motivated them to emigrate, how they lived overseas, how much money they could send back home, so that I could make suggestions regarding the management of the issue of emigration armed with these data.16

He immediately started to record his experiences. Making use of his excellent disguise, he avoided raising suspicion and his travel companions opened up to him quite easily. He found it, however, quite difficult to record his findings: I had to put down a multitude of names and various data so that I didn’t forget them. There was no place in the steerage, however, where I could keep by myself for half an hour. I couldn’t give myself away by writing. Therefore, I had to make use of my memory and store in my brain everything I had heard from the morning till the evening. Then in the evening, once everyone had retired, I hid in one of the corners and by the light of a torch I jotted down everything into my notebook that I considered worthy of recording.17

15

Ibid., 20–21. Ibid., 92. 17 Ibid., 104. 16

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The Cunard line between Fiume and New York served the wider Mediterranean region, so, the Ultonia accordingly called at Naples, Palermo, Gibraltar and Tenerife before crossing the Atlantic to New York. This made the voyage considerably longer than the routes between German or British ports and North America. But it did provide an excellent opportunity for the Hungarian sociologist to study not only East Central European emigration, but that of South Europe as well. In addition to Hungarian, Tonelli spoke German, English, French and Italian, so he could therefore easily communicate with emigrants of different ethnicities, making his study all the more significant. As a disguised emigrant, Tonelli had the opportunity to give an account of the conditions in the steerage that no commissioner had ever managed (or wished) to experience. He was accommodated in the largest sleeping hall, which he described as follows: My home, the largest sleeping quarters ... were a large, uneven room which extended from one side of the ship to the other. It received light through several small, round windows, but its middle section remained dark even in broad daylight... There were about 300 berths. Each was prepared by fixing a wire network on four iron poles which had a straw mattress on it, with very little straw.18

He left no doubt about the travelling conditions: The stink dominating the sleeping quarters can only be imagined, but impossible to describe. The rooms of any military barrack were sanatoriums as compared to the sleeping quarters of the Ultonia.19

The fare also included the price of the meals, the quality of which, along with the general level of service, was heavily criticized by the emigrants. The passengers, men and women separately, were practically herded to the canteen and the food they were served could not be called anything other than sub-standard: What I found most unpleasant was that between each shift the canteens and plates were not washed up, but the waiters brought the large dixies again and poured the fresh dish with their drainer right on top of the scran left there by the previous group. I have to tell you, these dishes tasted different from the ones that MPs and high-ranking state officials investigating emigration were made to taste. Since I got familiar with this way of eating, 18 19

Ibid., 27. Ibid., 27–28.

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I profess that official reports only play the role of a veil covering up reality.20

Tonelli spent most of his time on board observing his travel companions, mingling with them and trying to interview them without raising suspicion. His disguise as an assistant photographer proved to be particularly fruitful in this respect: While taking photographs, I had the chance to get to know a lot of people. I could ask the Hungarian-Americans about the conditions at various places, whether I could count on getting employment and what my prospects were if I intended to start a business. These inquiries were all considered to be natural and they opened up to me. Others also got involved in the conversation and shared their experience. Once the conversations had started, the rest of the work went quite easily.21

He soon gained quasi-celebrity status among the passengers, who all wanted him to record their first (for many, the second or even third) transatlantic voyage. He found this somewhat problematic, as it meant that many of the photos were staged and did not depict real conditions on board, but Tonelli also tried to take as many candid pictures as possible. The photos, together with his notes, constitute a unique historical source: they depict with unusual accuracy the conditions on board an emigrant ship and the people who were emigrating. Tonelli himself called his work a “written photograph”, acknowledging the uniqueness of combining written sources and visual depictions.22 During the 24-day voyage, Tonelli approached an amazingly large number of steerage passengers, Hungarians and other nationalities alike: I also managed to collect data. I recorded personal histories of about 900 emigrants. I collected were way more exact and showed than the reports of the village clerks and emigration department.23

20

the exact nationalities and dare to say that the data I the reality more accurately the data compiled by the

Ibid., 64–65. Ibid., 98. 22 The series of photographs taken by Tonelli onboard the Ultonia are in the possession of the Hungarian Museum of Photography. I wish to express my gratitude to the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation and the John F. Kennedy Institute of the Free University in Berlin for acquiring the photos for research. 23 Tonelli, Ultonia, 92. 21

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He tried to answer two questions in particular: what motivated the emigrants to give up everything and leave their native country behind, and how did the Hungarian-Americans manage to integrate and make ends meet in the United States. The disguised Hungarian sociologist conducted dozens of interviews with fellow travellers in the steerage. On board, the different ethnic groups usually tried to stick together: Passengers were accommodated more or less according to their nationality. In the men’s section, Hungarians occupied the great sleeping hall, as they were the most numerous group. Scattered among them were one or two Croats and Swabians from Vojvodina.24

Tonelli could confirm what many studies suggested, that it was not always the lowest layers of society who decided to leave for America. He came across several quite well off Swabian families, whom he called the “aristocrats of emigrants”: In the whole emigrant company, these Swabians appeared to be the most well-to-do. There were some Swabian families on board the ship, who were travelling not in the steerage, but in second class. They were the aristocrats of the emigrants, who only came to pay a visit to the others in the steerage. Their major motivation to emigrate was not necessity, but the desire to get rich. Most of them openly expressed that they would not return, but settle down in California or Canada.25

The typical emigrants on the ship were different, however. It is not surprising that he found that it was primarily socio-economic motivations that prompted them to leave Hungary. Many of them even ran into debt so that they could purchase their tickets. Tonelli found that those who travelled to America for the first time were typically planning to stay overseas only temporarily until they had earned enough money to return to Hungary and purchase a few acres of land. Many already had relatives in America who had informed them about employment opportunities and had sometimes even paid for their tickets. Eager to collect reliable information on the migration process as well as integration and settlement, Tonelli approached as many HungarianAmerican return migrants as possible, most of who were returning to America after spending some time in Hungary. These migrant workers had enough first-hand experience in both countries to make well-founded 24 25

Ibid., 30. Ibid., 31.

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comparisons, and many of them were on their way to America to settle permanently leaving Hungary behind for good. It was easy to tell them from “greens”, as those emigrating for the first time were called, since they appeared to be more self-confident, better off and well clad. They made sure to show off in front of the “newbies” in emigration: they frequently used English (or rather Hunglish—an odd mixture of their native tongue and English words that they had picked up in America): Lots of foreign expressions are flying around in the air which have brought into the language of emigrating Hungarians in America. realized, Hungarian-Americans are keen on mixing Hungarian English words, as it seems more classy and it shows that they experience in the foreign world.26

been As I with have

The Hungarian-American remigrants, the “greens” listened admiringly to accounts like this: I worked at a mine. I was in Brownsville, Pencelvénia [Pennsylvania]... First I pushed the kerri [carry], then I became a helfer [helper]. Finally the bigbósz [big boss] assigned me to be a ríper [reaper]. Then I earned 3.50 tallér [dollars] a day.27

From Tonelli’s interviews with those who had already been to America, a series of intriguing life stories unfold which, however, show remarkable similarities: disappointment with Hungary for primarily socioeconomic reasons and the decision to try their luck overseas. Typically, it was young males who left the country first, and they left alone without their families. They headed for settlements with lots of Hungarians and tried to find employment, usually by making use of the information provided by those acquaintances already living there. They stayed at boarding houses (burdosház, as they were called in Hunglish) more often than not run by Hungarians, frequently sharing their beds with another worker taking turns according to their shifts at work.28 By keeping their expenses to a minimum, they managed to send money home, as they usually earned four or five times as much a day as they did back home. In a few years’ time, they had usually saved enough to purchase a farm or additional land in Hungary, and, according to the original plan of staying 26

Ibid., 135. Ibid., 124. 28 For information about living conditions in general and boarding houses see, Ferenc Dániel-István Orosz, Ah, Amerika! Dokumentumok a kivándorlásról, 18961914 (Budapest: Gondolat Kiadó, 1988), 133–141. 27

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in America only temporarily, returned to their families. The return migrants’ reintegration, however, was not easy. Despite the hardships overseas, they had already got used to a better standard of living, and the relative freedom that they sought in vain in the Hungarian village communities, not to mention the miserable salaries and the high taxes. Tonelli interviewed János Bódis, who had worked for the Pennsylvania Railroad Company in Pittsburgh as a wagon-carpenter, making 3 dollars a day before he decided to return to his family: I couldn’t stay at home—I tried to do so. I got a job in the mill in Jolsva; I was responsible for the machines. I was paid 40 forints for a month. How could I have lived on that? What is more, I was reported for not having the necessary qualifications, then I was prohibited from working on the machine—Now, I am leaving for America for good. I am sending my son to American school so that his native tongue would be English and he would achieve more than his father.29

János Lakos, a saloonkeeper in America, who used to be a miller in Hungary, shared Bódis’s views and came to the same conclusion: These nice folks all emigrate to America—They do so, because they cannot make a living back home—It feels so bad, when at home I have to say that everything is way better in America, but what can you do: this is the truth—You will see it with your own eyes. In America everyone is equal.30

Besides the money sent home in advance, remigrants usually brought considerable sums of money with them. The Hungarian government was trying to estimate the quantity of this money, but Tonelli’s interviews illustrate the deficiencies of the authorities’ efforts. In Trieste, as gentlemen boarded the ship, the officials of the Department of Agriculture approached the return migrants inquiring how much they had earned. They even recorded this: “I was no fool to tell them so that they could introduce new taxes. I denied about half of my earnings”. Another added: “I didn’t tell them either. I told them I had 25 dollars, although I had about 300”.31 Tonelli estimated that the actual sum taken home was five times as much as appeared in the official statistics, again heavily criticizing the authorities’ methods of collecting statistical data, and questioning their reliability. 29

Tonelli, Ultonia, 45. Ibid., 75. 31 Ibid., 94–95. 30

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The young sociologist also wanted to know the ordinary emigrants’ opinions about the Hungarian government’s contract with the Cunard company, as its renewal was due in the near future, which was hotly debated. They were more than willing to share their not-too-positive opinions with him: Simply put, they suspected graft behind it. The ships of the Cunard Line were called state ships, and they said that the village officials forced the passengers towards Fiume, because they profited from it. They couldn’t understand why they had to travel on a state ship for 20 days, when via Hamburg or Bremen they could have reached America in 9–10 days in the worst case—even counting the train ride.32

Tonelli wanted to find out how much the emigrants knew about America in general, and on what they based their decision to try their luck there. He found that many of them knew very little about the country on which they projected their hopes and dreams. He mentioned several examples: László Tóth [a locomotive driver] had an unbelievably naive conception of America and knew less about the world he tried his luck in than any peasant. He believed that in Canada he would be given land, tools and everything he needed free of charge. He firmly claimed that in America one could exchange a cartload of hay for a cow...33

Many of the passengers in steerage knew only a few generalities about what to expect on the other side of the Atlantic, nevertheless, there were numerous ones who had devoted time and energy to collecting all the possible information available to be as prepared as possible. Tonelli made a list of all the books and printed material the emigrants were reading on the ship. They turned out not to be very literate. He found a few newspapers and magazines, some novels, some slush literature, schoolbooks, Bibles and prayer-books. Nevertheless, he came across several copies of A kivándorló zsebkönyve (The Emigrant’s Handbook), which was a small booklet providing useful practical information for those planning to emigrate to America.34 Tonelli recorded that one of the emigrants, an István BenkĘ, knew the booklet practically verbatim:

32

Ibid., 96. Ibid., 140. 34 A kivándorló zsebkönyve, írta egy kivándorló (Budapest: Légrády-testvérek, 190?) 33

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Chapter Nine He knew it by heart and was familiar with everything in theory regarding the voyage, the documents, changing money, medical examinations and other checks. In practice, however, he proved to be most helpless.35

Tonelli found another booklet, apparently published with the intention of discouraging prospective emigrants from setting off for America, which included a story of a Hungarian emigrant who had settled down on the frontier, but was attacked by Indians and his wife and children were killed. He concluded his account written upon his return to Hungary: In the great world outside of here There is no place for you May fortune’s hand bless or beat you Here you must live and die!36

Tonelli observed that this publication was just laughed at by seasoned emigrants who were familiar with the conditions in America. One of them said: If you want to see an Indian, you should go to the zoo in Nevjork [New York]. They are on display there for 25 cents. But you should hurry, as it won’t last too long.37

After crossing the Atlantic, the Ultonia sailed into New York. Like practically all travellers, Tonelli recorded the catching sight of the Statue of Liberty, but the most dreaded part of their journey was yet to come: Ellis Island and the keszegárda (as the Coast Guard was called in Hunglish). Tonelli experienced the humiliating treatment steerage passengers had to suffer when they were shipped to the island: We were transported just like animals. We were squashed into the bottom of the steamer, in complete darkness. We did not see anything, we just felt that we were moving and noticed by the bounce that we had arrived somewhere.38

At Ellis Island they had to go through medical examinations again, among them the infamous eye-examinations seeking signs of trachoma, a 35

Tonelli, Ultonia, 42 Ibid., 78. Excerpt from Mihály Vörösmarty’s ”Szózat” (Appeal) which is considered to be the second national anthem of Hungary beside “Himnusz.” 37 Ibid., 78–79. 38 Ibid., 195–196. 36

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highly contagious eye infection that could eventually cause blindness, which was common in south-east Europe but relatively unknown in the United States. The doctor would flip back their upper eyelids with a hooked instrument to examine the eyeball for disease.39 Then they entered the Main Hall: America here received the newcomers quite gloriously. The small island was almost entirely occupied by the giant inspection station made of marble and red stone. The inevitable American flag with stars and stripes was waving on its central tower. We marched into the building surrounded by the lanes of staff members dressed in blue uniforms with white buttons. Apparently they did not do anything, but in fact they were observing us.40

In the Main Hall, they entered the no less infamous “pens”, where they were cross-questioned. The examiners were interested in whether the newcomers were contract labourers (according to the Alien Contract Labour Law of 1885 the importation and migration of foreigners and aliens under contract or agreement to perform labour was prohibited), anarchists or persons likely to become a public charge.41 Considering all the rumours he had heard on the ship regarding the ordeals awaiting emigrants at Ellis Island, Tonelli was surprised that the officers examining him offered him a job right away when they found that he spoke 5 languages. He turned down the offer, but he had no problem getting into the country anyway. Actually, as he himself observed, despite the hearsay about emigrants being turned away en masse, most of the emigrants who made it to Ellis Island managed to get through. Unlike the hundreds of thousands of immigrants setting foot on American soil each year, Tonelli had no intention of staying there. He wanted to complement the study of his American trip by visiting some Hungarian settlements and investigating conditions there as well as gaining some general impressions about the United States, and then 39

For details, see Amy L. Fairchild, Science at the Borders: Immigrant Medical Inspection and the Shaping of the Modern Industrial Labor Force (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003), 37–38. 40 Tonelli, Ultonia, 196. 41 For an analysis of immigration restriction legislation, see István Kornél Vida, “’The Golden Door’ Slamming Shut: Immigration Restriction Legislation in the United States (1819–1924),” in A szavak szépsége, avagy a bibliográfus igazsága. Tisztelgés Vadon Lehel 70. születésnapján (The Beauty of Words, or the Truth of the Bibliography Maker. Salute to Lehel Vadon on His 70th Birthday), Zoltán Abádi Nagy, Judit Ágnes Kádár, András Tarnóc, eds., 2 vols. (Eger: Eszterházy Károly FĘiskola, Amerikanisztika Tanszék, 2012), 2: 605–620.

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returning home. Once back in Hungary, he sent all his notes and photographs in the form of a memorandum to Count János Hadik, the then under-secretary of the Ministry of Interior.42 In 1910, he published a book entitled Angolok és Amerikaiak. Irott fotográfiák (The English and the Americans: Written Photographs) published in Budapest by Singer és Wolfner. In it he focused on his experience in Britain and the United States. Miksa FenyĘ, writer and founder of the influential literary magazine “Nyugat” wrote in his review of Tonelli’s book that they were “written photographs indeed”, and he qualified them further as “artistic photographs”, and added, “Röntgen pictures, which get down to the gist of things”.43 Interestingly, the publication of Tonelli’s book summarizing his experience of his Atlantic crossing took quite a long time: Ultonia: A Story about an Emigrant Ship came out only in 1929. By that time, the national origins formula and the quota system, which were introduced with the Immigration Act of 1921 and the Reed-Johnson Act of 1924, more or less put an end to mass immigration from east central and southern Europe, which Tonelli acknowledges in his book: Since America closed her gates before the emigrants, Hungarian emigration has ceased to be such a problem that it had been during the one and a half decades prior to World War One. The political-sociological part of my study trip has lost its significance and at most the short stories have survived as well as the experience as to what obstacles await someone who sets out for such a mission.44

Sándor Tonelli’s Ultonia still remains a significant work. The book itself, with the sociologist’s wise observations and analysis of one of the most important migration processes in human history and the series of interviews with the emigrants make it unique. However, the fact that as a disguised photographer, he also managed to visually document his voyage makes it extraordinary. These two sources nicely one another, making the work one of the most intriguing documents of the history of the New Immigration.

42

Unfortunately, there is no trace of Tonelli’s memorandum in the Archives. Miksa FenyĘ, “Angolok és amerikaiak” in Nyugat 24 (1910), http://epa.oszk.hu/00000/00022/00070/02087.htm (accessed 13 August 2012). 44 Tonelli, Ultonia, 93. 43

CHAPTER TEN EMIGRATION SHIPPING LINES OF GDYNIA, 1924–1939 OSKAR MYSZOR

The independent interwar (1918–1939) Polish state (commonly known as the Second Polish Republic, II Rzeczpospolita), had to secure most of its borders through armed struggle. Among the territories peacefully granted to Poland (under the 1919 Treaty of Versailles) the German (Prussian) province of Westpreußen (Western Prussia) was taken over in February 1920. It had invaluable access to Baltic Sea, but was unfortunately rather short (140 kilometres long, including the Hel Peninsula), and excluded the main seaport, Danzig (GdaĔsk), which was separated (along with adjacent territory) as a free city (Freie Stadt Danzig). Officially, Poland received substantial rights to the port of Danzig. However, a reliable service couldn’t be provided, which became clear just a few months later, in the midst of the Polish-Soviet War, when the Danzig Germans felt that the Polish economic rights in the city didn’t include help in the war effort. German dockworkers went on strike, refusing to unload shipments of military aid supplied by France to the Polish army. The need for a port under complete economic and political Polish control thus became obvious. Tadeusz Wenda,1 an experienced engineer had already inspected the Polish coast in 1920 in search of suitable location for a port. Eventually, 1

Tadeusz Apolinary Wenda (1863-1948) graduated from the Institute of Communication Engineering in St. Petersburg (1890) and like many Polish engineers, gained work experience in Russia. Between 1904 and 1907 he was a construction manager at ports of Vindava (Ventspils) and Revel (Tallinn). In March 1920 he was nominated the head of the Technical Section of the Port Construction Division at the Marine Affairs Department within the Polish Ministry of Military Affairs. From May 1920 until his retirement in 1937 Wenda headed the construction of seaport in Gdynia, first as its Construction Manager, and after 1931

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Gdynia was chosen, at the time just a fishing village and seaside resort. Construction of a temporary harbour soon began, and was finished two years later, opening on 29 April 1923. A few months earlier, on 23 September 1922, the Polish parliament had adopted a law regarding the construction of a fully-fledged seaport in Gdynia.2 The next year (4 July 1924), they signed a contract giving the task of construction to the newly established French-Polish syndicate Konsorcjum Francusko-Polskie Budowy Portu. In the meantime, a general project was prepared under Wenda’s direction, divided into three stages, and planned for ten years. Work was hastened throughout 1926 as a unique opportunity opened up for the exportation of Polish coal due to a six-month strike by British miners. A new contract was therefore signed (30 October 1926), reducing the role of consortium, enhancing some governmental duties, and changing the deadline to the year 1930.3 Major tasks were delegated to two experienced companies, the Belgian Ackermans & van Haaren (earthworks and dredging) and the Danish Højgaard & Schultz A/S (construction of caisson quays and breakwaters).4 The second phase of construction was carried out during the years 1931–1935.5 As a result, by the end of the 1930s, Gdynia was not only the most modern, but also the largest port in the Baltic Sea, as well as the sixth

as the Director of Technical & Construction Department at the Maritime Office). Mieczysáaw Widernik, “Wenda Tadeusz Apolinary,” in vol. 4 (R-ĩ) of Sáownik biograficzny Pomorza NadwiĞlaĔskiego, edited by Stanisáaw Gierszewski and Zbigniew Nowak (GdaĔsk: GdaĔskie Towarzystwo Naukowe, 1997), 432–433; Ryszard Mielczarek, “Port: Biuro Naczelnika Budowy Portu,” in Encyklopedia Gdyni, edited by Maágorzata Sokoáowska, Izabella Greczanik-Filipp, and Wiesáawa Kwiatkowska (Gdynia: Oficyna Verbi Causa, 2006), 620–621. 2 Wanda CzerwiĔska, “Narodziny portu,” in Dzieje Gdyni, ed. Roman WapiĔski (Wrocáaw: Zakáad Narodowy im. OssoliĔskich, 1980), 24–28; “Ustawa z dnia 23 wrzeĞnia 1922 roku o budowie portu w Gdyni,” Dziennik Ustaw 90 (1922): entry 824. 3 Ryszard Mielczarek, Budowa portu handlowego w Gdyni w latach 1924-1939 (GdaĔsk: Instytut Kaszubski, 2001). 4 Bolesáaw Hajduk, “DziaáalnoĞü spóáki duĔskiej Højgaard & Schultz AS w Polsce w latach 1924-1949,” in Polska-Dania w ciągu wieków, ed. Jan SzymaĔski (GdaĔsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu GdaĔskiego, 2004), 176–182; Hajduk, “25 lat dziaáalnoĞci w Gdyni spóáki Højgaard & Schultz (1924–1949),” Rocznik GdyĔski 11 (1992/93), 47–51. 5 Mielczarek, Budowa portu; Bohdan Szermer, “Koncepcje i struktura przestrzenna portu gdyĔskiego: zarys przemian,” part 1: 1920–1939, Rocznik GdyĔski 4 (1984).

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biggest (in 1935) among European continental ports.6 Gdynia handled 44.5 per cent of the Polish exports and 33.6 per cent of its imports in 1935. The trans-shipments rose to 9,173,400 tonnes in 1938.7 Tab. 10-1: Trans-shipments in Port of Gdynia, 1924–August 19398 Export Year

1924 1925 1926 1927 1928 1929 1930 1931 1932 1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 1938 JanAug 1939 Total

tonnes

Import

percentage

tonnes

percentage

Total (tonnes)

9,186 53,925 404,251 891,683 1,767,058 2,492,858 3,121,631 4,741,363 4,761,400 5,235,162 6,200,368 6,362,600 6,407,400 7,288,200 7,646,900

90.2 97.1 99.9 99.3 90.2 88.3 86.1 89.5 91.7 85.7 86.2 85.1 82.8 80.9 83.4

981 1,646 310 6,411 192,712 329,644 504,117 558,549 432,888 870,704 991,545 1,111,844 1,335,500 1,718,000 1,526,500

9.8 2.9 0.1 0.7 9.8 11.7 13.9 10.5 8.3 14.3 13.8 14.9 17.2 19.1 16.6

10,200 55,600 404,500 898,100 1,959,700 2,822,500 3,625,700 5,300,100 5,194,300 6,105,866 7,191,913 7,474,444 7,742,900 9,006,200 9,173,400

5,350,600

84.1

1,010,700

15.9

6,361,300

62,734,900

85.6

10,591,800

14.4

73,326,700

Change over the previous year (per cent) Ɣ +445 +628 +122 +118 +44 +28 +46 -2 +18 +18 +4 +4 +16 +2 Ɣ

Overseas Emigration from the Second Republic During early years of the Second Republic, a flow of emigrants (mostly to North America) used the “traditional” nineteenth-century routes, handled mainly by two German shipping companies: Norddeutsche Lloyd of Bremen, and the Hamburg-Amerika Line of Hamburg. This clashed 6

Der Hafen von Gdynia, ed. Edmund Wojciechowski (Gdynia: Instytut Wydawniczy PaĔstwowej Szkoáy Morskiej 1936), 36–37. 7 Der Hafen von Gdynia, 33. 8 Calculations based on: Alojzy Data, “Port Gdynia: przeáadunki 1924–2005,” in Encyklopedia Gdyni, 628–629; Der Hafen von Gdynia, 34.

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with one of the additional purposes, the implementation of which was associated with emigration by Polish authorities—the creation of a national passenger fleet, considered an attribute of sovereignty and emerging hopes of the new state, an idea floated at independence by an emigrant activist Józef Okoáowicz, who had returned to Poland and become the first director of the Emigration Office. In 1920, the foreign affairs committee of the Sejm (parliament) proposed the creation of a Polish merchant navy, as well as the direction of overseas emigration and return migration through Danzig (confirmed by a decree of the Ministry of Industry and Commerce that same year).9 In the absence of real financial assets for ship purchasing, concessions to foreign shipping lines were instead decided upon. This policy was eventually confirmed by the monopoly law of emigration for Polish ports, passed on 14 December 1925. Under it, emigration to America was to be handled exclusively by Polish ports, and new concessions were to be issued only to lines calling at these ports. However, Mediterranean emigration could be handled through foreign ports. This exception was made for emigration to Palestine, with ships sailing from Trieste and ConstanĠa.10 Unfortunately, among the twenty companies with valid concessions in 1928, after the emigration law came into force, only one line (Chargeurs Réunis) ferried emigrants directly from Gdynia or Danzig to Northern American ports. Others used a gap in the law, taking emigrants by smaller “commuting” ships to the ports of west Europe, where they were boarded onto ocean-going vessels.11 In 1935 the emigration law of 1925 was replaced by presidential decree, which had generally the same meaning.12 Nineteen shipping companies offered emigration travel from Poland in 1924, including thirteen to North America (and another six to South America or Palestine). All were foreign, and most of them sailed from foreign ports (some also from Danzig). Companies servicing the North Atlantic route were united in an alliance called Atlantic Conference, which determined ticket prices. In 1925, the cheapest tickets (third class) were

9

Anna Kicinger, “Polityka emigracyjna II Rzeczpospolitej,” Central European Forum for Migration Research Working Paper 4 (2005): 47. 10 Edward Koáodziej, WychodĨstwo zarobkowe z Polski 1918-1939: Studia nad polityką emigracyjną II Rzeczypospolitej (Warszawa: KsiąĪka i Wiedza, 1982), 50; “Ustawa z dnia 14 grudnia 1925 r. o wyáącznoĞci portów polskich dla wychodĨtwa,” Dziennik Ustaw 129 (1925): entry 916. 11 Koáodziej, WychodĨstwo zarobkowe, 51. 12 “Dekret Prezydenta Rzeczypospolitej z dnia 27 sierpnia 1935 r. o przewozie emigrantów do krajów zaoceanicznych,” Dziennik Ustaw 66 (1935): entry 414.

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sold for US$133.50 each. The price of the ticket on the South Atlantic route wasn’t fixed, but was about US$90.13 The United States was a major destination for emigrants during in the early years of the Second Republic. However, after World War One, the U.S. began limiting the number of immigrants. On 19 May 1921 an Emergency Quota Act was signed, which added a new, important feature to American immigration law: a numerical, quota-based limit on immigration from Europe. The act restricted the number of immigrants granted entry from any European country to 3 per cent annually of the number of U.S. residents from that same country, according to the census of 1910.14 Originally intended to last only one year, it was twice extended until being superseded by the Johnson-Reed Act, enacted on 26 May 1924 (also called the Immigration Act of 1924). This law modified the immigrant quota to 2 per cent of the residents, based on census of 1890. The Act of 1924 provided that since July 1927, the formula would no longer use a percentage, but instead the total immigration would be limited to just 150,000 people, divided proportionally among countries based on the 1920 census.15 Eventually, this change was postponed to July 1929. Both acts effectively removed the possibility of entry for southern and eastern Europeans (most of them were Jews, Italians and Slavs), although people of northern Europe still were likely to get in. The most favoured countries were Great Britain (43 per cent), Germany (17 per cent), and Ireland (12 per cent). Poland’s quota was set at 6,000–6,500 per year. Because of that, immigration from Poland to the United States (the major destination in this period) dropped from 202,073 in 1919–1923, to 55,750 in 1924–1930, and just 12,312 in 1931–1938.16 The National Origins Formula was used until 1952, when the Immigration and Nationality Act revised it completely.17 The Canadian government followed the United States, establishing in 1931 an Order-in-Council, P.C. 695, being quite similar in effect to the American Immigration Act of 1924. It prohibited almost all immigration, restricting it mostly to people with a sufficient cash reserve, or a family 13

T. Bogdan, “Emigracja a flota polska,” Morze 3, no.1 (1925): 4–5. John Powell, Encyclopedia of North American Immigration (New York: Facts On File, 2005), 88. 15 Dorothee Schneider, Crossing Borders: Migration and Citizenship in the Twentieth-Century United States (Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2011), 56–57. 16 However, there was a significant re-emigration in these years (99,776 persons, 95 per cent of whom were Poles). Koáodziej, WychodĨstwo zarobkowe, 59. 17 Powell, Encyclopedia of North American, 166, 233, 393. 14

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already settled in Canada.18 Before P.C. 695 (in 1919–1930), 130,447 immigrants from Poland came to Canada, the majority of whom (103,520) came after the establishment of Johnson-Reed Act in the United States. During this short period (1926–1930) emigration to Canada comprised 32 –42 per cent of the total overseas emigration from Poland. In the next decade, the immigration numbers dropped to a mere 1–2,000 per year (12,321 total in 1931–1938).19 Owing to the restrictions mentioned above, overseas emigration from Poland after 1930 was visibly lower, than in the preceding period (635,000 total in 1918–1930), numbering only 10–25,000 annually (165,000 total in 1931–1938), except for 1935, when 34,623 Polish citizens emigrated. There were three main directions of overseas emigration from the Second Republic after the construction of the port of Gdynia: Palestine (used by Polish Jews), South America (Poles and Ukrainians) and finally, a limited stream to North America. Palestine was a major destination of emigration from Poland in 1924–1925 and 1932–1936. For example, among the 34,623 people who left Poland in 1935, 87.4 per cent (30,249) were Jewish, and 71.6 per cent (24,758) went to Palestine.20 110,634 people emigrated legally from Poland to Palestine in 1921–1938, and most of them (58,392) went in 1933–1936.21 However, after 1937, legal emigration to Palestine began to drop because of the restrictions imposed by the British authorities. Almost simultaneously, South American advanced to first place destination in Polish overseas routes. Among South American countries, Argentina was the most popular (157,579 emigrants in 1921–1938), with Brazil coming in second (41,259 in 1919–1938).22 Emigration to Argentina had a significant share of the total overseas emigration from Poland after 1924, coming first in 1931 and 1937–1938. However, a lot of emigrants to Argentina decided to return: return migration accounted for 27 per cent of emigration to this country in 1931–1938.23 Unfortunately, immigration to Brazil and Argentina was restricted after 1936 and 1938 18

Ibid., 225, 233. Anna ReczyĔska, For Bread and a Better Future: Emigration from Poland to Canada, 1918-1939 (North York, Ont.: Multicultural History Society of Ontario, 1996), 8. 20 The second number is lower, because some Jews chose one of the American routes. 21 Koáodziej, WychodĨstwo zarobkowe, 88–89, 96, 144, 174–175, 213–214. 22 Jerzy Zubrzycki, “Emigration from Poland in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries,” Population Studies 6 no. 3 (March 1953): 261, 272. 23 Kicinger, Polityka emigracyjna, 14. 19

Emigration Shipping Lines of Gdynia, 1924–1939

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Tab. 10-2a: Major destinations of overseas legal emigration from Poland, 1919–1938 (absolute numbers)24

a

3,300 in 1925–1928 and 1,200 in 1929-1930; b4,300 in 1922-1924; c800 in 1931– 1934 and 1937;dincluding emigration to Colombia (a few hundred), Chile (280 ), Venezuela (160), Bolivia (124) and Ecuador (34) in 1930–1938 (mostly Jews).

24

Tables 2a/b based on: Koáodziej, Dzieje Polonii w zarysie, 265, 267–269, 288– 289; idem, WychodĨstwo zarobkowe, 88–89, 96, 144, 174–175, 213–214; Pankiewicz, Emigracja polska, 21.

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Tab. 10-2b: Major destinations of overseas legal emigration from Poland, 1918–1938 (percentage)

Emigration Shipping Lines of Gdynia, 1924–1939

165

respectively.25 During the late 1930s there was a strong increase in emigration to Paraguay (11,679 in 1935–1938), handled via Argentina. Uruguay was a secondary destination (ca. 8,560 people in 1925–1938).26

Transatlantic Shipping Companies in Gdynia The first passenger connection in Gdynia was actually the first ever sea-going ship there. One of the major French ship owners, Compagnie Générale Transatlantique (CGT), usually simply called the “French Line”, has maintained a connection to Danzig since 1921, used generally for “commuting” emigrants. One of its vessels, Kentucky, had to be redirected due to a port workers strike in Danzig, and instead came to Gdynia on 13 August 1923, and unloaded a live cargo of horses, and took 1,800 emigrants to Le Havre.27 (Kentucky was built in 1921, had a tonnage of 6,614 GRT and was 121 meters long. In February 1926, she received major damage during a storm in the North Atlantic and was consequently hulked, and eventually sold for scrap in 1936.)28 Two years later, in February 1925, the CGT opened its first regular passenger connection (Gdynia–Le Havre), handled by one ship, the Pologne (built in 1911 as the Rawson, 3101 GRT, previously used from 1921 on the Danzig route), which came every ten days. After three years, CGT was obliged to transfer a share of the route to the Polish government, and in the meantime accept a partially Polish crew. In return, Poland committed to subsidizing the route in case the quota was lower than expected.29 In 1927, a regular connection to British ports was established. At first serviced by Ellerman’s Wilson Line Ltd. of Hull,30 two years later the Polish-British Shipping Company Polbryt—a new company, established 25

Andrzej BroĪek, “Polityka imigracyjna w paĔstwach docelowych emigracji polskiej (1850-1939),” in Emigracja z ziem polskich w czasach nowoĪytnych i najnowszych (XVIII-XX w.), ed. Andrzej Pilch (Warszawa: PaĔstwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1984), 136–139. 26 Edward Koáodziej, Dzieje Polonii w zarysie 1918–1939 (Warszawa: KsiąĪka i Wiedza, 1991), 265, 267-269; Pankiewicz, Emigracja polska, 21. 27 Jan ĩelewski, “Byáem sekretarzem inĪ. Wendy,” Rocznik GdyĔski 10 (1991), 335–337. 28 Marek Twardowski, Kentucky, in Encyklopedia Gdyni, 314. 29 F. R., “Pierwsza bezpoĞrednia linja transoceaniczna z Polski, ” Morze 42, no. 7 (1928), 9. 30 Company established in 1916, when a major shipowner John Ellerman purchased (for 4,100,000 pounds) the firm of Thomas Wilson & Sons Co. Ltd. with its' fleet of 68 ships (including future Rewa, àódĨ and Warszawa). Duncan Haws, Ellerman Lines (Hereford: TCL Publications 1989), 20.

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by Polish Shipping Co. (ĩegluga Polska) and Ellerman’s Wilson— replaced it, holding 75 and 25 per cent of shares respectively. Polbryt was registered on 21 December 1928.31 Since April 1929, there had been a regular connection to London and Hull, at first serviced by four passengercargo ships (previously handling the Gdynia/Danzig connection under Ellerman’s Wilson flag), taken over in November 1928. The first two were sister ships, the Rewa and the àódĨ (ex Kolpino and Kovno), built in 1906–1907 by Earle’s Shipbuilding & Engineering Co. of Hull, and carrying up to 200 passengers.32 The third, named the Warszawa (ex Smolensk) and having 322 berths, was of a similar type, but slightly newer, having been built in 1915 by W. Doxford & Sons Ltd. of Sunderland.33 The last, the Premjer (ex Tasso) was bigger, and had capacity of 450 berths. It was built in 1922 by Ramage & Ferguson of Leith.34 The navy acquired the àódĨ in 1932 for use as a submarine support ship, and the Premjer and Rewa were sold in 1935, so only the Warszawa was left of the original four. However, three new vessels were purchased in 1932–1934—Lech, Lublin and Lwów—but they were general cargo ships, having only 12 passenger berths each. Polbryt carried 35,217 people on the British line in 1929–1937, and 17,203 (94.5 per cent of whom were departures) on the new line to Le Havre, handled exclusively by the Warszawa, in 1935–1938, constituting, respectively, 15.2 and 11.1 per cent of passenger traffic in Gdynia during that time.35 Both lines represented classic emigrant commuting routes. There was a second regular connection to Great Britain (Gdynia– Danzig–London), handled by another British ship owner, the United Baltic Corporation36—started in 1920 to Danzig, and extended to Gdynia in 1926. It was initially serviced by the passenger-cargo ship Baltara (built 1909 as the Berbice, 2,379 GRT, capacity of 150 people), which was wrecked at the approach to Danzig on 11 January, 1929—fortunately, 31

Maágorzata Sokoáowska, “Polbryt Polsko-Brytyjskie Towarzystwo OkrĊtowe SA w Gdyni,” in Encyklopedia Gdyni, 582–583. 32 2,376 and 2,450 GRT, dimensions 91.4 and 96.9×12.5×5.6 metres, machinery power 1,500 hp, 5 holds, crew 40. 33 2,487 GRT, 87.4×12.4×5.6 m, 1,500 hp, 4 holds, crew 50. 34 3,540 GRT, 101.6×13.1×6.9 m, 2,400 hp, 5 holds. 35 Archiwum PaĔstwowe w GdaĔsku, Kapitanat Portu w Gdyni (APG, KPG), 1031/29-33; Benedykt Krzywiec, “Polska marynarka handlowa,” in Dwudziestolecie komunikacji w Polsce odrodzonej, ed. Stanisáaw Faecher, Stanisáaw Peters (Kraków: Ilustrowany Kuryer Codzienny, 1939), 29–30. 36 Founded in May 1919 by Andrew Weir & Co. Ltd. and Ostasiatiske Kompagni, with shares held equally by both companies. Handled routes from Britain to Poland and Baltic states.

Emigration Shipping Lines of Gdynia, 1924–1939

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without any fatalities. The same year, it was replaced by Baltavia (built in 1901 as the Mongoliya, 3,452 GRT) with 450 berths (18 first, 60 second, and 372 third class), which, in turn, was superseded in 1935 by the Baltonia (in 1901 as the Akabo, 3,839 GRT, 150 seats), and the next year by the Baltrover (in 1913 as the Digby, 4,916 GRT) with 191 berths. The Baltrover was one of the busiest passenger ships in Gdynia during the second half of the 1930s, making nearly 70 calls between March 1936 and December 1938,37 taking 8,838 people from Gdynia to London.38 During the1930s, the number of foreign emigrant ships in Gdynia fell, mainly because of a decrease in emigration (restricted by the United States and Canada), but also because of the appearance of new Polish lines (see below), which the state authorities favoured. During the second half of the 1930s, Polish liners had near monopoly of the overseas connections, with only a few single exceptions. One worth mentioning was the French liner Aurigny (1919, 958 GRT), of Chargeurs Réunis, which made a single cruise from Brazil and Argentina with 236 passengers (mainly emigrants), calling at Gdynia on 28 May 1936.39

Facilities for Emigrant Traffic in Gdynia Because of the increasing use of the port for emigration in the late 1920s, the need for appropriate infrastructure became apparent. Most needed was a transfer camp, where emigrants waiting for the arrival of their ship could be properly serviced. The first such camp, although still temporary, was set up in Danzig-Neufahrwasser (now the Nowy Port district of GdaĔsk) in 1920. Three years later, a more stable office, called Etap Emigracyjny (Emigration Stage), was established in Wejherowo near Gdynia. The same year, a wooden clearance hall was placed at the temporary pier, and in 1927 moved to new-built NabrzeĪe Francuskie (French Quay), which was planned as the centre of passenger traffic in Gdynia. A provisional check-in hall was placed in the Magazyn Nr 1 (Storehouse Nr 1), or the “Blaszak” (“made of sheet”), and a hotel barrack for 400 people was built nearby. A few years later, this temporary facility was replaced by a proper Marine Station (Dworzec Morski), designed by Dyckerhoff & Widmann of Katowice, and built in 1931–1932 by the Skąpski, Wolski & WiĞniewski enterprise of Gdynia. The ceremonial 37

Unfortunately, Gdynia traffic logs for the year 1939 are missing. APG, KPG, 1031/29-33; Norman L. Middlemiss, Andrew Weir Shipping (Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Shield Publications 2002), 99–100, 105, 107, 110. 39 APG, KPG, 1031/30. 38

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opening was held on 8 December 1933.40 The Marine Station, recognized as a monument in 1990, is now intended as the seat of the Emigration Museum (opening planned for 2014/15).41 In the meantime, the relocation of the main flow of overseas emigration from Danzig to Gdynia reduced the need for the Neufahrwasser camp, and so the temporary accommodation at Wejherowo was not sufficient, requiring the appearance of an equivalent in Gdynia. The Director of the Emigration Stage42 submitted a formal demand in 1927. The location of new camp (Obóz Emigracyjny) was chosen in the district of Grabówek, circa 3.5 kms from the French Quay, with design elaboration by Adam Kuncewicz and Adam Paprocki. The camp was divided into two sections—“dirty”, where emigrants (up to 600 people daily) could be registered, washed, examined and vaccinated; and “clean”, where they could wait for their ships, as well as handle consular and customs affairs. The initial design provided a wide range of cultural and sports facilities (e.g. chapel and synagogue, library with reading rooms, cinema, children’s playground, etc.), but they were later cut back as a result of the economic depression. Construction (delegated to Krajowe Towarzystwo Budowlane “KaTeBe” of Warsaw) began in 1930, and was finished a year later, the first emigrants being admitted early in 1932. However, the camp was not officially opened until 1935, along with the relocation of the Emigration Stage.43

Polish Transatlantic Liners The most famous transatlantic route to Gdynia was established a year after the American Scantic connection. On 16 February 1930, the East Asiatic Company (Det Østasiatiske Kompagni) of Copenhagen and the Polish Shipping Company ĩegluga Polska, founded the Polish Transatlantic Shipping Co. (Polskie Transtlantyckie Towarzystwo OkrĊtowe) headquartered 40

Marcin Szerle, “Rozwój infrastruktury emigracyjnej w Gdyni w okresie II Rzeczypospolitej,” in Morze nasze i nie nasze: Zbiór studiów, ed. Piotr Kurpiewski, Tadeusz Stegner (GdaĔsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu GdaĔskiego, 2011), 152–157; Alojzy Data, Kazimierz Maákowski, “Baza wychodĨstwa polskiego,” Rocznik GdyĔski 11 (1992/93): 32. 41 See Emigration Museum web page: en.muzeumemigracji.pl (accessed 12 October 2012). 42 Wáadysáaw Dąbrowski, who was also a supervisor of the Grabówek camp, headed the Stage during the whole period (1923–1939). 43 Szerle, “Rozwój infrastruktury,” 157–163; Data, Maákowski, “Baza wychodĨstwa,” 34–35.

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in Gdynia. Five years later (October 1934), it was renamed to the GdyniaAmerica Line (GAL), and the share capital of 9,000,000 zá (Polish záotys), was divided between the Polish and Danish sides, 52.2 and 47.8 per cent respectively. In addition, Poland was obliged to pay another 9,000,000 zá directly to the East Asiatic. Poland held the right to purchase the Danish shares in ten years.44 Julian Rummel45 was the first temporary executive director of the Polish Transatlantic Shipping, soon replaced by Michaá Benisáawski.46 After the death of the latter, Aleksander LeszczyĔski was appointed on 9 July 1932 as the last pre-war head of Gdynia-America.47 The original fleet was based on three passenger ships, handed over by the Danes. They were the sister ships (similar, but not identical) Polonia, Puáaski and KoĞciuszko (renamed and placed under the Polish flag in August 1930). All were built by the Scottish shipyard Barclay Curle of Glasgow–the first two in 1910–1912, and the last one in 1915, as the Kursk, Tsar and Tsaritsa, respectively, on the order of the RussianAmerican Line, a subsidiary of the Russo-East Asiatic Company (Ɋɭɫɫɤɨɟ ȼɨɫɬɨɱɧɨ-Ⱥɡiɚɬɫɤɨɟ ɉɚɪɨɯɨɞɫɬɜɨ), and sailed on a regular route from Libava (during World War I rerouted to Arkhangelsk (Archangel)), via Rotterdam, to New York. In 1917, they were requisitioned by the Allies, and after the war retrieved by Østasiatiske, which was a major shareholder in the Russo-East Asiatic. They were renamed the Polonia, Estonia and

44

Henryk Tetzlaff, “Pierwsza polska linja transoceaniczna,” Morze 58, no. 4 (1930): 14–15. 45 Julian Rummel (1878-1954), shipbuilding engineer, pioneer of Polish maritime policy, shipping activist. Director of ĩegluga Polska 1926–1932 and Polbryt 1928– 1930. The first president (1929–1932) of the Polish Shipowners’ Union, the Chairman of Gdynia branch, Maritime (later Maritime and Colonial) League. At the beginning of 1929, briefly acting mayor of Gdynia. Died in Gdynia, buried at Witomino cemetery. Maágorzata Sokoáowska, Wiesáawa Kwiatkowska, GdyĔskie cmentarze: O twórcach miasta, portu i floty (Gdynia: Oficyna Verbi Causa 2003), 138–141. 46 Michaá Benisáawski (1860–1933). Executive director of the Russo-Asiatic Shipping Co. since 1899, deputy from Vitebsk province to 2nd Duma of Russian Empire (1907), consul-general of Denmark in St. Petersburg (until 1918). Returned to Poland in 1920. Ryszard Mielczarek, “Benisáawski Michaá,” in Encyklopedia Gdyni, 59–60. 47 Born in 1894. He was a protégé of Gen. Ferdynand Zarzycki (“Sanation” regime minister of industry and commerce 1931–1934), and had no knowledge of shipping affairs. Fortunately, he held to the advice of his deputy, Marius Plinius. Mobilised as a military driver, and killed near Warsaw in September 1939. Witold Parteka, “LeszczyĔski Aleksander,” in Encyklopedia Gdyni, 398.

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Tab. 10-3: General characteristics of Polish transatlantic liners, 1930– 193948

a

1934; b1931; c1936.

48

Lloyd’s Register of Shipping 1933/34; KsiĊga statków, 14–15, 27, 80, 163.

Emigration Shipping Lines of Gdynia, 1924–1939

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Lituania, and used on the transatlantic connection from the Baltic (Danzig, Tallinn, LiepƗja), via Copenhagen to New York and Halifax, under the management of a new subsidiary of Østasiatiske, named the BalticAmerica Line. During the late 1920s, these ships started coming to Gdynia. The Polonia was first, arriving on 19 August 1928 with 800 passengers, and leaving two days later with 400 people.49 Regularly, every eight to ten days, the connection handled by these three ships was opened in May 1930, with the Polonia leaving for New York, where she came on 10 June.50 Up until the next year, the crews were almost completely Polish, including the captains, who were: Mamert Stankiewicz (1889–1939) on the Polonia, Eustazy Borkowski (1887– 1960) on the KoĞciuszko and Zdenko Knötgen (1892-1959) on the Puáaski.51 The first two were later immortalized in books (Znaczy kapitan, 1968 and Szaman morski, 1968) by the excellent Polish maritime writer, Karol Olgierd Borchardt (1905–1986), himself an officer serving on these liners in the 1930s. During the first two years (1930–1932), Polish Transatlantic Shipping were still handling the North American route, although the emigrant traffic had already declined there, due to restrictions imposed by the United States and Canada. There was a demand for a regular passenger service, but as these three ships offered rather crude facilities, they couldn’t really compete, with the exception of the slightly more “luxurious” KoĞciuszko. In 1933 the company therefore ordered the construction of two new liners, the Piásudski and her famous sibling, the Batory. They were modern motor ships, built by the Italian shipyard Cantieri Riuniti dell’Adriatico, based in Monfalcone near Trieste. The Piásudski came to Gdynia on 12 September 1935 and the Batory precisely eight months later, on 12 May 1936 (also, a year after the death of Piásudski).52 In September 1928, the French company Chargeurs Réunis established a new connection, with one ship calling every six to eight weeks. Two ships were allocated to this route, the Malte and Ouessant (built 1907– 1908, and 8,461 and 8,694 GRT, respectively), renamed the more familiar Krakus and Swiatowid (but still under the French flag). It was actually the first regular transatlantic schedule from Gdynia, as the route didn’t end at

49

Jerzy MiciĔski, Bohdan Huras, Marek Twardowski, KsiĊga statków polskich 1918–1945, vol. 2 (KsiĊga statków), (GdaĔsk: Polnord Oskar, 1999), 16–18, 24, 26–27, 40. 50 Krzywiec, “Polska marynarka,” 27. 51 KsiĊga statków, 33–34. 52 Ibid., 45–46.

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Le Havre, but was extended to South America (Rio de Janeiro, Santos and Buenos Aires). This connection was terminated in late 1931.53 Eventually, in 1938, GAL established a real South American connection, managed by the shipbroker agency Rothert & Kiáaczycki, and the route was handled by ships released from North America, namely the Puáaski and the KoĞciuszko. The schedule included Dakar, the Brazilian ports of Rio de Janeiro and Santos, the Uruguayan port of Montevideo, and the Argentine port of Buenos Aires.54 The Puáaski inaugurated the South American route, leaving Gdynia on 28 February 1936, with 901 emigrants, most of whom were going to Argentina.55 Later, the KoĞciuszko accompanied this connection, except during one season (1935/1936) when it served on the Palestine route. In 1937, the pool of concessions for South American emigration was distributed among three players: GAL (64 per cent), the British Royal Mail Line (23 per cent), and Chargeurs Réunis (13 per cent). However, only GAL sailed directly from Gdynia.56 In 1937, as both the Puáaski and the KoĞciuszko were nearing their end, GAL ordered two new passenger ships, intended to replace them on the South American route. The first, the Sobieski, was built at the British shipyard Swan, Hunter & Wigham Richardson Ltd. of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and the second, the Chrobry, at the Danish Nakskov Skibsværft A/S. The KoĞciuszko was withdrawn from service in December 1938, and the Puáaski came back from her last cruise on 17 June 1939. Both ships were hulked at Gdynia. In the meantime, the Sobieski and the Chrobry started their first voyages to South America, leaving Gdynia on 17 June and 27 July 1939 respectively.57 Another important passenger route was the one to Palestine, focused on Jewish emigrants. The main stream of emigrants came by railway to Romania, and by ship from ConstanĠa to Haifa and Jaffa, via Istanbul and Piraeus. However, Poland had an important role in this Black SeaMediterranean route, because in September 1933, the Polonia was moved there, staying on this busy line until November 1938, when traffic declined due to the restrictions imposed by the British, who were then ruling in Palestine. For one season (October 1935–June 1936), it was even joined 53

J. Brieule, “Chargeurs Reunis,” Morze 43, no. 8 (1928): 4–5; KsiĊga statków, 47–49. 54 Krzywiec, “Polska marynarka,” 28. 55 Argentina 559 (62 per cent), Paraguay via Argentina 223, Brazil 73 and Uruguay 46. “Na linji Gdynia-Ameryka Poáudniowa...,” Morze 124, no. 4 (1936), 38. 56 Henryk Dehmel, Gdynia-Ameryka Linie ĩeglugowe SA 1930–1950 (GdaĔsk: Wydawnictwo Morskie, 1969). 57 KsiĊga statków, 53–54.

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by the second GAL ship, the KoĞciuszko. In the four years from 1933– 1936, both ships carried 73,600 passengers between them. The Palestinian route was closed in November 1938, and on 17 December 1938 the Polonia was sold for scrap; the cutting was done in Genoa early in 1939.58 There were also some shorter (continental) passenger routes from Gdynia. For example, a weekly regular connection to Estonia and Finland was handled from the summer of 1934 to the autumn of 1938 by Finska Ångfartygs AB of Helsinki, “represented” by the Capella. Another example would be the connection to Norway—Trondheim–Bergen– Gdynia–Königsberg–Danzig—handled alternatively, in 1936, by two ships, the Ursa of Det Bergenske Dampskibsselskab A/S and the Jæderen of Det Stavangerske Dampskibsselskab A/S.59 Bergenske was an important company in Gdynia—on 2 October 1928 a local subsidiary (Bergenske Baltic Transports) was established; in 1937 it was renamed the Bergtrans Shipping Co.60 It also serviced (as shipbroker in Gdynia) a number of ship owners, mostly Scandinavian or German. However, these routes were mostly used for regular traffic, not emigration.

Conclusion Emigration was not among the major reasons for the building of the port in Gdynia. Moreover, its construction coincided with the decline of overseas emigration from Poland. However, during 1924–1939, Gdynia achieved her own, albeit a quite modest (see tab. 8-4), place in international passenger shipping. With every passing year, however, its share in emigration decreased. But more importantly, emigration helped in the establishment of a Polish flag passenger carrier—GAL—with its fleet of liners. Unfortunately, few of them survived the Second World War. The Piásudski sank on 26 November 1939 as the result of German mines in the Humber estuary, with two casualties including captain Stankiewicz. The Chrobry was lost in May 1940 when serving as a transport ship during the Norwegian Campaign. The KoĞciuszko and the Puáaski were withdrawn from service during the summer of 1939, first hulked at Gdynia, but eventually both were sent to Britain, just before the outbreak of war. The KoĞciuszko, initially served in Devonport as a stationary training ship of the Polish Navy ORP Gdynia, while the Puáaski was used on West 58

Krzywiec, “Polska marynarka,” 27; KsiĊga statków, 41, 47, 53. Der Hafen von Gdynia, 49. 60 Bolesáaw Hajduk, “Skandynawowie w miĊdzywojennej Gdyni (1922–1939),” in Encyklopedia Gdyni, ed. Maágorzata Sokoáowska, Dorota Nelke, vol. 2 (Gdynia: Oficyna Verbis Causa, 2009), 168. 59

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African approaches. Later, both were redirected to service in the Indian Ocean. After the end of the war, they were sold to the British War Shipping administration, and subsequently used for a few years in the Far East, transporting troops and repatriates. The Sobieski was used along with the Puáaski—at first in West Africa, and then in Asia. She returned to Poland in 1947, but only to be sold three years later to the Soviet Union as the Gruziya, and eventually scrapped in 1975. Tab. 10-4: Passenger traffic in the port of Gdynia, 1924–May 1939 (excluding coastal shipping)61 Arrivals Year

1924 1925 1926 1927 1928 1929 1930 1931 1932 1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 1938 Jan-May 1939 Total

people 1,190 1,065 811 1,368 3,215 5,970 6,781 7,873 10,137 10,638 9,203 10,488 15,682 13,180 13,238 2,041 112,880

Departures

Percentage 15.7 9.1 10.4 14.3 13.8 25.3 28.1 50.9 56.5 51.6 50.1 41.9 38.0 29.1 30.6 16.1 32.5

People 6,377 10,632 6,990 8,172 20,007 17,591 17,388 7,603 7,805 9,998 9,189 14,515 25,640 32,087 29,967 10,663 234,624

Total percentage (people) 84.3 90.9 89.6 85.7 86.2 74.7 71.9 49.1 43.5 48.4 49.9 58.1 62.0 70.9 69.4 83.9 67.5

7,567 11,697 7,801 9,540 23,222 23,561 24,169 15,476 17,942 20,636 18,392 25,003 41,322 45,267 43,205

Change over the previous year (per cent) Ɣ +55 -33 +22 +143 +1 +3 -36 +16 +15 -11 +36 +65 +10 -5

12,704 347,504

-71 Ɣ

The Batory was the sole liner to stay in Polish service after the war. Earlier, it had taken part in the Narvik landing, the evacuation of France, and the Operations “Torch” and “Husky” landings in north Africa and 61

Calculations based on: Czesáaw Kleban, Port Gdynia 1922–1972 (GdaĔsk: Wyd. Morskie, 1973), 175; Informator Morski i Kolonjalny, ed. Czesáaw Zagórski, (Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Ligi Morskiej i Kolonjalnej, 1935), 201; Rocznik Statystyczny Gdyni (1933/34): 56–57; Morze i Kolonje 157–163, nos. 1–7 (1939).

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Sicily. The Batory returned to Gdynia on 5 May 1947. At first, she resumed the North American route, but on 15 March 1951 was banned from the United States for political reasons. For a few years she sailed to India and Pakistan, but after the Suez Canal was closed in 1956, the ship was returned to North America, calling in Montreal. Eventually removed from service in 1969, she was sold for scrap in Hong Kong two years later. However, another liner, named the Stefan Batory, replaced the Batory: built in 1952 as the Maasdam of the Dutch Holland America Line, the Stefan Batory was purchased by Polish Ocean Lines (established in 1951 through the merger of GAL and ĩegluga Polska). She was used on the Canadian route until 1988: on 5 April 1988 the Stefan Batory’s flag was lowered. Sold in 1990, she was eventually scrapped in Alia÷a, Turkey, ten years later.

CHAPTER ELEVEN EMIGRATION FROM THE FREE CITY OF DANZIG TO THE BRAZILIAN JUNGLE JAN DANILUK

In Southern Brazil, in the state of Paraná, the city of Cambé has almost 97,000 inhabitants. It is one of many cities in this part of Brazil which originated directly from settlements built up mostly by European settlers at the end of the nineteenth or the first decades of twentieth centuries. Relatively late, because it was only toward the end of 1931 that a smattering of settlers from the Free City of Danzig arrived in the northern virgin areas of the current state of Paraná, which was covered with tropical rainforests and native Indian tribes. The newcomers built a settlement, which they named Neu Danzig (Nova Dantzig)1 in honour of the homeland they had abandoned; during World War II, by official decree of the Brazilian authorities, the name of the town was changed to Cambé. Although eighty years have passed, the history of Neu Danzig remains largely unknown. As the town did not witness any significant historical events, and it resembled numerous other colonies in Paraná, Neu Danzig remained practically unnoticed not only by German or Polish researchers,2 but also by native historians (in historical studies of Cambé its origins are

1

German: Neu Danzig, Portuguese: Nova Dantzig, English: New Danzig, Polish: Nowy GdaĔsk. 2 There are few articles and references about Neu Danzig in German or Polish, for example: Helmut Roick, “60 Jahre Neu-Danzig in Brasilien,” Unser Danzig 12 (1992): 6–7; Peter Johann Mainka, Roland und Rolândia im Nordosten von Paraná. Gründungs- und Frühgeschichte einer deutschen Kolonie in Brasilien (1932–1944/45) (São Paulo: Editora Cultura Acadêmica, Instituto Martius-Staden, 2008), 64-65; Jan Daniluk, “Nowy GdaĔsk w sercu brazylijskiej gáuszy,” http://historia.trojmiasto.pl/Nowy–GdaĔsk–w–sercu–brazylijskiej–gluszy– n49291.html (accessed 28 June 2011).

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presented in a rather cursory matter).3 Nevertheless, the town constitutes just about the only example of successful colonization in the history of Danzig in both Americas. Additionally, it is worth mentioning that the historiography of the Free City of Danzig hardly touches upon the issue of emigration with the exception of two rather narrow publications.4 I am convinced that the history of Neu Danzig and its first inhabitants may constitute an interesting contribution to the studies of transatlantic migration between East Central Europe and South America. Danzig was seldom an emigration port up to the interwar period. Emigrant waves from central Europe were headed mainly for Hamburg or Bremen, as well as Dutch or Belgian ports, where the emigrants set off on American, British, German, Dutch or French ships to the lands beyond the Atlantic Ocean. However, the situation changed after the First World War. Due to border changes and the resulting new geopolitical situation, the attention of the emigrants after 1918 shifted towards the Free City of Danzig, established under the Versailles Treaty (1920). Because this reborn Polish state did not possess a seaport with an adequate infrastructure, Danzig became a natural location for passenger traffic services. Despite the conflicts between Danzig and the Polish authorities over control of Polish emigration and return migration movements, and the organizational problems,5 the city managed to keep its leading role until the end of the 1920s. Although the first transports of Polish return migrants appeared in 1919, the emergence of Danzig as an emigration centre dates back to the spring of 1920. The initial logistic problems were caused by the meteoric growth of emigrants coming to the city. At first, they were placed in a former prisoner of war camp for Russian soldiers near the port; however, it quickly turned out that the place could not provide appropriate conditions for the growing number of emigrants: the camp lacked basic equipment, furnishing, space, and adequate sanitation. A second emigration camp was 3

Cambé: Repensando sua história (Cambé: Prefeitura Municipal de Cambé, 1992): 36–68; César Cortez, “Cambé: os germanicos de Danzig fundaram Nova Dantzig,” in Certidões de Nascimento da História: o surgimento de municipios no eixo Londrina-Maringá (Fragmentos da historia do Norte do Parana em textos e imagens), edited by Paulo César Boni and Maria Luisa Hoffmann (Londrina: Paulo César Boni, 2009), 103–118. 4 Bolesáaw Hajduk, “Z problematyki polskiej reemigracji i emigracji przez port gdaĔski w latach 1919–1931,” Zapiski Historyczne 40, no. 1 (1975): 53–79; Marek Andrzejewski, Polityczna emigracja z Wolnego Miasta GdaĔska 1933–1939/1945 (GdaĔsk: Marpress, 2005). 5 Hajduk, “Z problematyki,” 55 ff.

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therefore opened relatively quickly in the post-military areas located closer to the city centre (the Free City of Danzig was a demilitarized zone). After another wave of emigrants (which in 1920 was connected with, inter alia, the situation on the Polish-Bolshevik war front) arriving in the city, the camps faced overpopulation. Moreover, the restriction on immigration into the U.S. was a further problem. Additional mechanisms for the disinfection of both people and luggage were constructed to enable a special doctor sent by the American Foreign Service to provide passengers with the certificates required for travel. What is more, the administration of the Free City of Danzig also dealt with the problem of the dramatic growth of emigration traffic costs (apart from two emigration camps, there was also a special information point in the port of Danzig).6 The vast majority of emigrants who chose Danzig as the first point of their overseas migration had Polish citizenship. From May 1920 to July 1921 alone, 46,448 Poles, 3,889 Lithuanians, 1,939 Czechoslovaks, 1,795 Ukrainians, 217 Romanians and 1,111 citizens of other countries entered Danzig emigration camps, while 48,863 émigrés departed for the USA, 664 for South America, and 5,523 for elsewhere.7 Although subsequent years did not bring significant changes in the emigration structure (since the beginning of the 1930s, Poles had constituted 80–90 per cent of all emigrants passing through Danzig), the direction of the emigration streams changed. From 1926–1931, Canada topped the list of desired destinations, and from 1927, an increasing number of people decided to go to Latin America, mostly Brazil, Mexico and Argentina. However, we should emphasize that until the end of the 1920s, Canada and the U.S. were still the major destinations for 97 per cent of all emigrants leaving Danzig. The most popular emigration trails included: London, Hull and Copenhagen in Europe (as hubs), and New York on the American continent.8 In the early 1920s, due to the increasing role of Danzig as a passenger port, some of the largest foreign shipping companies opened their offices there, e.g. the American Line SSC, the British White Star Line, the French Worms & Cie, the German Norddeutscher Lloyd or the Canadian Cunard White Star Ltd (in 1927 there were 13 offices in total). The scale of growth of Danzig maritime shipping (passenger and freight) was further evidenced by an increasing

6

Greiser, “Über die Entwicklung des Auswandererlagers Danzig,” Statistische Mitteilungen der Freien Stadt Danzig 2 (1921): 29–31. 7 Greiser, “Über die Entwicklung,” 31. 8 Compare State Archives in GdaĔsk (Archiwum PaĔstwowe w GdaĔsku (APG)), 260/2940, 55, 59, 67.

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number of fixed connections to European, American, African and Middle Eastern ports—only 15 in 1922, but 45 in 1927, and 85 in 1930.9 The crucial period when Danzig operated as an important emigration site ended in 1931. The end of the “emigration boom” in Danzig resulted from several factors: the global economic crisis, the restrictions introduced in immigration countries, and—possibly most importantly—the change in the Polish emigration policy and the competition of the new port in Gdynia.10 According to some estimates, up to 1931, at least 290,000 people emigrated through Danzig—the record year was 1927 with 34.8 thousand leaving through the port.11 Direct preparations for building a settlement in Brazil by citizens of Danzig started just as it was declining as an emigration port. However, to fully understand the origins of the settlement in the current Paraná state, one must go back to the mid-1920s. In 1924 a group of British entrepreneurs and engineers travelled to Brazil, visiting areas on the west side of the Paraná River. The British were stunned by the wealth of this wild, largely uninhibited land, where native Indian tribes could still be encountered. They initiated talks with the Brazilian government concerning management and possible settlement on these lands. In 1925, the Northern Paraná Land Company (Companhia de Terras do Norte do Paraná) was established, which in 1927 received a cession from the Brazilian authorities of 600,000 alqueieres of land (almost 1.5 mil. ha) between the Ttaha, Pranapanema and Paraná Rivers, in exchange for a commitment to build railway tracks and roads there. In 1929, at the edge of these lands, the British managed to build a settlement called Londrina, which soon became the major support centre for settlers and the main hub of local trade and production. The initial plan was to establish an association of four cities built every 100 km. with smaller towns between them every 10–15 km. The latter were to be developed from the stations built by the British at the edge of 1 square km

9

Bolesáaw Hajduk, “Handel, port, Īegluga i ryboáóstwo,” in Historia GdaĔska vol. IV, part 2: 1920–1945, Edmund CieĞlak, ed. (Sopot: Wydawnictwo Lex, 1999), 187; APG, 260/2940, 59. 10 Hajduk, “Z problematyki,” 53 ff.; “Die überseeische Auswanderung über Danzig in den Jahren 1929 bis 1931,” Statistische Mitteilungen der Freien Stadt Danzig 2 (1933): 46. 11 “Die überseeische Auswanderung,” 46; APG, 260/2940, 59, 67, 155; “Die Auswanderung über Danzig,” Danziger Neuste Nachrichten, 16 February 1928, 6.

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clearing for the settlers—it was decided to look mainly for settlers from east Europe.12 The circumstances of the passing of information on Paraná migration opportunities to the citizens of the Free City of Danzig remain unknown. A certain Walter Schneider, an engineer, who had tried to establish two new colonies in the South America allegedly spread the word in Danzig. The project to build settlements in Argentina and Chile and recruit their inhabitants among the citizens of the Free City of Danzig failed, and Schneider was labelled a troublemaker. In the middle of 1931, he tried to establish a colony in Paraná, but owing to his notoriety these attempts did not meet with the approval of the Danzig authorities: there was even some special announcement in the press warning against his initiatives.13 However, the socio-economic situation in Danzig at the beginning of 1930 allowed Schneider to believe in the success of his endeavours. After a relative improvement in the economic situation in the middle of 1920s (e.g. the fall in the number of unemployed to 7,000 by 1928), in 1929 the city faced a collapse of the labour market. Between 1930 and 1932 the average number of unemployed was increasing every month from 12,100 in 1930 to around 25,800 in 1932, reaching a peak in October 1931 when the number of people deprived of stable income rose from 25,000 to almost 29,000.14 In the summer of 1931 the attempts by Schneider and his associate, one Franz Bloch, speeded up. They registered the “Neu Danzig” Settlement Society (Siedlungsgemeinschaft Neu-Danzig) with the authorities of the Free City of Danzig, and by mid-August their venture already had almost 80 members. The initial capital of the association, derived from the participants’ fees, amounted to US$700 (per capita). It is possible that Schneider or Bloch also had some responsibility for the signing in July of a contract between the British and the government of the Free City 12 Edna Scalon Cortez, “ǥDanziger Hof’: The Danziger Emigrants’ Lodge im Cambé” (paper presented to the subject at the conference about Methodology and Research Technique in History, Londrina, Paraná, November 1995), 1–2; Maria Luisa Hoffmann, Patricia Piveta, “O nascimento de Londrina deu início ao processo de colonização do Norte do Paraná,” in Certidões de Nascimento da História: o surgimento de municipios no eixo Londrina–Maringá (Fragmentos da historia do Norte do Parana em textos e imagens), Paulo César Boni and Maria Luisa Hoffmann, eds. (Londrina: Paulo César Boni, 2009), 17–23. 13 For example: “Warnung vor Auswanderung nach Brasilien,” Danziger Neuste Nachrichten, 2 July 1931, 5. See also APG, 260/2940, 215, 217–218. 14 Wacáaw Borowski, “LudnoĞü i struktura zatrudnienia w Wolnym MieĞcie GdaĔsku,” Komunikaty Instytutu Baátyckiego 2 (1975): 16–18.

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determining formal issues concerning the migration of the citizens of Danzig to the lands of Northern Paraná. However, the author has not so far been able to locate any of these documents, nor the status of the association, nor the aforementioned contract. In the summer of 1931 Schneider and Bloch went to São Paulo where they began preparations to establish settlements by negotiating directly with the British. The talks lasted until October. It was settled that in the initial period the British Society should provide for the settlers and supply them with necessary resources received from a special fund managed by the "Neu Danzig” Settlement Society. Bloch came back to the Free City in the autumn to prepare the first transport of emigrants. Finally, the first ship, with 258 passengers, including 31 settlers—forefathers of Neu Danzig—set sail on 1 December 1931. Interestingly, they did not depart from Danzig, but from Bremen.15 The journey to Paraná was long and tedious, not only for the first settlers. After a long voyage of at least three weeks, the emigrants reached the Brazilian port, Santos, where they underwent initial health examinations. If their conditions required it, they were placed in compulsory quarantine on a neighbouring island. From the port, they went to São Paulo, which was one of the most important South American cities. There, they took the train, which left twice a day, towards Neu Danzig. After a day-long trip of about 500 kilometres, the immigrants reached their destination—Jataha, but they still needed another two hours by bus to get to Londrina, 15–16 kilometres away from Neu Danzig. The vessel, Madrid, carrying the first settlers, reached Brazil shore on 25 December 1931. They arrived at Londrina two days later. They were placed in previously prepared hotels at the expense of the British Society, and were also provided with a German-speaking person to assist them. Because of the poor condition of roads soggy after heavy rains, the settlers from Danzig remained in Londrina for several days, but eventually, on 2 January 1932, small groups of male emigrants departed in a northward direction to build Neu Danzig at the designated place.16 The settlers found an unfinished, several-bedroom wooden building there, which they ironically named Danziger Hof after of one of the most luxurious hotels in the Free City of Danzig. Danziger Hof acted as a shelter for emigrants who had not yet managed to settle on the lands they had bought in the neighbourhood, or adapted to the new conditions. The 15

Scalon Cortez, “ǥDanziger Hof,’” 3–5. Ibid., 5; “Mein Besuch in Neu-Danzig,” Danziger Neuste Nachrichten, 3 August 1932, 6; APG, 260/947, 139; Roick, “60 Jahre Neu-Danzig,” 6; Mainka, “Roland und Rolândia,” 64.

16

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shelter constituted the first common room and a meeting place for the new community. Its construction was delegated to Albert Koch, a German, who had settled in Londrina. Later he purchased two plots close to Danziger Hof, where he opened the first store and a warehouse. He also provided the settlers of Neu Danzig with advice and assistance. The next few months were dedicated to the preparation of the first houses and land management. Maze and beans were the main crops. Most settlers were forced to live in rough-and-ready conditions using boxes and chests as furniture, quite often sharing their huts with animals. The colony developed slowly. In April–December 1932 another thirtyseven settlers bought parcels of land in Neu Danzig, thirty-two of whom were German. Although there was an architect, an accountant and merchants among the settlers, the group lacked qualified farmers or craftsmen. Shortage of experience, and the imprudence of some of the settlers, resulted in grievous misfortunes. Some settlers, having spent all their money on overseas travel and land purchase, did not have enough resources to buy the necessary seeds and survive until the first harvest. Others spent too much on building wooden houses first instead of making adequate investments in the land they had bought. Moreover, the Europeans did not tolerate the weather conditions well, and suffered from mosquito bites. At first, the poor knowledge of Portuguese inhibited the settlers’ ability to establish contacts with neighbouring settlements, and trade. Another significant disadvantage was a totally different diet to what they were accustomed.17 The homeland closely watched the development of Neu Danzig and the fate of the first settlers. Every few weeks the Danzig press published letters from the ex-Danzig citizens who had decided to start a new life in Paraná. Over time, apart from occasional enthusiastic voices, numerous reports of the dispirited picture of life in Neu Danzig appeared. They told of the high fees the British charged for the transport of goods that the settlers produced. According to some accounts, the fees were so high that only the cultivation of coffee or tobacco could cover them. However, there a tax was imposed on the former, while the unfavourable weather prevented the latter. Repeated voicing of opinions about the harsh situation in the colony forced the Danzig Senate to investigate the issue. In the summer of 1932, two representatives of the Free City were sent to Paraná to see for themselves how Neu Danzig was developing. Upon returning,

17

Roick, “60 Jahre Neu-Danzig,” 6–7; Scalon Cortez, “ǥDanziger Hof,’” 6–8.

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they assuaged public opinion by denying most of charges, but they also admitted that conditions in the colony were indeed difficult.18 All in all, the major problem, beyond the lack of experience and acclimatization, was perhaps the irregular money transfers from Danzig to the British Society, which in turn was not able to provide for the settlers. Around the end of 1932 and the beginning of 1933, some settlers decided to abandon their plans to settle down in Neu Danzig. A few of them went back to Danzig, others moved to neighbouring, better developed German settlements, or to São Paulo. Those who stayed were employed in road construction, fields clearing, or cattle slaughter. The lands within about 3– 4 kilometres away from the Danziger Hof were the focus of the new construction. The fiasco of development, financed by the resources of the “Neu Danzig” Settlement Society, did not shatter the chances of further settlement in the territory. Fertile soil, relatively appealing prices of land and an improving road infrastructure attracted new groups of settlers from various parts of the world, mostly from overpopulated Japan (it is worth mentioning that the largest Japanese diaspora is located in Brazil, in São Paulo, the state adjacent to Paraná), but also from Slovakia, Ukraine, Italy, Spain and Germany. The percentage of citizens originating from Danzig was low, though it should be pointed out that there were individual cases of emigration from the Free City of GdaĔsk to Neu Danzig after 1932.19 Claude Lévi-Strauss, a French anthropologist and philosopher who travelled in Paraná in 1935, left an interesting account concerning the early colonization of these areas; Riding or motoring along the new roads […] there was no way of knowing that the country was alive. The lots ran down from the road to the river at the bottom of the valley, and it was at the farther end, by the water, that things had begun to move. The clearance work began below and crept gradually up the slope, so that the road, the symbol of civilization, was still deep in the forest which, for months or even years to come, would still crown the top of the slopes. Down below, on the other hand, the first harvests–always on a prodigious scale in this terra roxa, this untouched violet earth-pushed their way between the great fallen trees. […] The Pomeranian and Ukrainian settlers had not even had time to build themselves houses—they still lodged with their animals in wooden hutments 18 “Mein Besuch in Neu-Danzig,” Danziger Neuste Nachrichten, 3 August 1932, 6; Mainka, “Roland und Rolândia,” 65. 19 Scalon Cortez, “ ǥDanziger Hof,’” 8; Vera Tkotz, e-mail message to author, March 24, 2012; Cambé: Repensando sua história, 36; César Cortez, Cambé, 112– 119; Mainka, “Roland und Rolândia,” 65.

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beside the stream—so urgent was the need to curb the ardor of this magnificent soil and ‘break it in’ like a wild stallion. Had this not been done their maize and cotton would have run amok in over-luxuriant vegetation instead of coming to orderly fruition. We saw German farmers weep for joy as they showed us how a whole grove of lemon-trees had sprung from a cutting or two. For what astounded the men from the north was not only the fertility: it was the strangeness of these crops that they had known of only through fairy-tales. As the area is on the frontier between the tropical and the temperate zones, a difference of even a few feet in altitude could bring about a marked difference in climate. European and South American specialties could be grown side by side, and the settlers delighted in exploiting this fact-setting wheat next to cane sugar and coffee next to flax…20

Three years after the founding of Neu Danzig two schools (German and Brazilian), a small wooden church (consecrated in December 1934), a market place, numerous stores and a hotel had been built. The construction of a railway linking Londrina, Neu Danzig, and Arapognas with São Paolo via Jataha played a crucial role in the development of the settlement. The railway line opened at the end of 1935, and was certainly one of the most important catalysts in the rapid development of Neu Danzig in the second half of the 1930s. The settlement of 90 inhabitants in 1935 had turned into the town of 9.6 thousand by 1939.21 Though there were doubtless Poles among the settlers who had reached Neu Danzig, their exact number is unknown. Sometimes we read that Neu Danzig was a Polish settlement,22 but this is an overstatement. Poles lived in other German settlements in the region as well. The one place in the whole state of Paraná where Poles were visibly concentrated was the

20

Claude Lévi-Strauss, Tristes Tropiques, translated by John Russell (New York: Criterion Books, 1961), 124–125. 21 Ibid., 110; Paulo César Boni, “As transformações geográficas e populacionais de Londrina na década de 40,” in Certidões de Nascimento da História: o surgimento de municipios no eixo Londrina–Maringá (Fragmentos da historia do Norte do Parana em textos e imagens), edited by Paulo César Boni and Maria Luisa Hoffmann (Londrina, 2009), 53; Roick, “60 Jahre Neu–Danzig,” 7; Cia. de Terras do Paraná. Die grösste Kolonisationsgesellschaft Südamerikas (São Paulo, 1935), 13; Cambé: Repensando sua história, 50–53. 22 “Polacy i osoby polskiego pochodzenia w Brazylii. Zarys historyczny i wspóáczesnoĞü Polonii brazylijskiej,” website of the Consulate General of the Republic of Poland in Curitiba (Brazil), http://www.kurytybakg.polemb.net/?document=35 (accessed 21 January 2012).

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Czech colony of Nova Vlast, north of Londrina.23 This region attracted the boldest colonization initiatives of interwar Poland, the establishment of the Wola Morska settlement.24 In 1938, in the Londrina region, in which Nova Danzig had been incorporated a year earlier, there were 446 Polish inhabitants.25 The shape of Nova Danzig affected its demographic development. It evolved from a small settlement into an efficiently functioning town with separate areas for trade, services, and housing. Lévi-Strauss observed: The new cities were entirely nordic in character; like those who, a century earlier, had grouped themselves in the south of the State, around Curitiba, the new arrivals were Germans, Poles, Russians, and, to a lesser extent, Italians. Houses built of planks, or from squared–off tree–trunks, called to mind central and Eastern Europe. […] Faceless areas would seem to acquire an urban structure overnight; and just as an embryo forms itself into cells, each of which becomes part of a particular group and has a function all its own, so did each of the new towns acquire a character peculiar to itself. Londrina was already well organized, with a main street, a business centre, an artisans’ quarter, and a residential section. But what mysterious formative powers were at work in the patch of dead ground which was all that Rolandia, and still more Arapongas, as yet amounted to? What authority was parking out one set of citizens here, and another there, and giving each sector of the new town an inescapable function? Each town was initially a rectangular clearing in the forest, with every street at right angles to every other street: they were depersonalized tracings, geometrical outlines–nothing more. Yet some were in the centre, and some on the periphery; some parallel to a tie road or the railway, some at right angles to them. […] In the synthetic towns of southern Brazil one could detect in the lay-out of the houses, the specialized use to which each street was put, and the beginnings of individual style in each quarter of the town, the workings of a clandestine and enormously obstinate will. […] Londrina, Nova Dantzig, Rolandia, and Arapongas had been born of the decisions of a group of engineers and financiers, but already they were reverting to the authentic diversity of urban life, just as Curitiba had reverted a century ago and Goiania may be reverting today.26

23 Michaá Pankiewicz, “Kolonizacja na terenie Parany w chwili obecnej,” Morze 3 (1934): 23–24. 24 More about the Wola Morska colony: Tadeusz Biaáas, Liga Morska i Kolonialna 1930–1939 (GdaĔsk: Wydawnictwo Morskie, 1983). 25 Krzysztof Smolana, “Recenseamento da população polonesa no Brasil 1934– 1938,” Estudios Latinoamericanos 7 (1980): 167. 26 Claude Lévi-Strauss, Tristes Tropiques, 125, 127–128.

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The society of Neu Danzig was not immune to the effects of the new course of the Brazilian policy aimed at national integration, and restrictions on significant immigrant autonomy concerning separate schools or societies. It was not a coincidence that these initiatives were carried out at a time when the states of origin of most south Brazilian immigrants—Germany, Italy, and Japan—were fascist, and attempted to mobilize their citizens abroad: the process escalated after World War II had begun. Some settlers of German, Japanese and Italian origin in Neu Danzig were imprisoned, others were not allowed to carry guns or use their mother tongues, and some of their homes were searched. In January 1944, following a decree by the Brazilian government, published in October 1943, all settlements (towns and cities) whose names came from the languages of hostile countries (e.g. German, Japan, or Italy) were officially changed. Neu Danzig consequently became Cambé.27 In 1985 the Museum of History of Cambé revived the history of Neu Danzig. In 1995, a Historical Park was opened at the Danziger Hof. So far there have been several publications in Portuguese focusing on the history of Neu Danzig/Cambé; it is difficult to obtain them in Europe, however. In January 2011, Ronald Tkotz, the last male member of the Tkotz family from the Free City of Danzig, who had settled in today’s Cambé before 1939, died at the age of 92.28 It was during the same month that I came across the first account of Nova Dantzig in an old newspaper in the Library of the Polish Academy of Sciences in GdaĔsk. I am convinced that it is high time to start thorough, cross-ethnic research to preserve the memory of the emigrants from the Free City of Danzig who decided to start a new life on the other side of the world in the middle of the Brazilian jungle.

27 28

Cambé: Repensando sua história, 36. Vera Tkotz, e-mail message to author, 24 March 2012.

CHAPTER TWELVE MEETING THE HEALTH CARE NEEDS OF POLISH IMMIGRANTS IN NEW YORK CITY, 1890–1935 ANNE M. GURNACK

By the start of the First World War about 1.5 million people had immigrated to America from the partitioned lands of Poland.1 Those Poles who came after 1890 were often undereducated peasants and were referred to as za chlebem (for bread) immigrants. Higher wages in the United States were very attractive to these future workers, and unskilled jobs were plentiful, particularly in large urban areas such as New York City. The very fact that immigrants were settling in the cities in such unprecedented numbers created the very need for the unskilled manual labour they could provide. Municipalities struggled to pave streets, extend trolley tracks, install new water mains and construct housing for their residents. Cities like New York expanded at an alarming rate but still could not cope with the new demands. Traffic jams of horse-drawn vehicles cluttered downtown streets. Tenements began to encroach on once elegant shopping districts, and makeshift huts spread out along some riverbanks as the newcomers searched for room to live.2 By the end of June 1900, 36,835 Poles cited New York City as their final destination upon arrival. As defined by mother tongue, the 1910 census revealed 74,776 foreign born Poles in New York—the city being

1

Helena Znaniecka Lopata, Mary P. Erdmans, Polish Americans (New Brunswick, London: Transaction Publishers, 1994), 33–42; John J. Bukowczyk, And My Children Did Not Know Me. A History of the Polish-Americans (Bloomington, Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1987), 11–15; Cf. Andrzej BroĪek, Polish Americans 1854–1939 (Warszawa: Interpress, 1983). 2 Ann Novotny, Strangers at the Door (Riverside, California: The Chatham Press, 1971), 81.

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the second biggest concentration of first and second generation PolishAmericans in the country (following Chicago).3 Most of these Polish peasants settled in the area which is known as lower Manhattan. Initially, they sought to establish churches and form benevolent societies for themselves, but there were also many other critical needs to be met, such as health care, as the city and its leaders responded to the effects of an ever-increasing foreign immigration influx.

Two Polish Neighbourhoods The working class and its peasant population formed the basic layer of New York City Polonia, particularly after 1890. In addition to Manhattan, Polish settlers moved in to Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Long Island. However, this chapter will focus mainly on those who remained in the Lower East Side of New York. Those Poles who remained in lower Manhattan often found themselves dominated by other groups living there such as Germans and Jews. The area originally inhabited by these Polish settlers in Lower East Manhattan stretched roughly from Williams Bridge to Fourth Street.4 These immigrants experienced great difficulty in establishing a church, but eventually around 1874 formed a parish called St. Stanislaus Bishop & Martyr on Stanton Street. The Polish neighbourhood in which this parish was housed was characterized by high crime rates and an abundance of saloons, unsavoury characters and brothels. Much social activity revolved around a few taverns, the most noteworthy being Mother Budzynska at 197 East Second Street (the building no longer stands). Even in the midst of almost insurmountable obstacles the priests of the parish on Stanton Street proved invaluable outreach and community-based services to their parishioners. Father Klimecki arranged for classes to be held in the basement auditorium: the first one-room school had fifty pupils, taught by a church organizer; the enrollment then leapt to one hundred and forty children in two classrooms. He also scheduled evening classes for adults in English, Polish and civics to assist his parishioners in becoming good citizens of their newly adopted land. During these early years, the church also served 3

Kate Hollady Claghorn, The Foreign Immigrant in New York City. Report of the Industrial Commission (Washington D.C.: United States Government Printing Office, 1901), 465–492. 4 For a description of Lower Manhattan, see the following link to maps of the area often known as East Village: http://gonyc.about.com/od/manhattan/ss/east–village –map.htm (accessed 20 September 2012).

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as quasi-employment agency as newly settled Poles could learn about potential work in the area. Eventually a housing facility was made available for women. The housing was called the St. Joseph’s Home for the Protection of Polish Immigrants, located at 117 Broad Street.5 As time passed, the Poles in the neighbourhood grew increasingly uncomfortable with their surroundings and eventually a new location for St. Stanislaus church was located. The building at Stanton Street could only hold five hundred families. And many parishioners now lived further uptown. Furthermore, the neighbourhood continued to be plagued by crime and vice. Finally, four buildings were purchased uptown on Seventh Street. Placing this unpleasantness behind them, the pastor and church members of St. Stanislaus on Seventh Street began to build this religious organization eventually evolving to a membership of several hundred. This Polish neighbourhood which exists to this day is centred around East Seventh Street, stretching from Fourth to about Eleventh Street, from Avenue C through First Avenue. While available narratives about New York City Poles focus mainly on the establishment of social and religious organizations,6 this chapter will focus on a description of the health services that were available to those immigrants and their families. Health care remains a critical human need that had to be met during this period of heavy immigration. The institutions providing services to Polish and other immigrant groups included in this essay were Bellevue Hospital, Lillian Wald House, and St Mark’s Hospital. In addition, short biographies of a few Polish physicians and medical offices will be cited. Specifically, the following questions will be addressed; How did New York City accommodate the health care needs of groups such as Poles during the massive immigration period of 1890 to 1935? What health care services were available to Polish immigrants living in lower Manhattan? How accessible were these health care services? Were these health care services provided of high quality?

5

Louis L. Makulec, Church of Saint Stanislaus Bishop and Martyr on East Seventh Street in New York City 1874–1954 (New York: The Roman Catholic Church of Saint Bishop and Martyr, 1973). 6 Frank Renkiewicz, The Foreign Immigrant in New York City, 1865–1914 (Master Thesis: University of Notre Dame, 1958), 52; Anne M. Gurnack, Richard Hunter, and Rene Bradley, “The Battle Over the Deed to Saint Stanislaus Bishop and Martyr Church in New York City,” Polish American Studies 67, no. 1 (2010), 45– 56.

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Bellevue Hospital Bellevue Hospital dates back to 1736 and is often credited as being the first public hospital in the United States. New York City’s population had grown to 8,000 in 1731. The proliferation of “vagabonds and idle beggars” demanded attention by city officials. In 1735, construction of the “Public Workhouse and House of Correction” was begun, as it was deemed a crime for New Yorkers to be poor. The building was intended for both labour and instruction for sewing, knitting, spinning, weaving, and working with leather and iron. An infirmary measuring about 25 by 23 feet and containing 6 beds was also constructed on the upper floor of the workhouse: Dr. John Van Beuren was appointed medical officer at less than US$200 per year with the expectation that he would provide medical supplies.7 Hence, Bellevue Hospital was born, though not yet christened with that name.

Fig. 12-1: Bellevue Hospital, 19068

By 1810 New York’s population had risen to 96,373, and several epidemics of yellow fever overwhelmed the city. Unsanitary conditions abounded and filth filled the streets everywhere as garbage collection 7

Edwin M. Knight Jr., M.D.,”Bellevue Hospital,” History Magazine 1 (2000), 33–40. Picture Collection, The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations, image 805137. 8

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services had yet to be developed. Known by this time as Bellevue, staff at the hospital assumed the burden of burying the dead (the hospital had opened its own cemetery in 1757 as the numbers of victims of various epidemics grew). In the 1860s, during the Civil War, demands for hospital care increased substantially, especially for wounded and disabled soldiers. A horse-drawn ambulance service became necessary as a means of transporting these servicemen to the hospital. And women who could serve as nurses were needed and eventually recruited. In 1872 a committee was formed to propose a plan for the establishment of a training school for nurses. A letter was received from Florence Nightingale which encouraged the committee to proceed with their work. Within a year, successful fundraising efforts resulted in a building near the hospital to house the nurses in training. Some hospital personnel such as a distinguished surgeon were doubtful about the success of a nursing school. They argued that … a pauper hospital was no place for a refined and intelligent woman—the patients, as a general thing, are a difficult class to work with, and the service is so hard that the conscientious intelligent woman you are looking for will lose heart and hope before the two years are over.9

A graduate of the Bellevue nursing school described its mission in the following poem: An Ode to Bellevue By Mary St. John, R.N. If your walls could but tell the story, Of the deeds of those mighty men, That have traver’st the boards of Bellevue’s wards, T’would a wonderful story pen. It would tell of their work and the efforts That were made for the human race; And of each plan that they made to save man, By striving disease to efface. Then again it would tell you of others— Of that bank of women who came,

9

“Bellevue: A Short History of Bellevue Hospital and of the training Schools,” Alumnae Association of Bellevue, Pension Fund Committee, (December 1915.)

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Chapter Twelve And who saw indeed the people’s great need For through them sprang Bellevue’s fame. How they spent both their time and their money, And made a most glorious fight Until there now stands a monument grand— A symbol of wisdom and light. Then again they would speak of the nurses, Who never once seemed to tire, But would work with their might both day and night, To benefit man, their desire. For this body of earnest, hard workers, With their heart and soul, and their brain, Were the part of God’s plan found in the van Of the army, that’s lived not in vain. They would tell how your doors have been opened To the sick, the sore and the sad, How the poor and forsaken you’ve always taken, And given the best that you’ve had. How you’ve never rebuked nor condemned them Because they success did not win, But have unbarred your gate no matter how late, And always have welcomed them in. That these walls so soon shall be silenced, Whose stories must then pass away, Means of sorrow, this coming to–morrow, For the ones who know them to–day. And when in the dust you have been leveled, Your requiem song has been sung; In Memory’s hall will be found on the wall, A tablet to Bellevue there hung.10

Also in 1872 a number of prominent ladies met at the home of Miss Louisa Lee Schuyler to organize a committee which would visit New York public hospitals and report on their condition to the State board of Charities. These reports were very useful and served as an impetus for the

10

Ibid.

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improvement of conditions and quality services provided by the hospital.11 By the end of the century, Bellevue Hospital had grown by leaps and bounds to buildings occupying several blocks at First Avenue in the now sprawling New York City. And by 1902 the hospital contained 900 beds, which had increased to 1,334 by 1913, the peak of the period of the arrival of immigrant groups including Poles. Employees, including physicians and staff, numbered 556 in 1902 and nearly doubled to 1,168 by 1913. 23,780 patients were treated in 1902, and 41,428 in 1913. Bellevue Hospital remains to this day an important provider of health care services for the indigent and an important training facility for health care personnel for the city. It is a high quality health care facility affiliated with New York University School of Medicine.12 87-year-old Theresa Agnes Lucznikowska who resided at 537 East Fifth Street in the Polish neighbourhood recalls a visit to Bellevue Hospital as a child: I was only eight or nine years old when Mother was impelled by the school nurse to take me to Bellevue for a check-up. 1932 was the depth of the Depression and no family had the $2 for a visit to the doctor. So, most all had to go to the Bellevue Clinic. I remember waiting for the trolley car on Avenue C, which was interesting but very cold! Cats scavenged in the gutters for food or whatever they could find. Mother held me close to save me from the brutal wind. These were the days of bitter winters. Mother was pregnant—but I did not know that! It made it difficult to snuggle. Grateful for the arrival of the trolley with its ‘burning cold stove,’ we climbed in and took our seats. Many people were perched on the running boards as we went to 21st. Hooray! Here we are at Bellevue Hospital. The clinic is on the 3rd floor and we are so happy to ride on the freight elevator. There are so many people there! Mother tells me that this is the best hospital. Built in 1736, it serves the poor and the wealthy. Our neighbours claim that ‘to go to Bellevue is to die’, but Mother says that some people, unable to pay the $2 for private doctors, wait until it is too late to go to the clinic. 11

Twenty-seventh Annual Report of the New York County Visiting Committee, Bellevue Hospital and Other Public Institutions, State charities Aid Association of New York, (October 1899). 12 HHC Bellevue, South Manhattan Healthcare Network, http://www.nyc.gov/html/hhc/bellevue/html/home/home.shtml (accessed 12 October 2012).

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Chapter Twelve My doctor is a lady, very unusual. Dr. Lincoln is her name. She listens to my heart, thumps my chest. All the waiting mothers and children ask, ‘How is she? Is she a good doctor?’ ‘The best you can find and you can have!’ we reply! We walk down to the pharmacy where they give us a carton of liver extract containers. Taking them home is going to be a problem on the trolley! Mother tells me, while we are traveling, how lucky we are to have Bellevue doctors and nurses. They told her that I have anemia, much like most of the kids in the neighborhood. I also have a heart murmur, and the doctor will arrange a ‘vacation’ at Staten Island in a hospital this summer. Some of the children from my block will be going as well. We are all supported by the Children’s Clinic, which is supported by wealthy people. While I am in the hospital on ‘vacation’, Mother has a new baby girl born in Bellevue Maternity Hospital. Later that year Father is taken to Bellevue with double pneumonia. The wonderful doctors at Belleview help to get him well. They send him to upper state New York to recuperate. Those tall grey buildings that now go from 21st St to 30th St were the saving grace in a time when money was scarce. Not all people spoke English, and we all needed hope and help. Bellevue provided this and more.13

In summary, Bellevue was a high-quality facility that provided vital services to immigrants though it might not have been the most accessible location as a trolley ride was necessary to get there. Also, for those Poles who did not speak English, a neighbour or friend was recruited to accompany the patient.

Saint Mark’s Hospital While Bellevue Hospital was a major health care venue for Polish Immigrants, another hospital located in the Seventh Street neighbourhood at 66 St. Mark’s Place, also served this population for many years. St. Mark’s was incorporated as a general hospital in March 1890.14 Located on St. Mark’s Place between Second Avenue and Eleventh Street, the hospital served the indigent public, including immigrants who arrived between 1890 and 1930. The area was heavily inhabited by newly-arrived Poles, particularly those from Galicia. 13 14

Interview with Theresa Agnes Lucznikowska, 20 May 2012, Staten Island, NY. “Saint Mark’s Hospital,” PAPER, 9 March 1890.

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On 15 December 1926, the cornerstone was laid for a new five-storey, 110 bed, US$600,000 public wards building.15 About 200 persons were present at the event, including representatives from Mayor Walker’s office, including Henry D. Meeker, president of the Board of Trustees, Dr. Adolf Lorenz, a Viennese surgeon, and Dr. Benjamin Tilton, another physician staff member at the hospital. After the cornerstone was put into place, Maxmillian Ruttenau placed his history of St. Mark’s Hospital under the stone, as well as the first badge given to a nurse, and five local newspapers. By the 1930s, the hospital was in financial trouble, and on 17 May 1931 filed for bankruptcy.16 The hospital had attempted to sell its buildings to the City of New York as a hospital for tubercular patients. The city rejected the offer. The hospital staff had consisted of 50 nurses, 10 interns, 104 student nurses, and 350 courtesy physicians. The charity work of the hospital of the poor and persons of moderate means was identified as the cause of its financial collapse.17 The demand for free services had been increasing constantly during the heavy periods of immigration. The hospital had engaged in several emergency fundraising campaigns, but to no avail. The building was acquired by the International Committee of the Young Men’s Christian Association, who sold it in July 1945 to the Greenwich House Music School. Greenwich house had been founded in 1902 as a settlement house which provided many services to assist immigrants as they adjusted to the new ways of American culture.18 In its day St. Mark’s Hospital provided high-quality, accessible health care services to Poles and other immigrant groups living in the neighbourhood.

Lillian Wald and the Henry Street Project As the previous narrative demonstrates, good hospital care was available for the chronic and acute health care needs of Polish immigrants of the Lower East Side. However, there remained serious gaps in services, especially relating to those problems that resulted from the spread of infectious diseases at the turn of the twentieth century. As the development 15 “Saint Mark’s Hospital Lays a Cornerstone,” New York Times, 16 December 1926. 16 “Saint Mark’s Hospital is in Bankruptcy,” New York Times, 17 May 1931. 17 “Saint Mark’s Hospital forced to Closed Doors, Staff disbanding as Pleas for funds Fail,” New York Times, 5 August, 1930. 18 “Downtown School buys Old Saint Mark’s Hospital,” New York Times, 28 July 1945.

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and understanding of germ theory spread in the country, urban dwellers became aware of the need to deal with public health concerns throughout the city of New York. Immigrant communities were vastly overcrowded, dirty, and unhealthy.19 The woman who spearheaded the efforts to bring health care services to the Lower East Side immigrant neighbourhood and into the homes of the sick and needy was Lillian Wald. Lillian Wald was born in Cincinnati, Ohio in 1867, of German-Jewish-Polish stock.20 Her father was an optical dealer, and her middle class family provided a comfortable upbringing. In 1878 the family moved to Rochester, New York. She attended Miss Cruttenden’s English-French Boarding School for Young Ladies. When she graduated, she attempted to enter Vassar College, but was not admitted as she was only 16 years old. In 1889 she attended New York Hospital’s School of Nursing, graduating in 1891, and then enrolled in courses at the Women’s Medical College. She then assumed her first serous professional position at the New York Juvenile Asylum where she became disappointed with the quality of institutional care for children. One day she was called upon to provide medical services to an immigrant family, the Lipskys, living in a nearby tenement. When she arrived at their living quarters, she immediately became aware of the squalid environment that prevailed in tenement life and began a lifelong commitment to ameliorate these conditions. She had taught a class called “home nursing” at a Sunday school for immigrants: along with Mary Brewster, her classmate from nursing school, she then opened up the “House on Henry Street”, a settlement-house facility to tend to their health care needs. There, the profession of “public health nursing” was born. They lived in the neighbourhood as nurses to tend to the needs of immigrant families. To support her endeavours, Wald received substantial financial assistance from Jacob Schiff, who remained a loyal supporter. Schiff was a banker, businessman, and philanthropist and a major Jewish leader of his time.21 Henry Street was very close to the original Polish church on Stanton Street and the Polish neighbourhoods. While Wald’s services were originally offered to Jewish clients they expanded to serve any needy 19 Karen Buhler–Wilkerson, “Bringing Health Care to the People: Lillian Wald’s Legacy to Public Health Legacy,” American Journal of Public Health 83 (1993), 1780–1783. 20 Gerhard Falk, “Biography of Lillian Wald,” in Vernon D. Bullough, American Nursing: A Biographical Dictionary, (New York: Springer Publishers, 2004). 21 Marjorie N. Feld, Lillian Wald: A Biography (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008), 38–49.

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residents of the neighbourhood.22 Wald’s concept of serving these immigrant families was applied to the Lower East Side; she had been influenced by her attendance at the International Congress of Charities meetings, particularly a paper written by Florence Nightingale titled “Sick Nursing and Health Cursing”, which outlined a plan for health visitors. These community-based nurses tended to births, illnesses and deaths of families living in the neighbourhoods. Eventually these services were expanded as Wald and her staff developed co-operative relationships with hospitals and agencies which provided, ice, medicines, and sterilized milk. By 1910 the faculty had developed into the Henry Street Nurses Settlement, and consisted of a staff of 50 who ran a milk station, a convalescent centre and several first aid stations. The nurses conducted maternity services and health conferences for mothers and babies. During that year, 15,492 patients were served, 143,589 home visits made, and 18,934 treatments given.23 Through the Henry Street programme, Polish immigrants were able to receive accessible, high-quality preventative services in addition to those provided by hospitals and clinics. The Henry Street Settlement developed and expanded into the Visiting Nurse Service of New York. Wald received numerous awards during her lifetime, and in 1971, a bronze bust of her was placed into the Hall of Fame of Americans at New York University. While the hospitals discussed above met acute and chronic health care needs, the Henry Street Settlement addressed preventative health concerns for Polish and other immigrant groups, as well as well looking at the community public health profile.

A Few Physicians For those residents who could afford private physicians and the two dollar office visit fee, there were a few doctors available that served the Polish population. One, Dr. Samuel Maurice Kaufman, was located at 111 East Seventh Street right across from the Polish church, St. Stanislaus Bishop and Martyr. His medical facility was listed as the “Polish Medical Institute”. The other physician, Dr. Anton G. Zajaczkowski had his office in Brooklyn at 110 South Second Street for those who wished to travel by 22

Lillian D. Wald, The House on Henry Street (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1915). 23 Robert Luther Duffus, Lillian Wald: Neighbor and Crusader (New York: The MacMillan Company, 1939.)

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subway to see him. This doctor had received his training in St. Petersburg, Russia.

Conclusion Given this review of a variety of health services available to Polish new arrivals during the period of heavy immigrants from 1890 to 1930, one can conclude that that fairly high-quality and accessible care was available to these groups. This article has discussed the major health care offerings available for immigrant groups such as Poles. It should be mentioned that other local services were provided by the city such as “baby stations”, where mothers could take their newborn to be weighed, and receive postnatal care. The city’s public and health officials, private groups and individuals benefactors, and charitable organizations came together to address many health care needs of the vast number of immigrants that were arriving at Ellis Island on a daily basis.

PART III: PUTTING ROOTS DOWN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN INDEPENDENCE DAY DOES NOT CROSS THE ATLANTIC: POLAND, POLONIA AND NOVEMBER 11TH, 1918–2012 M. B. B. BISKUPSKI

November 11th is Polish Independence Day. Indeed, it is officially ĝwiĊto NiepodlegáoĞci, the celebration of national independence. The choice of November 11th marks events which occurred in 1918––which are complex and controversial, and the details need not concern us here–– save to say that on that day, coincident with the conclusion of the World War, Józef Piásudski, having returned to Warsaw from German imprisonment the day before, gathered into his hands very considerable powers and successfully pre-empted other competing centres of political coalescence. However, neither he nor anyone else proclaimed Poland independent that day, nor was it recognized by anyone, nor did any representative body meet, nor was the national territory secured. These events would indeed come, but only later, in some cases much later. The Poles did not immediately decide that November 11th was to be their independence day even though the anniversary was marked as early as 1919, albeit rather modestly. November 11th was not a major celebration Poland until the late 1920s, and even then only unofficially, and did not become a state holiday until 1937. During the war it was suppressed by the occupying powers and celebrated only clandestinely. The Polish authorities abroad, notably the government in London of General Wáadysáaw Sikorski, did not particularly like the day––he detested Piásudski—and tried to ignore it, though it was tardily and modestly resurrected after Sikorski’s death in 1943. With the end of the war and the imposition of communist rule the day was regarded with hostility by the new authorities who considered it a hallmark of the reactionary pre-war

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regime they despised and replaced. Only with the growth of an increasingly organized opposition movement to communist rule after 1976 did November 11th appear as a kind of counter-ceremony, a celebration used to compare the free past with the unfree present. With the 1989 restoration of Polish independence, it was again proclaimed the national holiday, and it is the occasion of rather considerable public demonstrations, often designed to conjure the traditions of 1918–1920, the heroic years of Piásudski, the central actor in the drama. The current function of November 11th in Poland is a most intriguing.1 However, it has a peculiarly different function for the Poles of America and symbolically demonstrates the striking dissimilarity of the political consciousness of these two separated and problematically related Polish communities. It is a day of many symbols, but the saddest is that it is the symbol of Polonia’s detachment from its ancestral Fatherland. American Polonia played a paradoxical role in the regaining of Polish independence and its relationship to the post-November 1918 state reflected that paradox. For a variety of complex reasons, the great bulk of organized Polonia was dominated by the Polish nationalist right, which had latterly allied with, though not totally merged with, the clerical wing of Polonia. This combined the Roman Catholic church and the nationalist right into a powerful intellectual and organizational unit which dominated the major integrating mechanisms of American Polonia, the press, the fraternals, and, of course, the religious organizations. Ignacy Jan Paderewski was their leader, their master, and their hero. Although specific numbers cannot be determined, it is widely assumed that about 90 per cent of organized Polonia was amalgamated into one or another of those organizations which were under nationalist-clerical control. By contrast, the followers of Piásudski in the United States were a distinct minority, perhaps a mere 10 per cent of the community, and beyond their small numbers they were vexed by organizational weakness. In essence, they consisted of a handful of small organizations outside the Polonia mainstream, including various labour factions, socialists, religious dissidents (particularly the rambunctious but exiguous Polish National Catholic Church), among others.2 Weak though they were, the Piásudskiites in America saw from afar their champion arrive in Warsaw on 10 November 1918 and shortly thereafter proclaim Poland free, and himself its leader. By comparison, the 1

This outline is based on my Independence Day: Myth, Symbol, and the Creation of Modern Poland (London: Oxford University Press, 2012). 2 The history of this era is explained in detail in my The United States and the Rebirth of Poland, 1914–1918 (Dordrecht: Republic of Letters, 2012).

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much more powerful nationalist–clerical faction in the United States looked on with incredulity and frustrated incomprehension as their own ideological comrades either failed to achieve a powerful position in the new state––Roman Dmowski––or held power briefly and ineffectively–– Paderewski. In so far as the Poland proclaimed in November, 1918 was the work of Piásudski and the movement he represented, it was the creation of the ardent opponent of the bulk of organized American Polonia. The Piásudskiites, who were triumphant in Warsaw, had been crushed across the Atlantic. This is the essential paradox of American Polonia’s understanding of November 11th. Insofar as it is a Piásudskiite celebration, it is no celebration at all. The history of American Polonia’s attitude towards the day is a combination of two dynamics. First, the relative weight of the Piásudskiite as against the anti-Piásudski camp, and second, the ability of Polonia to view November 11th as an occasion apart from the celebration of Piásudski and his legend. American Polonia’s attitude towards November 11th can be organized into several eras: The first is the period from the end of the war, 1918 to 1928, when the status of the anniversary radically changed in Poland, but not in Polonia. The second era lasts for many years, through the Second World War, and up to the emergence of an organized opposition in Poland in the 1970s, although 1968 may be considered a useful focal point. The third phase begins thereafter, and is still in progress today. In general, Polonia did not accept, and has not accepted November 11th as having particular significance to them. Commemoration of November 11th was almost exclusively maintained by that congeries of Polonia splinter groups which had briefly congealed during 1912–1918 in support of Piásudski—or rather, in opposition to the nationalist-clerical domination of Polonia. Hence, November 11th ceremonies were reported in the independent and leftist press, conducted at socialist societies, the Polish National Catholic Church, and in parish halls belonging to the rather exotic congregations of Polish Baptists and Presbyterians, and by the organizational remnants of the pro-Piásudski coalition of the war years. (One commemoration, mirabile dictu, was held in a Masonic Lodge, a most impolitic venue in Polonia indeed). That Polonia press, which was leftist and independent, such as the widely circulated “Ameryka-Echo” of Toledo, traditionally marked the occasion with considerable fanfare. The Catholic press was more restrained but usually carried reports from Poland regarding festivities there and ran notices of meetings to mark the occasion in the United States. However, the Polish nationalist militantly ignored November 11th. This Polonia pattern essentially replicated the situation in

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Poland in the first years after the war. But the underlying realities were quite different. Even amongst loyal Piásudskiites in America, November 11th was not an occasion of great significance, and for the bulk of Polonia it was virtually invisible. The Polish National Alliance (Związek Narodowy Polski, or ZNP) for example, continued to celebrate May 3rd as the sole Polish national holiday, and joined with Polish Roman Catholic Union, Zjednoczenie Polskie Rzymsko-Katolickie, or ZPRK) and other notables to participate in national commemorations of Armistice Day, not noting that something else, specifically Polish occurred on the same day. In other words, November 11th did not become established in Polonian consciousness as Independence Day in the immediate post-war years. This is for several reasons: First, the natural supporters of November 11th were poor, weak, and divided, as we have noted. They could not provide the nucleus sufficient to make the date a major focus of Polonia attention if the community was not initially so inclined. And, after 1920, there was a quite rapid Polonia abandonment of Polish as opposed to Polonia causes. This is a well known theme, traceable in such quantifiable trends at monetary remittances to Poland; return migration, etc., the indices of which fell dramatically by 1921. November 11th was a Polish holiday, and hence one gets the feeling—and it is perhaps no more than that, since the topic was never addressed directly—that much of Polonia was shunning it as a result. The day became a symbolical differentiation between émigrés and immigrants: for the former it is Independence Day, for the latter it is Armistice Day. Second, November 11th was a very important American holiday, Armistice Day, which quite overwhelmed Polish independence as a justification for marking the day. Even ardent Piásudskiite journals would carry major articles, photos, and drawings about Armistice Day, and the importance of remembering the sacrifices of the war which displaced the space given to Polish independence. This is but another example of the dePolonization of Polonia which gradually became far more interested in American rather than Polish political issues, and their symbolic representation. Moreover, the American holiday of Thanksgiving also crowded out attention to November 11th, especially in weeklies which had to consider advertising and promotional considerations long in advance. Sales for the “holidays” in America increasingly insinuated Thanksgiving into the pages of the Polonia press; a phenomenon which helped displace November 11th in the competition for attention. Third, Paderewski’s enormous popularity among Polonia played a signal role here. The maestro’s birthday was on November 7th—a date

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conveniently close to the 11th—and was the occasion for much celebrating among his Polonian devotees. Paderewski had briefly and incompetently held power in Poland in 1919, and left the country with considerable bitterness at the end of that year. Paderewski, the uncrowned king of American Polonia during the war years, and who regarded himself as the major architect of Poland’s rebirth, was bitterly opposed to recognizing November 11th as Independence Day and, to the best of my knowledge, never deigned to acknowledge the occasion. For Paderewski, as for all the Polish political right, accepting November 11th as Independence Day was tantamount to accepting a Piásudskiite genealogy of Polish national rebirth. American Polonia’s affection for Paderewski played a role, though an indirect and difficult to quantify role to be sure, in disinclining the Poles in the U.S. from celebrating November 11th. Hence, in large measure, November 11th did not make a significant impact on Polonia consciousness in the early post-war years and was rather an exotic celebration by an isolated minority.3 Finally, we must mention the effects of the May 1926 coup in Poland which brought Piásudski back to power. This is an important factor, though difficult to discuss with precision, but essentially, even critics of Piásudski acknowledged his gigantic services to Poland in the years 1914–21. However, his return to power in 1926 overthrew a constitutional regime and was later characterized by authoritarian practices. As Piásudski declined 3

Stanislaus Blejwas in his posthumously published history of the Polish Singers Alliance argues that November 11th became part of the “nationalist liturgical year” in American Polonia, at least as far as the performances of the Singers’ Alliance was concerned, and that it did so by having “superseded the commemoration of the November 1830 Insurrection”. However, he provides no elaboration. This is a problematical assertion. Unfortunately Blejwas does not provide a systematic analysis of the performances of the Alliance to trace changing motifs and symbols in their repertoire—a task probably impossible given the dearth of materials. Hence, he does not demonstrate that November 11th celebrations became part of the performance schedule but merely asserts it. Despite the lack of evidence, Blejwas was the most careful student of the Alliance and his assertions must be regarded as based on familiarity with the available evidence. Blejwas does not make a thorough exposition of the ideological inclinations of the Alliance, and the scattered evidence is inconclusive. Nonetheless, it seems probable that the Alliance was politically more sympathetic to the Piásudskiites than the bulk of organized Polonia, as it tended to be dominated by the intelligentsia and rather more patriotic than religious in its ideological colouration. Hence, this remains a problematical issue. See Stanislaus A. Blejwas, The Polish Singers Alliance in America, 1888– 1998: Choral Patriotism (Rochester: University of Rochester Press, 2004), 98, 129.

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in health the role of his epigones waxed. When Piásudski died in 1935 they replaced him, ruling largely on the basis of the momentum of his charisma. These men did not enjoy the heroic stature of Piásudski in Polish lore and were easier to criticize—in both Poland and Polonia. Hence, whereas Piásudski was controversial in Polonia, but rarely criticized openly, his entourage and successor were the subjects of unstinting abuse. Because they were the Polish government after 1926, and especially after 1935, November 11th was essentially their holiday, and to acknowledge it required accepting the so-called sanacja regime repulsive to the Polonia clerical right. Opponents of November 11th did not, however, react with uniform hostility to the day. In general, the clerical faction could accept the occasion more readily than the nationalists. This foreshadowed developments in Poland itself, where the church had accepted Piásudski whilst the extreme right still demurred. This is best demonstrated by an analysis of Polonia’s reaction to the tenth anniversary of Independence in 1928. This was the one occasion when even opponents of the Piásudski regime could not ignore. The tenth anniversary of the restoration of Poland—whether it be celebrated on November 11th or no—was of enormous significance in Poland and among American Poles, especially veteran’s groups and the many who had been active in various organizations contributing to the Polish cause in the war years. In Poland, the natural enthusiasm engendered by the tenth anniversary provided the opportunity for Piásudskiites to elevate November 11th by making that day and its historic remembrances the central ceremony of honouring Poland’s rebirth. By 1928, Poland was divided into two major camps regarding November 11th: the Piásudskiites increasingly made the day a celebration of Piásudski, inverting the relative weights of Independence and Piásudski so that the day was gradually transformed from the celebration of independence, which Piásudski did much to create, to a celebration of Piásudski who, i.a., created independent Poland. The day could not be invoked by a Piásudskiite without a long historical genealogy in which Piásudski and his devotees were granted overwhelming, nay, sole credit for national independence. For non-Piásudskiites, November 11th marked the restoration of Polish independence, but the credit for that achievement was either generalized into “the whole Polish nation”, ascribed to the benefaction of Divine Providence, or generously attributed to many patriarchs: Dmowski, Paderewski, Wojciech Korfanty, Wincenty Witos, Gen. Józef Haller, and yes Piásudski too, but only as one of a number. It was this latter version of November 11th––a great occasion, but

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of nebulous genealogy, which became the preferred Polonia model. For example, the “Dziennik Chicagoski” ran a rather lengthy editorial celebrating November 11th in 1928, and managed to avoid mentioning Piásudski’s name entirely.4 Astutely aware of Polonian political realities, the representatives of the Polish government, touring Polonia in 1928, pointedly credited Paderewski with playing a major role in the rebirth of Poland, though reserving chief credit for Piásudski.5 The clerical faction in Polonia, like their counterparts in Poland, stressed the fact that, November 11th was indeed the tenth anniversary of Free Poland, but they tried to defuse the controversy around issues of who should get credit for playing the principal role in restoring independence by stressing that it was the work of all Poles, with generous assistance from God. There were major ceremonies throughout Polonia, often involving representatives of the Polish government, leaders of major fraternals, and broad arrays of otherwise politically hostile factions. The clerical “Dziennik Chicagoski” ran very extensive coverage of the 1928 celebrations in Poland and discussed the large Chicago demonstrations with absolute equanimity and obvious delight, quoting in extenso the addresses of anti-clerical Piásudskiite and Polonia religious. The paper observed that it was “the obligation of every Pole to take part in the observation to document our love for our Polish Fatherland, to show others how dear Poland is to us, for the freedom of which all Poles, wherever they were scattered, rushed to aid”. What was not reported, however, was the fact that the PRCU threatened not to participate in the celebration because a prominent Piásudskiite, Tomasz Siemiradzki, was scheduled to speak. It relented, but only grudgingly, and at the last moment. The temporary ascendancy of Piásudskiites in the PNA played a major role in this.6 This was an exception in Polonia however; the PRCU’s “Naród Polski” virtually ignored the tenth anniversary celebrations, as did other clerical periodicals like Philadelphia’s “JednoĞü”, or New Britain, Connecticut’s “Przewodnik Katolicki”, which regularly mistook Pilsudski for Satan. Indeed, by the 1920s, Polonia and Poland had taken sharply different directions regarding November 11th. In Warsaw, Piásudski and his lieutenants were in power and determined to use the day as a central symbol in the conjuring of a new Polish consciousness, stressing the 4

“Polska odrodzona,” Dziennik Chicagoski, 10 November 1928, 4. See e.g., “Mowa posáa Ciechanowskiego,” Ameryka Echo, 13 November 1928, 3. 6 See Mieczysáaw Haiman, Zjednoczenie: Polskie Rzymsko-Katolickie w Ameryce (ZPRK), 1873–1948 (Chicago: ZPRK, 1948), 401. 5

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Polish capacity to triumph over past adversity, reverse the verdict of history seemingly delivered by the partitions and, through martial valour, restore Poland, build a powerful state, and gain a worthy place in the world. The personification of this new Polish consciousness was Piásudski himself, intrepid, resolute, and unconquerable. The cult of Piásudski was the core of the invention of a new Polish consciousness. This phenomenon virtually bypassed Polonia, however, which continued to base its Polish loyalties on political symbols and evocations increasingly obsolete in Poland itself. This is a complex phenomenon, which requires further study than we have space for here. A few examples will suffice, however. In 1925, reports of Independence Day were virtually pre-empted by reports that Paderewski, on one of his frequent visits to the U.S., had condescended to receive a PRCU delegation at his hotel in New York. That audience, not the anniversary of Polish independence, was the major news as far as the PRCU was concerned.7 This reaction was in some ways prefaced by the action of the PRCU at its thirty-eighth national congress, held in St. Louis a few weeks earlier. Despite the fact that it was a tradition to send greetings from the convention to prominent personages, the meeting ostentatiously rejected a motion to send a message to Piásudski.8 In 1926, Poland saw the first truly large-scale commemorations of Independence Day. “Naród Polski”, the official organ of the PRCU, ignored this completely. Indeed, the front page of the journal closest to that day featured a large picture of Herbert Hoover, and the only indirect comment the weekly made was an unexplained picture of Roman Dmowski in its December issue. In 1928 when the tenth anniversary of independence resulted in three days of festivities in Warsaw, “Naród Polski” again ignored the occasion save for a story about a celebration in Grand Rapids, Michigan. According to the report absolutely nothing specific was mentioned about the events of 1918, and Piásudski’s name was never mentioned at all.9 In keeping with this tradition, “Naród Polski” also reported nothing in 1935, despite the fact that the November 11th commemorations that year, held only few months after Piásudski’s death, were a virtual public canonization of him in Warsaw and throughout Poland. The only indication “Naród Polski” gave that it realized anything significant had happened in Poland in the last part of the year was, bizarrely but not without point, to run a large article

7

See Haiman, ZPRK, 380. Ibid., 366. 9 “Obchód niepodlegáoĞci Polski w Grand Rapids, Mich,” Naród Polski, 19 December 1928, 19. 8

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noting Paderewski’s birthday:10 “Naród Polski’s” reaction was more representative than idiosyncratic. The clerical journal “JednoĞü”, issued in Philadelphia, was not overtly hostile to Piásudski or his regime, but largely ignored November 11th after 1928. In the 1930s, for example, in their calendar of upcoming events, the date is cited as the occasion for a party at the Veterans’ Club, marking Armistice Day, and a Ball at the Polish American Citizen Club in honour of the harvest season. The Polonia of the Philadelphia area either did nothing to mark the occasion, or at least “JednoĞü” did not consider there to be anything happening worth noting. Even Toledo’s “Ameryka-Echo” visibly reduced its attention to November 11th as Independence Day after 1928, this despite their great sympathy for Piásudski and hostility to the clerical-nationalist faction in Polonia. Hence, by the 1930s, the November 11th editions of the paper ran headlines that “today marks the anniversary of the Armistice”,11 but said nothing about the rebirth of Poland, an obvious demonstration of their evaluation of their readers’ concerns. This inattention is the more striking when one considers that the paper was sympathetic to the Piásudskiites and included a number of prominent ones on its staff. By 1934, “AmerykaEcho” was running only a small story—on page nine, and that was a reprint from another daily.12 In 1935, Independence ceremonies were particularly solemn in Poland because of the death of Piásudski shortly before. Unsurprisingly, his role in the rebirth of Poland was emphasized that year as never before. However, “Ameryka-Echo’s” report of those ceremonies was brief, and oddly noted that Poland was marking “a double seventeenth anniversary, the Armistice and independence”, a statement factually accurate, but profoundly inaccurate in describing what was really transpiring in Poland.13 By 1938, with war threatening, “Ameryka-Echo” markedly increased its attention to November 11th. The issues in the autumn of that year carried several pictures of Piásudski, but in their editorial noting the anniversary the paper attributed Poland’s rebirth to the

10

See “Mistrz Paderewski dziĊkuje Zjednoczeniu PRK za ĩyczenia” and the accompanying editorial; Naród Polski, 24 November 1935, 4. 11 “W dniu tym w RocznicĊ Zawieszenia Broni,” Ameryka-Echo, 11 November 1934, 19; “Ku Uczczeniu PamiĊci Tych Którzy w Obronie WolnoĞci ĩycie Swe Oddali,” Ameryka–Echo, 10 November 1935, 19. 12 “16–ta Rocznica Odrodzonej Polski,”Ameryka-Echo, 25 November 1934, 9. 13 “Caáa Polska obchodziáa rocznicĊ niepodlegáoĞci,”Ameryka-Echo, 24 November 1935, 2.

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actions of the whole nation.14 “Gwiazda Polarna”, independent and widely circulated, gave rather greater attention to 1928, but in describing the events of the November 1918 ascribed the leading role to “the Polish people”. In a lengthy editorial, it referred to Piásudski’s arrival in Warsaw as the “chief moment’ in the national rebirth, but was at pains to place it within a broader context of events.15 After 1928 November 11th gradually faded from the pages of “Gwiazda Polarna” as well. One is tempted to associate this virtual collapse of Polonia’s brief flirtation with honouring November 11th with the rapid decline of the proPiásudski wing of American Polonia, which enjoyed considerable success in the late 1920s, but faded quickly after 1934, the symbolic turning point being the rejection by organized Polonia of cooperation with ĝwiatpol— the international organization offered by the Warsaw regime to co-ordinate international Polonia. The leaders of American Polonia successfully resisted joining. They trumpeted this decision as the birth of a truly independent Polonia: a bizarre interpretation of Polonia’s symbolic severing of its Polish roots, but that is also another and complex story.16 In passing, it is worth noting that the same journals which openly supported the celebration of November 11th in Polonia were the ones which criticized the Polonian delegation’s behaviour in refusing to join ĝwiatpol. The clerical right in Polonia gloated over the defeat of their opponents whom they generously described as having “no program whatsoever besides loyalty towards Marshal Piásudski.”17 Of course, in terms of maintaining any meaningful Polish element in their consciousness, they had no programme at all. With the outbreak of World War II, the dynamics of the previous era were accelerated. The Piásudskiites, in disgrace both in Europe and North America after the September defeat, for which they were unjustly blamed, lost control of Polish politics, which passed to Sikorski and his entourage. Sikorski was a bitter opponent of Piásudski and his heritage, and illdisposed towards November 11th which he regarded as virtually a bonding ritual for acolytes in the church of the Marshal. As a result, he tried to suppress the official commemoration of November 11th, an effort which 14

“Obchody 20-ej Rocznicy Odrodzonej Polski,” Ameryka-Echo, 13 November 1938, 9. 15 W dziesiatą rocznicĊ,” Gwiazda Polarna, 10 November 1928, 4. 16 Piotr Kraszewski, “Polska i Polacy wobec diaspory do 1939 roku,” in Adam Walaszek, ed., Polska diaspora, (Kraków: Wydawnictwo Literackie, 2001), 525– 526. This is a complicated and controversial topic. 17 Haiman, ZPRK, 407.

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was eagerly, indeed fanatically, supported by several among his entourage whose hatred of Piásudski reached pathological proportions. Instead, he tried to make May Third the single and pre-emptive national celebration. This would neatly accommodate American Polonia where the third was the only specifically Polish historic occasion widely and traditionally celebrated. Sikorski was popular among Polonia, indeed more uniformly popular than among Poles anywhere else, I would argue. Hence, his opinions, including that regarding November 11th, carried great weight among the Poles of America, especially given the absence of any countervailing pressure there. Sikorski quite naturally inherited much of the affection traditionally accruing to Paderewski in the ranks of Polonia, and much of the ideological outlook as well. November 11th was thus relegated to clandestine commemoration in Poland, and a melancholy remembrance of better times by the bewildered and aggrieved Piásudskiites scattered in emigration, now much on the defensive and often psychologically shattered. In Polish America the war further undermined the weak position of November 11th inherited from the interwar years. In the United States, the natural defenders of November 11th, always a minority, were yet more marginalized after 1939. The clerical right in Polonia blamed the Piásudskiites for Poland’s defeat and began a campaign against them, often shrill, nasty, and foolish.18 The Piásudskiites, whose principal organization was the numerically weak, but intellectually impressive, National Committee of American of Polish Origins (Komitet Narodowy Amerykanów Polskiego Pochodzenia, or KNAPP), were reluctant to celebrate November 11th with particular fanfare. First, there was no traditional support for this in Polonia, second, the Piásudskiite origins of November 11th raised the awkward question of why the regime he created did such a poor job of preserving Polish independence. November 11th was thus increasingly ignored during the war. The only Independence Day rally “Ameryka-Echo” could report in 1939 was in New Jersey, organized, nota bene, by the local Polish National Catholic Church (PNCC). The rally led to public differences with Roman Catholics who attended and left the hall. No mention of Piásudski is recorded, but the Piásudskiite anthem, My Pierwsza Brygada, was sung.19 In 1940, the only November 11th celebration that “Ameryka-Echo” could find to report was in obscure Southington, Connecticut, again organized by, and at, a PNCC parish. Whether this indicates the paucity of commemorations, or the 18 19

See “Ks. Winnicki pomaga Przyprawie,” Ameryka-Echo, 26 November 1939, 4. “Obchód w Peterson udaá siĊ wspaniale,” Ameryka-Echo, 26 November 1939, 7.

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disinclination of “Ameryka-Echo” to discuss Roman Catholic sponsored events is a good question. By 1943, November 11th was increasingly regarded as an academic occasion rather than a mass celebration. In Toledo on that day—the 25th anniversary of Free Poland, remember, a not inauspicious occasion one would think––a prominent Piásudskiite read a paper devoted to the Marshal, attended by a preposterously small assembly of fifty people; and this was the major commemoration of the occasion in the area. Despite the fact that the newspaper argued that fifty was a good showing given the bad weather that day, this was hardly the kind of audience which reflected mass interest and support. Although early in the war the pro-Piásudski “Ameryka-Echo” criticized the clerical right in Polonia for forgetting their patriotic responsibilities towards Poland, including participating in November 11th rallies, by 1944 the paper did not even mention Polish Independence Day, which they had covered extensively as recently as 1940.20 By 1939, the Poles of America were considerably farther along the path of assimilation than had been their fathers who had volunteered for service to Poland in 1914–18, Polonia’s “greatest generation”. Hence, Armistice Day and Thanksgiving quite overwhelmed Polish Independence Day as an occasion for November commemoration in Polish communities. Lectures and celebrations of the events of 10–11 November 1918 became reduced in Polonia to the same level of exotica as a lecture on the Crusade of Varna, or the Battle of Kircholm. By the end of the war the sustaining sources for November 11th had virtually disappeared in Polonia. Poland was in the control of a regime implacably hostile to the Piásudski tradition. The government-in-exile was increasingly marginalized, and its political divisions were too rarefied for all but the most recent émigré in American Polonia to understand. Postwar émigrés had had rather limited experience of November 11th as an important occasion—after all, the last public celebration had been in 1938. Moreover, they were themselves divided between proponents of Sikorski and the right—unlikely to be sympathetic to November 11th commemorations—and the Piásudskiites. For the mass of old Polonia, the idea of celebrating November 11th would have connotations of something peculiarly “Polish” rather than “Polish-American”, and thus be suspect: but here we move into large questions of the relationship between the various generational communities of Polonia which need further elaboration.

20 See the 12 November 1944 issue of Ameryka-Echo which contains a number of articles on Armistice Day on p. 3, but no mention of Independence Day.

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By the post-war era, November 11th had been altered to an historic anniversary worthy of note rather than a national celebration—a national commemoration, rather. Articles about it, if they appeared at all in the Polonia press, had a kind of archival solemnity about them: recording distant events, and concluding with a wistful hope that a similar day would come again to Poland.21 It is noteworthy that Mieczysáaw Haiman’s official history of the PRCU virtually omits the celebration of November 11th, despite his agonizing attention to the detail of every anniversary celebration, however trivial.22 Whether this reflects Haiman’s obvious dislike of things Piásudskiite, or is an accurate reflection of PRCU traditions is problematical, but it probably represents both. The re-appearance of November 11th in Poland after 1976, when it became increasingly marked as an oppositionist holiday, did not have an echo in Polonia save in Piásudskiite circles, which often staged conferences or other rather small gatherings. Polonia’s commemoration of peculiarly Polish holidays was, by the post-World War II years, virtually restricted to May Third and the quite bizarre commemoration of KoĞciuszko’s or Puáaski’s birthday in February, occasions never noted in Poland or among Polish émigrés. After 1989, November 11th has re-appeared in Poland as a significant state occasion. It is a most intriguing question what, if anything, it means to contemporary Poles. With typical cynicism Polish commentators have noted that few Poles could explain what, precisely, happened on 11 November 1918, or why it is important. Others have wryly noted that the Poles have most unwisely chosen a day renowned for its foul weather to stage a public celebration and that, unlike France or the U.S., which mark their national holidays in the summer with much frolicking about, Poles tend to be rather sombre in November, emotionally laden as they are with All Souls Day and All Saints Day to commence the month, and the anniversary of the disastrous November Raising of 1830 to conclude it. November is not therefore a happy month for Poles and the weather is fittingly dreary. This is, perhaps, as it should be, since Independence Day is a secular holy day, and not therefore an occasion for gambolling about, but that is another theme entirely.

21

“W 50-tą RocznicĊ Odzyskania NiepodlegáoĞci,” Ameryka-Echo, 17 November 1968, 3. 22 See Haiman, ZPRK, November 11th celebrations are remarked in only a few places, always in only a few words: 1928, the very important tenth anniversary, on a few lines on p. 401; and the twentieth anniversary, in 1938 in less than a sentence on p. 473. There are no additional references in the entire lengthy volume.

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What is of moment for us is that since 1989, November 11th has taken on ever more overt Piásudskiite aspects in Poland, including actors impersonating the Marshal, cavalry squadrons wearing period costumes re-enacting the events of two generations past, visits to Piásudski’s grave, and many other heavily history-freighted symbolic gestures. American Polonia has not taken cognizance of this at all. Whether the developments in Poland really represent a kind of symbolic demonstration that certain Piásudskiite values have become assimilated into the modern Polish consciousness, or not, is an open question. But that question is certainly irrelevant for the Poles in America. In contemporary Polonia, Polish-language journals and internet resources designed for recent émigrés give November 11th major attention—it is, after all, the national holiday—whereas Polonian journals in English tend to ignore the occasion. The front page of the New York tabloid “Super Express”, carried a banner headline on 11 November 2003 announcing “Polska jest Super: Bo Polska to kaĪdy z nas!” (Poland is Great: Because Poland means each of us) but asked editorially: “Does American Polonia celebrate the greatest national holiday?”23 An eloquent question with an obvious answer. If on that day you were to visit the website of the Polish American Congress, you would read the following— “Calendar of Events. Tuesday, 11 November 2003. Veterans’ Day. Thursday, 27 November 2003. Happy Thanksgiving”. Nothing else, it seems, is worth recording by the Polish American Congress for that day. In the U.S., November 11th never took root; it was either crowded off the stage by competing American symbols and anniversaries, or undermined by factional politics which preferred different symbols, or even none at all, to allowing a Piásudskiite interpretation of the Polish past to become established. There is little doubt that in Poland a conscious effort was undertaken after 1926 to create a modern Polish mind, with new symbols to evoke a new consciousness in an age of mass politics. Whether this effort failed, or was merely suppressed to re-emerge post-1989, is problematical and fascinating, but it is clear, however, that this phenomenon has substantially by-passed Polonia. Hence, alongside all the other reasons for which the political consciousness of Polonia and that of Poland are profoundly different, we must include this factor as well: November 11th does not exist for the Poles of America.

23 “Polska jest Super,” Super Express, 11 November 2003, 1. I should like to thank my assistant, Anna Karpiej, for bringing this article to my attention.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN ACCULTURATION AND PERSISTENCE OF THE POLISH AMERICAN COMMUNITY IN CONNECTICUT, 1870–2010 MARY PATRICE ERDMANS

Warsaw Park in Ansonia, the Freedom Bell of Poland in Stamford, Polonia Park in Norwich, Casimir Pulaski cast in bronze in Meriden and astride a black steel horse on Main Street in Hartford, the state capital— Poles are a concrete part of the state of Connecticut. According to the 2000 U.S. Census, 284,272 residents of Connecticut identified Polish as their ancestry; and in 2005, Poles were the largest foreign-born population (27,842) in the state.1 The first Pole reported to arrive in Connecticut was John Sandusky in 1754, but Poles did not begin to arrive en masse until the latter part of the nineteenth century. Their immigration has continued (with a hiatus between the world wars) into the twenty-first century.2 Connecticut, geographically 1

U.S. Census of the Population, 2000: Ancestry of the Population, Summary File 3, Migration Policy Institute, “MPI Data Hub: Migration Facts, Stats, and Maps, Connecticut Fact Sheet” (Washington D.C.: U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of Census, 2004), http://www.migrationinformation.org/datahub/state.cfm?ID=CT (accessed 3 May 2007). 2 Sandusky stayed for only five years in New Haven. The Federal Writers Project (FWP), part of the Works Progress Administration during the 1930s, collected state data including interviews, census data, and other documents (for more information see http://www.loc.gov/rr/program/bib/newdeal/fwp.html (accessed 12 October 2012)). The FWP documents used for this article are located at the Connecticut Polish American Archives at Central Connecticut State University. Many documents, filed by city name or topic, have no date or author. Documents without authors are identified by city or topic, which is how they are organized in files in the archives.

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the third smallest state in the U.S., has a high population density.3 While not one of the larger Polonias in North America—only three per cent of the U.S. population identifying as Polish in the 2000 Census lived in Connecticut—the small size of the state, the residential concentration in the local Polonias, and the continuous flow of Polish immigrants have given Polish Americans an enduring presence there. .

Early Immigration to the River Valleys Polish communities were being formed in Connecticut in the 1880s and, by the turn of the century, 10,698 Poles were counted in the U.S. Census, representing 12 per cent of the state’s population in 1900.4 Immigration peaked in the first decade of the twentieth century and, after the Treaty of Versailles, 46,623 Poles were living in Connecticut, the second largest foreign-born population in the state.5 The earliest arrivals were from the Prussian partition, but the majority came from the Russian and Austrian partitions including areas of Maáopolska, with a large number from Kolbuszów.6 In New Britain, almost 90 per cent of the immigrants came from the Russian partition, 3

U.S. Census of the Population, 2010: Resident Population Data (Washington D.C.: U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of Census), http://2010.census.gov/2010census/data/apportionment–dens–text.php (accessed 12 June 2012). Connecticut’s population was 3,574,097, and the population density was 738 people per square mile. 4 Stanislaus Blejwas, “Poles” in The Encyclopedia of New England: The Culture and History of an American Region, ed. Burt Feintuch and David Watters (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 394. 5 Italians were the largest foreign-born population with 80,322 residents. John F. Sutherland, “Immigration to Connecticut,” http://www.ctheritage.org/encyclopedia/topicalsurveys/immigration.htm (accessed 16 May 2012). 6 Stanislaus Blejwas, St. Stanislaus B. & M. Parish, Meriden, Connecticut, (New Britain, CT: Polish Studies Program Monographs, 1991), 3; Stanislaus Blejwas, “A Polish Community in Transition,” Polish American Studies 34, no. 1 (1977), 28; Mieczysáaw Kierklo and Jan Wójcik, Polonia in Connecticut, (Brooklyn, NY: Czas Publishing Co., 1966), 81; Bolesáaw S. Kumor, SS. Cyril and Methodius Parish and the Hartford Polonia, 1873–1980, trans. Ladislaus Kaminski (Bristol, CT: Garrett Printing, Inc., 1985), 3, 37; John P. GwóĨdĨ, A Place of Their Own: A History of Saint Adalbert Church, Enfield Connecticut, 1915–1990, (Manchester, CT: Cross Media Publications, 1990), 4; Daniel S. Buczek, “Ethnic to American: Holy Name of Jesus Parish, Stamford, Connecticut,” Polish American Studies 37, no. 3 (1980), 23–24, 26.

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predominantly from Dąbrowa Biaáostocka.7 Chain migration was evident from steamship manifests, showing that migrants travelled with, or were coming to, family and village members.8 As migration broke apart the extended family, immigrants relied on vertical ties to siblings, villagers, and cousins to find work, lodging, and for those who arrived single, a marriage partner.9 A primary reason for Polish immigration to Connecticut was employment, and for many, it was to be a temporary employment.10 Those who stayed, settled along the three main river valleys: the Connecticut River valley (in the cities of Hartford, New Britain, Meriden, Bristol, Middletown, New Haven); the Naugatuck River valley (in Torrington, Terryville, Waterbury, Ansonia, Derby, Shelton, Bridgeport), and the Quinebaug, that flows into the Thames River (in Willimantic, South Windham, Norwich, New London). They found work in mills, foundries, and factories. In the Naugatuck valley they worked in the brass, silver and copper industries; they made clocks in Waterbury, locks in Terryville, and roller-skates in Torrington. In the Connecticut valley they worked in the armament and hardware industries. In Hartford they found employment in the Colt and Capewell Manufacturing Companies, Atlantic Screw Works, and Royal Typewriter; in New Haven at the Winchester Repeating Arms Company; and in New Britain at Stanley Works, P. & F. Corbin Company, and Fafnir Ball Bearing Company. They made pots and pans at the New England 7 David G. Januszewski, “Organizational Evolution in a Polish American Community,” Polish American Studies 42, no. 1 (1985), 46; Jonathan Shea and Barbara Proko, Polish Community of New Britain, (Chicago, IL: Arcadia Publishing, 2005), 10. 8 Shea and Proko, New Britain, 15; Blejwas, Meriden, Ch. 1; Laura Anker, “Women, Work & Family: Polish, Italian and Eastern European Immigrants in Industrial Connecticut, 1890–1940,” Polish American Studies 45, no. 2 (1988), 26– 33. 9 Anker, “Women,” 26–33; Bolesáaw S. Kumor, St. Stanislaus Bishop and Martyr Parish, New Haven, trans. Edward P. Gicewicz, (New Haven, CT: St. Stanislaus Bishop and Martyr Parish, 1985), 44. 10 Blejwas, “Polish Community,” 27; Kumor, Hartford, 40–41; Kierklo and Wójcik, Polonia, 82; Anker, “Women,” 26–28. Circular migration created transnational families as a child could be born in Connecticut, spend their childhood in Poland, and return to Connecticut as a young adult. Wars and immigration restrictions delayed and complicated returns. For personal narratives see the oral histories of Polish Americans in “The Peoples of Connecticut, 1973– 1976,” Collection of Oral histories at University of Connecticut, Dodd Center, Storrs, CT. Project director Bruce M. Stave. http://doddcenter.uconn.edu/ (accessed 12 October 2012).

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Enamelling Company in Middletown. In the Willimantic area they worked in textiles at the American Thread Company, and in the silk and paper mills in Manchester.11 In addition, a small number of Polish immigrants settled in rural areas and raised cattle, bred horses, and grew tobacco. In fact, Poles ranked first in livestock value in Lebanon County, first in the number of cattle and value of horses in Goshen County, and represented one-quarter of all tobacco farmers and acreage in Connecticut in the 1930s.12 Many Polish immigrants in areas like Derby, Shelton, and Ansonia in the Naugatuck valley also tended small gardens and farms while working in factories, suggesting a factory/farm work continuum rather than a divide.

Residential Density In some of the smaller cities, Poles lived among Italians, Irish, Germans, Lithuanians, and French Canadians. For example, the mill town in Willimantic was a multi-ethnic working-class community with no one group dominating, as were smaller towns in the Naugatuck valley— Ansonia, Derby, Shelton or Torrington—where Italians, Irish and Poles worked, prayed, and lived in close proximity. In other cities, Poles were residentially concentrated in geographically identifiable Polish neighbourhoods: Pond Street in Waterbury, the East Side in Bridgeport, and Broad Street in New Britain.13 The residential concentration was a result of several interrelated processes. First, Poles often became homeowners in the first or second generation.14 As homeowners, one of the common ways that married 11

Peoples of Connecticut; Blejwas, Meriden, 44, 58; FWP: Manchester, Milford, Stamford, Torrington; Ladislaus Michalowski and Albert S. Kayeski, “The CIO in New Britain” FWP, 1939); Kierklo and Wójcik, Polonia, 107; The Polish– Americans of Bridgeport: A Social Survey, (Bridgeport, CT: The Sociology Colloquium, University of Bridgeport, 1960); Sister Lucille, C.R., “Polish Farmers and Workers in the United States to 1914,” Polish American Studies 15(1–2) (1958), 7. 12 Kierklo and Wójcik, Polonia; FWP: Thomaston, Lebanon; Kumor, Hartford. 13 In some cases Poles were negatively referred to as “clannish” because they lived together (FWP: Milford). Blejwas argues that their segregated communities were in part a consequence of discrimination against Poles which increased after World War I (Meriden, 53–55). 14 Buczek, “Ethnic to American,” 41, 47; FWP: Torrington; Jonathan Shea and Christine Stoj, “The Pulaski Democratic Club of New Britain, Connecticut,” Pastor of the Poles, ed. Stanislaus Blejwas and Mieczysáaw B. Biskupski (New Britain, CT: Polish Studies Program Monographs, 1982), 144.

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women earned income after they had children was by taking in boarders.15 Circular migration as well as chain migration created a supply of boarders. The concentration of immigrants also created demand and opportunity for business; and, in turn, Polish-speaking establishments attracted new immigrants. Even the local saloon became a meeting place for Polishspeaking newcomers looking for work, lodging, and networking. One of the fastest growing Polish communities was in New Britain, known as the Hardware City because of large industries like Stanley Works. Tomasz Ostrowska, reportedly the first Pole to arrive in New Britain, came in 1887, and three years later 2,574 Poles were living in the city.16 By 1902, Poles owned a substantial percentage of the land and property on Orange Street, Grove Street and parts of Myrtle Street—all within walking distance of Stanley Works—located in the fifth political ward.17 By 1910, almost 20 per cent of the city’s population was Polish (9,506). By 1920, 65 per cent of the Polish population lived in the fifth ward, and 22 per cent lived in the adjacent sixth ward.18 And by 1930 onequarter (16,290) of the city’s population was composed of Polish immigrants and their children.19 The New Britain okolica (neighbourhood) was an interlocking network of churches, schools, businesses, and social organizations that minimized the disadvantage of being a new immigrant. One immigrant, writing home in 1906 after being in New Britain for six months, said that he had not learned English, and, moreover, he did not need to: My fellow workers are Polish, my landlord is Polish, I hear mass on Sundays in Polish, I read the Polish newspaper and I even buy my food from a store owned by a fellow countryman.20

Even posters warning about chemical hazards at Stanley Works were written in Polish.21 At the centre of the Polish community was the Roman Catholic parish,

15

Anker, “Women,” 29–34. Januszewski, “Organizational Evolution,” 45; Blejwas, “Polish Community,” 28. 17 Shea and Stoj, “Pulaski Democratic Club,” 139–140. 18 Januszewski, “Organizational Evolution,” 46; Stan Dabkowski, “Information about Poles Dealing with the Census,” FWP. 19 Januszewski, “Organizational Evolution,” 45–46; Stanislaus Blejwas, “The ‘44’ Club: Second Generation Polonia,” Polish American Studies 51, no. 1 (1994), 50. 20 Januszewski, “Organizational Evolution,” 53. 21 Shea and Proko, New Britain, 64. The posters were also written in English and Italian. 16

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often the first communal structure built.22 The church was preceded by a mutual aid society (organized initially to provide sickness and death benefits) that raised funds and petitioned the diocese for a parish. The first Polish parish was in Meriden. Organized by the Society of St. Stanislaus Bishop and Martyr (1889), the diocese appointed the first pastor in 1891, and they built a small wooden church dedicated in 1893, and a permanent brick church in 1908.23 Parish priests played a prominent role in several Connecticut Polonias. The most chronicled is Father Lucjan Bójnowski, pastor of Sacred Heart of Jesus in New Britain (1895), the second Polish parish in Connecticut. The wooden church was built in 1896, the large stone church in 1904, and then a parish school (1910), cemetery (1912), orphanage (1923), and Lucien’s Home for the Aged in 1925, at which time Sacred Heart had 9,585 parishioners.24 Father Bójnowski had a strong hand in these endeavours, along with approximately twenty-five parish societies, several business enterprises, a religious order, the Daughters of the Immaculate Conception (1904), and a Polish language weekly “Przedwodnik Katolicki” (1907).25 By 1906, twelve Polish parishes were already established, and another twelve were built before the parish-building boom came to an end in 1927. In addition, ten Polish National Catholic Churches were founded around the state which pressured the diocese to grant the petitions for Polish parishes under the threat of independentism.26 Prominent Polish parishes 22

Kierklo and Wojcik, Polonia, 104; Blejwas, Meriden, 10. Before a Polish parish was founded, immigrants attended the local Roman Catholic church which was often German (e.g., New Haven and Middletown) or Irish (e.g., Stamford and Terryville). 23 Blejwas, Meriden; Dolores Ann Liptak, R.S.M., “The Bishops of Hartford and Polish Immigrants in Connecticut, 1880–1930,” in Pastor of the Poles, ed. Stanislaus Blejwas and Mieczysáaw B. Biskupski, (New Britain, CT: Polish Studies Program Monographs, 1982), 53. 24 Blejwas, “Polish Community,” 32; Januszewski, “Organizational Evolution,” 50; Kierklo and Wójcik, Polonia, 39–41. 25 Daniel S. Buczek, The Life of the Right Rev. Msgr. Lucyan Bojnowski of New Britain, Connecticut, (Waterbury, CT: Heminway Corp, 1974). Sacred Heart Cemetery is the largest Polish cemetery in New England with 10,000 interments. Shea and Proko, New Britain, 34. 26 Buczek, The Life of the Right, 141; Blejwas, Meriden, 12–18; Liptak, “Bishops of Hartford,” 59. The diocese initially had to recruit Polish-speaking priests until the early 20th century. In 1903, the Vincentians established a branch of their order in the Hartford diocese. Liptak, 52–54. For an excellent analysis of the Polish National Catholic Church see Hieronim Kubiak, The Polish National Catholic

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included St. Cyril and Methodius in Hartford (1902), St. Stanislaus Bishop and Martyr in New Haven (1902), St. Mary of Czestochowa in Middletown (1903), Holy Name of Jesus in Stamford (1904), St. Stanislaus in Bristol (1919), St. Joseph in Ansonia (1926), and Holy Cross in New Britain (1927).27 Immigrants often started a parochial elementary school around the time they established a parish. In St. Mary of Czestochowa parish, in Middletown, classes started in 1907 and were held in the church sacristy: the school moved into the wooden church after a brick church was constructed in 1911, and then into the parochial school when it was built in 1930 (for US$100,000).28 The parochial schools were staffed by Polish nuns, many of whom were Felician Sisters from the Order of St. Felix of Cantalice. In the United States there are seven Felician Mother houses, with six in the Midwest and one in Enfield, Connecticut (1932). In the beginning, they taught all courses in Polish including the catechism, Polish history, Polish literature, and Polish language and later added English language courses in maths, literature, and U.S. history and government.29 Organizations formed in the early years were connected to the parish and provided service, sociality, and status. In New Britain, nine parish societies were organized within three years (1889–1902) at Sacred Heart, including the Legion of Free Krakusy, the Rosary Guild, and the Society of Polish Youth.30 Immigrants also formed a few political and business associations, but these types of organizations were more typical in the second-generation ethnic community.31 National organizations such as the Polish National Alliance (PNA), the Polish Roman Catholic Union Church in the United States of America from 1897 to 1980, (Kraków: PaĔstwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1982). 27 Kierklo and Wójcik, Polonia, 59–63, 130. Other parishes with a large number of Poles but not officially Polish were in Colchester and Middlefield. Ibid., 140. 28 Romuald K. Byczkiewicz, St. Mary’s of Czestochowa: A Century of Polonia in Middletown, CT, (Connecticut Polish American Archives, Central Connecticut State University, New Britain, CT, nd). Other parishes with parochial schools attached were in Meriden, Hartford, New Britain (Sacred Heart, Holy Cross), Derby, Ansonia, Thompsonville, Bridgeport, Fairfield, Norwich, Rockville, Middletown, and Stamford. 29 Sister Mary Amadeus Ruda, C.S.S.F., Laying New England Trails. Love and Service. A History of the Felician Sisters of Our Lady of the Angels Province Enfield, Ct, 1932–1970, (Enfield, Ct: Felician Sisters of Our Lady of Angels Province, 1998). 30 Kierklo and Wójcik, Polonia, 52, 146–169. 31 Blejwas, “Polish Community,” in New Britain, Polish Political Club No. 1 (1900) and the Businessmen’s Association (1911).

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(PRCU), the Falcons, and the Polish Women’s Alliance (PWA) all had local branches in Connecticut. The first PNA lodge was established in New Haven (1894), and by 1947 there were 58 PNA lodges in Connecticut. The PRCU was spearheaded by Father Bójnowski in New Britain (1898), and by 1915 there were 29 lodges. The first PWA lodge was St. Jadwiga in Hartford (1900), and the Falcon’s district was established in Bridgeport (1906).32 In the early twentieth century, Connecticut Polonia was still an immigrant community—most residents were foreign-born, many were new arrivals, and others were temporary residents expecting to return to Poland. At the start of the First World War, these newcomers and transients were not naturalized citizens and therefore not eligible to serve in the U.S. army. Wanting to fight for their homeland, they enlisted in the Polish Army organized in France under General Józef Haller. Ten members of the Falcon lodge in Middletown enlisted in the U.S. military but eighteen served in General Haller’s Polish army; and from New Britain, 290 men served in General Haller’s army. Polonia also contributed to the Polish Central Relief Committee: New Britain collected US$350,000 for the purchase of Polish bonds; and Meriden Polonia collected US$125,000 in U.S. Liberty Bonds and US$63,900 in Polish bonds.33 The World War I veteran organizations created after the war reflect this Polish/American duality: the Polish veterans of the U.S. army created the Kosciuszko Post (1919), while those who served in the Polish army created the General Haller Post (1920).34 This dualism symbolized the nature of the community at this time: while there was a growing population of second-generation Polish Americans, the community was composed primarily of immigrants who still had one foot in Poland.

The Acculturation of the Second Generation After the National Origins Act in the 1920s established quotas, the number of Polish immigrants dwindled and the second generation multiplied. According to the 1930 Census, of the 133,813 Polish residents in Connecticut, only 49,267 were foreign-born, and the rest were second generation.35 With only a few thousand Poles arriving annually, the 32

Kierklo and Wójcik, Polonia, 165–168; FWP: Falcons, New Haven. Buczek, “Ethnic to American,” 48; GwóĨdĨ, “Enfield, CT,” 18; Blejwas, Meriden, 57–66, 69, 74. 34 Januszewski, “Organizational Evolution,” 52; Kierklo and Wójcik, Polonia, 152, 160; Kumor, New Haven, 212–213; Blejwas, Meriden, 74. 35 Blejwas, “Poles,” 394. 33

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immigrant community matured into an ethnic community. The second generation had more economic and political security than immigrants who had to contend with nativism and anti-immigrant sentiment, language difficulties, and labour market exploitation. And yet, while the second generation were not “foreigners”, neither were they fully Americanized. The Polish-American identity was a hybrid or hyphenated identity. The nativism that gave rise to immigration restrictions encouraged Americanization. Stanislaus Blejwas writes that Polish American lives “were organized around ethnic institutions which preserved their cultural heritage and identity, while voices in the host society demanded the immigrant’s Americanization”.36 Richard Alba argues, however, that the “American way” was not imposed upon immigrants, nor was it likely that immigrants were consciously trying to lose their ancestral identity and blend into the melting pot. Instead, he conceptualizes assimilation as a rational choice immigrants made to utilize opportunities for social mobility.37 At its core, assimilation included adopting the characteristics of the dominant culture—also known as acculturation or Americanization— in order to integrate into mainstream society and increase social status. One manifestation of this was voluntarily changing one’s name to make it more pronounceable to non-Polish speakers. These name changes were evident in church records during this time. Between 1930 and 1950, the records of St. Stanislaus in New Haven show that, for example, Lach became Lock, Kozáowski became Kolsky, and Byculewicz became Bennet.38 Despite such name changes and other forms of acculturation (for example, a growing passion for baseball), Polish Americans in Connecticut did not forsake their heritage even if they did modify their identity. In fact, the second generation kept close to the ethnic community, in particular, the parish, schools, and organizations. Ethnic networks provided access to resources within the community that helped some accumulate wealth and political power. Only by remaining attached to the community could ancestry yield social capital. As such, it was from within the Polish community that the second generation moved into the American middle class. This is not to say there was no external pressure to Americanize. In 1923, a bill was passed in the Connecticut General Assembly that outlawed “the use of foreign languages in public and private schools”, 36

Blejwas, Meriden, 55. Richard Alba, Ethnic Identity: The Transformation of White America, (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1990). 38 Kumor, New Haven, 57. 37

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limiting it to no more than one hour a day.39 This had a significant impact on the Polish parish schools whose curricula were changed to all English, save for the Polish language class.40 Notwithstanding this pressure, Poles still managed to retain Polish language into the third generation in certain cities in Connecticut. According to the 1970 census, the Polish foreign stock (immigrant and second generation) in New Britain was 12,253, and yet 13,669 residents spoke Polish, indicating that language was being retained into the third generation for at least 1,416 Polish Americans.41 Language retention in some cases was necessary for organizational participation. For example, the Pulaski Democratic Club in New Britain kept their minutes in Polish until 1961.42 The campaign to assimilate also came from within the community in the form of organizations such as the Americanization Association of New Britain (1918).43 One aspect of American culture the second generation embraced was the preference for secular leaders. In the immigrant community, the priest was not only a religious and moral leader but also a community leader. Americanization limited the authority of the priest to the moral sphere. The development of a secular community apart from the parish created tensions in those communities with strong authoritarian priests. Blejwas writes that in New Britain, Father Bójnowski’s “autocratic approach” helped to “prevent the social disorganization of New Britain’s fledgling Polish settlement”, but the second generation no longer needed the social welfare, cultural comfort, bank security, or job networks that Bójnowski’s parish coat-tails provided.44 In their transition to an ethnic community, the liminal second generation formed more organizations outside the control of the church. For example, Polish Americans in 39

Blejwas, “Polish Community,” 40. Ruda, Felician Sisters, 74; Blejwas, Meriden, 79. School enrollment peaked in Stamford in 1929 with 487 students. Buczek, “Ethnic to American,” 31. 41 U.S. Census of the Population 1970, “Characteristics of the Population,” vol. 1, Connecticut, part 8 (Washington D.C.: U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of Census, 1973), Table 81, 8–202. 42 Shea and Stoj, “Pulaski Democratic Club.” 43 Januszewski, “Organizational Evolution,” 57. 44 Blejwas, “Polish Community,” 33–34. Bójnowski actively worked against their efforts to form lay organizations: he maligned them publicly and privately, called the police, referred to them as drunkards, and made it difficult for their children in school. Bójnowski retained much power, even after the secularists split off and formed Holy Name parish (1927). Sacred Heart still reported 22 church societies in 1939. Ibid., 63–66. However, Republican Alderman Boleslaus Grzybowski (instrumental in forming Holy Cross) was unseated in 1927 by Frank Zapatka, a parishioner from Sacred Heart, by 179 votes. Ibid., 48–52. 40

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Stamford formed the Polish Business and Professional Club (1924), Youth Club (1924), White Eagle Republican Club (1929), the Pulaski Democratic Club (1930), and the American Boy Scouts (1935).45 Political organizations proliferated across the state and, by the 1960s, Polonia had created 26 individual political clubs representing 2,500 members.46 These clubs were most effective in areas with dense Polonias —including Middletown, Hartford, and Meriden—that represented voting blocks. The Pulaski Democratic Club of New Britain capitalized on the concentration of Poles in the fifth ward and became one of the more successful political clubs. Members did not have to be U.S. citizens, but they did have to be of Polish origin and pledge to become U.S. citizens. The Pulaski Club helped them become citizens and taught them how to vote (they bought a voting machine for practice).47 Polonia’s political power appeared first at the local level, winning elections for municipal positions such as alderman or city mayor.48 By the 1930s, Polish Americans were being elected to state and national positions. In 1938, Bolesáaw J. Monkiewicz, a Republican from New Britain, was elected to the U.S. Congress, and the first Pole elected to the state senate (1940) was Polish-born Theodore Brysh from Meriden.49 Class mobility came in steps for most Polish Americans. When they first arrived, immigrants worked in lesser-skilled, non-supervisory positions with only a few in the owning class. The 1911 Meriden Business Directory lists just two dozen Polish businesses including eight grocers, six saloon owners, and four meat markets.50 By the second generation, the majority were still in working-class positions. In Stamford in the 1930 census, of 4,500 Poles only twenty were listed as professionals.51 In the inter-war period, a large majority of Polish Americans continued to work in factories (Stanley Works in New Britain; General Motors and International Silver in Meriden), but many moved into skilled labour and some supervisory positions.52 Ensconced to the working-class community was a nascent professional middle class with supporting organizations 45

Buczek, “Ethnic to American,” 40–41. Kierklo and Wójcik, Polonia,153; Blejwas, Meriden, 74; Januszewski, “Organizational Evolution,” 54. 47 Shea and Stoj, “Pulaski Democratic Club,” 140–143; Kierklo and Wojcik, Polonia,144–148, 153. 48 Blejwas, “Polish Community,” 41, 44, 48–52; Blejwas, Meriden, 42. 49 Blejwas, Meriden, 98. 50 Ibid., 44. 51 FWP: Stamford. 52 Blejwas, Meriden, 44, 76. 46

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such as the Polish Junior League of Connecticut (1926), the Alliance of Businessman and Professionals, Polish Medical and Dental Association, and the University Club known as “The ‘44’ Club” formed in New Britain (1939) for Polish-American men with advanced degrees.53 The second generation communities flourished because they had more economic stability and political power than the immigrant generation, because they were U.S. citizens, spoke English and were more culturally assimilated, and because, unlike the next generation, they were still concentrated in tightly-knit Polish parish communities. While acculturating (in terms of language, political identity, and community leadership), they were still living, marrying, shopping, praying, and working with and among Polish Americans.

Residential Dispersal and Intermarriage The tragedy of the Second World War led to a new wave of Polish émigrés that included exiled soldiers and displaced persons. In her study of these Polish émigrés, Anna JaroszyĔska-Kirchmann notes that the 110,566 Polish refugees who came to the U.S. between 1947 and 1951 were resettled in the older Polish communities, including large urban centres in the Northeast and agricultural areas (for example, in Connecticut working in the shade tobacco industry).54 The new émigrés gravitated toward parishes with Polish language masses in Hartford, Stamford, New Britain, and Bristol.55 These émigrés were more educated and cosmopolitan than the earlier immigrants or the blue-collar second generation, and their presence at times painfully emphasized the acculturation of the PolishAmerican community.56 Nonetheless their presence invigorated the community. As the later-generation Polish Americans were moving out of their ethnic inner-city neighbourhoods, the new émigrés were active in the Polish parishes, formed new organizations, and established Polish Saturday schools in Hartford, New Britain, Norwich, and Wallingford.57 After the war, more third- and fourth-generation Polish Americans 53

Kierklo and Wójcik, Polonia, 150, 208; Blejwas, “The ‘44’ Club.” Anna D. JaroszyĔska-Kirchmann, The Exile Mission: The Polish Political Diaspora and Polish Americans, 1939–1956 (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 2004), 124. 55 Buczek, “Ethnic to American,” 59; Kumor, New Haven, 42; Blejwas, Meriden, 111; Stanislaus Blejwas, “Old and New Polonias: Tension within an Ethnic Community,” Polish American Studies 38, no. 2 (1981), 55–83. 56 JaroszyĔska-Kirchmann, Exile Mission, 166; Blejwas, “Old and New Polonias.” 57 Kierklo and Wójcik, Polonia, 26–29, 175. 54

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began moving into middle-class occupations and buying homes in newly constructed suburban areas that were non-ethnic, white communities.58 The move to the suburbs was hastened by the decline of industries in the cities. In Meriden, for example, employment in manufacturing declined by one-third between 1947 and 1958, with companies like International Silver, a main employer for Polish Americans, closing down plants.59 By 1970, over half of the Polish stock population in Connecticut was living in the “urban fringe”, as opposed to the central cities; in the Hartford SMSA, only 16 per cent of the 18,095 population of Polish foreign stock lived in the city and the remainder lived in suburbs (“urban fringe”).60 Along with class and residential mobility, Polish Americans began to marry outside their ethnic group. High rates of endogamy had persisted into the second generation. In Stamford, between 1903 and 1922, almost all of the 537 marriages at Holy Name were between two Polish Roman Catholics. Moreover, every couple married in 1923 was born in the U.S.61 This high rate of endogamy gave way to a religious-based ethnic melting pot by mid-century as Poles married outside their ethnic group but within the Roman Catholic Church. Common partners were Italian, Irish, and Slavic. In Meriden, by 1946, one-third of the marriages were to non–Poles, most often Ukrainians, Slovaks, and Lithuanians.62 In New Haven, 57 per cent of marriages were endogamous in the 1970s (compared to 95 per cent between 1900 and 1920).63 With more exogamous marriages, organizations began to change their policies for membership and scholarships to the requirement that only one parent be Polish. The 44 Club in New Britain made this amendment in 1954. Even though Poles were moving to the suburbs and marrying outside their ethnic groups, there were still 24 Polish language parishes in Connecticut in 1970. These parishes retained Polish in the language of the mass and its music (kolĊdy and Gorzkie ĩale), Polish Saturday schools, and religious celebrations such as Wigilia (Christmas Eve supper) and ĝwiĊconka (the blessing of Easter baskets). These parishes were changing, however, as was evidenced by the declining number and the increasing 58

Blejwas, Meriden, 112. This was made possible for many U.S. veterans through the Servicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944 (also known as the G.I. Bill) that provided, among other things, low-interest mortgage loans and college tuition. 59 Ibid., 119. 60 U.S. Census 1970, “Characteristics of the Population,” Table 60, 8–180, and Table 81, 8–202. 61 Buczek, “Ethnic to American,” 35, 41, 52. 62 Blejwas, Meriden, 80, 99. 63 Kumor, New Haven, 55–57.

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diversity of their parishioners. Enrollment in the parish parochial schools also declined, and student bodies became more racially, ethnically, and religiously diverse. Of the 81 students at Stamford’s parochial school in 1978 whose first language was other than English, only 14 students spoke Polish, while 29 spoke Spanish.64 The Polonias in Meriden, Hartford, and New Britain were also experiencing an influx of Spanish-speakers, many of them Puerto Ricans, living in apartments and homes vacated by Polish Americans who had moved to the suburbs.65 According to the 1960 census, 117,663 residents of Connecticut were born in Poland or had parents born in Poland. This number had dropped to 103,820 by 1970; however, 23 per cent were foreign-born66—still the population was declining. By contrast, the Latino population was increasing. In 1970, there were 65,458 residents of Spanish origin or descent in Connecticut, more than half of them being Puerto Rican.67 Their population increased to 124,499 (with 71 per cent Puerto Rican) by 1980.68 This shift can also be noted with a comparison of Polish and Spanish speakers in the state. According to the 1970 census, 114,180 residents spoke Polish, compared to 58,352 residents who spoke Spanish.69 By 1980, these numbers had almost reversed, with 102,850 Spanishspeakers and only 42,305 Polish-speakers.70 Connecticut was being divided into white suburban areas and black and Latino urban areas. Polish Americans were members of the white racial group, with its attendant privileges, one of which was voluntary association with their ethnic identity. As Mary Waters put it, many Americans of European ancestry have the “option” of being ethnic.71 Claiming Polish ancestry did not threaten their American status. As one third-generation Polish American said, they were “proud to be Polish” because they were “100 per cent American”. Echoing these same sentiments another Polish American said, “The Polish people are very 64

Buczek, “Ethnic to American,” 53. Blejwas, Meriden, 112–19. 66 U.S. Census 1970, “Characteristics of the Population,” Table 45, 8–154; Table 60, 8–180. 67 Ibid., Table 60, 8–180. 68 Sutherland, “Immigration to Connecticut,” Table Persons by Spanish Origin. 69 U.S. Census 1970, “Characteristics of the Population,” Table 45, 8–154; Table 60, 8–180. 70 Ibid., Table 60, 8–180; U.S. Census of the Population, 1980, “Characteristics of the Population,” vol. 1, Detailed Population Characteristics, chapter D, Connecticut, part 8 (Washington D.C.: U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of Census, 1983), Table 197, 8–19. 71 Mary Waters, Ethnic Options (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990). 65

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proud of their Polish heritage, but they all believe, they all know and feel, they are Americans first”.72 Polish pride and American loyalty coexisted in an uncomplicated relationship by the 1970s.

Ethnic Renewal and New Arrivals The culture of ethnic renewal sweeping the country in the 1970s created opportunities for the third and fourth generation to maintain their ancestral heritage. In contrast to the early immigrants, who used the church to maintain Polishness, the later generations used American institutions. In Connecticut in 1974, State Senator John Zajac and State Representative Daniel Brunski, both from Meriden, helped pass a bill establishing the Copernicus Centre at Central Connecticut State College (renamed Central Connecticut State University in 1983), a resource centre to encourage the teaching and study of Polish language, culture, and history. In the fall of that same year, the Connecticut Polish American Congress with the leadership and drive of Stanislaus Blejwas established the Polish Studies Program at the same institution.73 The number of Polish Americans increased, according to the 1980 census, with 287,016 people in Connecticut reporting Polish ancestry—an almost 200 per cent increase from 1970. The increase represents a change in the census instruments. For the first time, the decennial census could estimate the number of third and later generations with an open-ended question: “What is your ancestry?”74 Ten years later, the number of residents reporting Polish ancestry increased more modestly to 312,587.75 This increase, however, reflected the growing number of new Polish immigrants in Connecticut. In 1990, nine per cent of this population were foreign-born Poles, whereas in 1980 less than seven per cent were.76 The Hartford–New Britain area was the fifth most popular intended

72

“Peoples of Connecticut.” Blejwas, Meriden, 114–121. 74 U.S. Census of the Population, 1980, Ancestry of the Population by State, (Washington D.C.: U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of Census, 1983), Table 2. 75 U.S. Census of the Population, 1990, “Detailed Ancestry Groups for States, (Washington D.C.: U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of Census, 1992), Table 3, 12. 76 U.S. Census 1980, “Characteristics of the Population,” Table 195, 8–8. Nationwide, in 1990, only five per cent of those reporting Polish ancestry were foreign born. U.S. Census 1990, “Detailed Ancestry Groups for States.” 73

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area of residence in the entire U.S. for Polish immigrants in the 1990s.77 According to the 2000 census, there were 14,257 residents of Polish ancestry in New Britain, (representing 20 per cent of the city’s population), and almost 44 per cent were foreign-born.78 Broad Street in New Britain still has a substantial concentration of Polish immigrants, businesses, and institutions. The iconic Sacred Heart church (with masses celebrated in Polish and English) sits at the top of Broad Street with a medley of Polish restaurants, bakeries, delis, bookstores, the Pulaski Club, and the Haller VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) Post at its feet. With almost half of the population foreign-born, New Britain has retained its immigrant character. Moreover, the nativism in the early twentieth century that forced Polish language out of the schools had, by the end of the century, transformed into multicultural policies and diversity practices. In 2010, New Britain High School, a public school, offered bilingual courses in Polish to about 100 students who spoke Polish as a first language. In addition to ESL courses, they have Polish-language courses in World Geography, U.S. Government and History, and an advanced science course.79 Today, Poles can read Polish newspapers online and watch Polish television through the internet or cable television Polvision. There are also Polish language newspapers, “Przegląd Polonijny z Connecticut” and “Polski Express”, which provide local and regional news. Like a century ago, these newspapers carry advertisements for work and lodgings, for Polish businesses and professionals, including travel agents, lawyers, and doctors who advertise mówimy po polsku.

Conclusion As of 2010, the Polish American community in Connecticut was composed of varying migrations and generations: post-1980 immigrants and their children; aging émigrés from the Second World War and their 77

Statistical Yearbook of the Immigration and Naturalization Service (Washington D.C.: U.S. Department of Justice, Immigration and Naturalization Service, 1987– 1997), Table: Immigrants Admitted by Select Country of Birth and Selected Metropolitan Area of Intended Residence. Between 1987 and 1997, 9,529 Poles immigrated to Connecticut, with over 4,500 new Polish immigrants moving to the Hartford–New Britain Metropolitan Statistical Area. 78 U.S. Census of the Population, 2000, “Ancestry of the Population, Summary File 3” (Washington D.C.: U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of Census, 2004); Ibid., “Population and Housing Characteristics,” Summary File 1 and 3, http://factfinder.census.gov/servlet/CTTable (accessed 2 January 2007). 79 Author’s fieldnotes from New Britain High School, April 2011.

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children and grandchildren; and third and fourth generations of Americans of Polish descent whose ancestors arrived in the early part of the twentieth and latter part of the nineteenth centuries. At the Polish Book Club, which meets at the Sloper-Wesoly Immigrant Heritage & Cultural Centre in New Britain, home to the Polish American Foundation of Connecticut, Inc. (1997), five generations come together to discuss books written by and about Poland, Poles, Polonia, and Polish Americans. At the Polanka (Falcon Field behind Pulaski Middle school), the team “Polonia New Britain” plays soccer in the Związek Polonijnych Klubów Piákarskich, and the community celebrates DoĪynki (Harvest Festival) with the U.S. and Polish flags on the stage, a parade of veterans, bigos and kieábasa, polkas and a mass. Spread across Connecticut, in homes and churches, the icon of Our Lady of CzĊstochowa marks the presence of Poles as does the commemoration of May 3rd held at the State Capitol. Gorzkie ĩale is still sung in Polish parishes and pączki (jelly-filled donuts) are sold in chain supermarkets. The local “New Britain Herald: Polska Edycja” features pictures of Miss Polonia Connecticut, and organizations like the Polish Cultural Club of Greater Hartford host pierogi workshops and a Christmas Szopka (Krakow Nativity Scene) competition. In large and small towns the remnants of the past in the present can be found in the White Eagle clubs, Kosciuszko VFW lodges, Polish Saturday schools, and Polish athletic clubs. The polka radio hour is still broadcast from the Polish National Home in Hartford on Sunday afternoons, following the Polish mass at St. Cyril and Methodius across the street, whose church bulletin includes an English-language advertisement for a Beginner Course in Polish, and a Polish-language announcement for Polish Saturday school. The persistence of Polishness through the generations represents the fluid and evolving nature of ethnicity, the institutional strength of the Polish community, and the continuous arrival of new immigrants from Poland.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN POLISH AND GERMAN IMMIGRANTS IN MILWAUKEE AT THE TURN OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY1 DOROTA PRASZAàOWICZ

“Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers in order to recount it”. —Gabriel Garcia Marquez2

Most American ethnic studies focus on race relations, and on majority/minority contacts.3 In contrast, this paper deals with two minority groups German-Americans and Polish-Americans. The study was conducted in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where German immigrants dominated, and Poles became the second largest immigrant group. This unique ethnic

1

This paper presents revised and updated results of the research project on ethnic relations between Polish and German immigrants in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. The studies were conducted in the United States in 1988/89, and continued in Germany between 1991 and 1993. Dorota Praszaáowicz, Stosunki polsko-niemieckie na obczyĨnie. Polscy i niemieccy imigranci w Milwaukee, Wisconsin (U.S. A) 1860– 1920 (Polish-German Relations Abroad: Polish and German Immigrants in Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1860–1920) (Kraków: Universitas, 1999). 2 Gabriel G. Marquez, Living to Tell the Tale (New York: A.A. Knopf, 2003), epigraph. 3 James Wilfrid Vander Zanden, American Minority Relations (New York: Ronald Press, 1963); Stanley Lieberson, A Piece of the Pie. Blacks and White Immigrants since 1880 (Berkeley, California: University of California Press, 1980); Suzan Olzak, The Dynamics of Ethnic Competition and Conflict (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1992); Michael Banton, “Ethnic Conflict,” Sociology 34, no. 3 (2000), 481–498.

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profile of the city population makes Milwaukee a kind of laboratory to study German-Polish relations in the U.S. The paper aims to deal with the historiography of inter-group relations and to confront the traditional narrative (represented by the old historiography) with a few facts. In other words, the main aim is to deconstruct the traditional narrative and the collective memory of both groups.

Basic Terms and Contexts Thus far, the immigration experience of these two groups has been studied separately. German or German-American researchers studied the German influx, and Polish and Polish-American students discussed the Polish inflow. The divergent discourses made it difficult for scholars on both sides to notice the similarities and inter-relations between the two groups. The old historiography of immigration focused on traditional records: ethnic newspapers and magazines; documents left by immigrant churches and societies, and personal documents: memoirs, letters. In all of these records the ethnocentric narrative prevailed. The researchers took the narrative literally as evidence of “how it really was”.4 The national (both German and Polish) narrative was intertwined with the collective memory of each imagined community. The narrative shapes the collective memory, and also changes it. Both provide a context within which researchers pursue their studies. “It is in society that people normally acquire their memories. It is also in society that they recall, recognize, and localize their memories”.5 The immigrants’ collective memory is usually ethnocentric, it focuses on their own ethnic group, and it does not accommodate the story of “others”, especially if the others are not treated as significant. Moreover there is no meaning ascribed to the contact with others. Looking from the contemporary perspective, we note that meanings are not always clear when an event occurs but often must be categorized and elaborated later. […] the meaning of an experience can

4

An exception is a classic study by K. Neils Conzen, Immigrant Milwaukee, 1836– 1860. Accommodation and Community in a Frontier City (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1976). 5 Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, trans. and ed. Lewis A. Coser, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 38.

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change over time. […] meanings need to be negotiated among groups.6

In other words, it seems necessary to seek new information in the wellknown sources and to look for a new meaning. This paper presents a few facts which have escaped the attention of both German and Polish scholars. They relate to the contacts between German and Polish immigrants within the Roman Catholic Church in Milwaukee. One may assume that these contacts were not examined because they were not consistent with the old narrative. It is only today that the meaning of the facts seems to be important to us. It is asserted that the examination of these facts could give the past experience a new meaning. The study provides a basis for re-evaluating the stereotype of everlasting hostility between Poles and Germans,7 rooted in both Polish and German collective memory, and it was reinforced by a historical narrative at the turn of the nineteenth century.8 Indeed, while constructing the narrative, most historians emphasized conflicts and hostility between Germans and Poles, and ignored the ages of everyday cooperation, intersecting interests, and intensive exchange in all spheres of life. Contemporary scholars noted that the concept of a “modern nation” has a narrative structure.9 In the nineteenth century Germans and Poles developed two different narratives and invented two different traditions. In their narrative, Poles focused on the struggle for their cultural continuity. The partitions of Poland in the eighteenth century [1772, 1793, 1795] gave the country an ‘essential’ identity as ‘the Christ among nations’, crucified and re-crucified by foreign oppression.10

Remembering the loss of sovereignty functioned as a profound aspect of Polish identity, both at home and abroad. The Diaspora was perceived as a Fourth Partition (along with the Russian, Prussian and Austrian), and its members were expected to be messengers of the national cause. Thus 6

David C. Rubin, “Introduction” in Remembering Our Past: Studies in Autobiographical Memory, ed. Idem (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 9. 7 Walter Lippmann, Public Opinion (New York: Penguin Books, 1946). 8 Peter Seixas, ed., Theorizing Historical Consciousness (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2004). 9 Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London and New York: Routledge, 1994); E.J. Hobsbawm, T.O. Ranger, eds., The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992). 10 Peter Novick, The Holocaust and Collective Memory. The American Experience (London: Bloomsbury, 2001), 4.

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“Poland became a spiritual Homeland, separated from the real, an object of contemplation, an icon of heroic suffering”.11 Within these frames the Polish imagined community was constructed, and a specific national discourse developed. Prussia was defined as an oppressor, especially since it participated in the partitions of Poland. A different context shaped the German narrative. The nineteenth century was the time of the unification/centralization of the German states, the process led by Prussia, which championed the establishment of the German Empire in 1871. An aspiration to play a leading role in the modernizing of Europe, and a belief in the German civilizing mission in the East, did not allow German leaders to seek partners among the population of the eastern provinces.

Germans and Poles in Milwaukee Population Statistics Thus far, the history of ethnic Milwaukee has been extensively examined. The German influx started in the 1830s, and by 1850 more than half of the city’s foreign-born population was German. The first Poles arrived there in the 1840s and by the turn of century they had become the next largest ethnic group in Milwaukee. In 1890, Milwaukee had a population of around two hundred thousand, 27 per cent (54,000) of whom were German-born, and 4.5 per cent (9,000) were registered as Polishborn.12 The size of the Polish population was probably larger, although the official records embrace only part of the Polish immigrants. In 1910, German foreign stock dominated the city population, reaching 53 per cent of the total, while Polish foreign stock constituted 19 per cent. In 1920, when Milwaukee’s population reached four hundred and sixty thousand, 9 per cent (40,000) of it was German-born and 5 per cent (23,000) Polishborn. It should be stressed that Polish immigrants who settled in Milwaukee were pioneers of Polish overseas migrations. They came mostly from the Polish lands under German rule, at the time of forced Germanization of 11

Hanna Gosk, Notions of ‘Homeland’ in Recent Polish Prose (twenty years after the country regained sovereignty), Polish Literature Since 1989 Conference Web page, http://polish–literature–since1989.blogspot.com/2011/10/hanna–gosk.html (accessed 15 October 2012). 12 U.S. Census 1920. Population–Wisconsin (Composition and Characteristic of the Population for Cities; Milwaukee Metropolitan Area Fact Book, 1940, 1950 and 1960, ed. H.Yuan Tien (Madison: University of Wisconsin, 1962).

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Polish inhabitants by the German authorities. Despite political tension, both Germans and Poles migrated overseas for economic rather than political reasons. The eastern Prussian provinces were characterized by a traditional rural economy, typical for a periphery of the system of the Atlantic economy.13 Overpopulation and the lack of chance for an upward mobility pushed people out of the area. Economic rivalry between Germans and Poles badly affected not only both groups but also local Jews, and provided an additional incentive for all three groups to depart overseas.14

Labour Market By contrast with German immigrants, Poles were less educated, less skilled, and concentrated in a lower (working class) social stratum. The German-American population was more diversified, with its own elite and large artisan and skilled working class group (Table 15-1, and table 15-2). In comparison with American cities, however, Milwaukee Poles were better educated. Originating from Prussian Poland, they were educated in the Prussian school system in which elementary education was compulsory. That was not the case in Russian Poland, or Galicia (Austrian Poland). It is important to note the scale of the upward mobility of the secondgeneration Polish immigrants in Milwaukee (Table 15-2). The percentage of non-skilled workers was twice as high among the Polish-born as among the German-born. However, it was reduced by more than half within the group of second generation Polish-Americans. Poles were employed mostly in the steel and metal industry, while Germans were to a greater extent small business owners, or worked in companies owned by their compatriots. It is interesting that there was not much competition between the two groups in the local labour market.

13

Dirk Hoerder, “An Introduction to Labor Migration in the Atlantic Economies 1815–1914” in Labor Migration in the Atlantic Economies. The European and North American Working Classes during the Period of Industrialization, ed. D. Hoerder (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood, 1985). 14 Louis J. Switchkow and Lloyd P. Gartner, The History of the Jews of Milwaukee (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America,1963).

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Tab. 15-1: The social structure of Milwaukee population. Heads of households in the Wards 14th, 20th and 22nd15

Professionals Business owners, managers Office and services, employees Owners of constructing firms Artisans, skilled workers Semi-skilled workers Unskilled workers Retired, unemployed Sample

14 Ward16 (Polish) 0.4 6.6 2.6 6.8 23.0 4.4 54.8 1.3 456

20 Ward17 (German) 3.4 14.7 7.4 16.7 25.8 11.3 18.2 2.5 397

22 Ward18 (German) 3.1 15.1 16.6 10.9 28.3 9,1 12.6 3.1 352

Tab. 15-2: The social structure of Milwaukee’s Fourteenth Ward, according to ethnic origin and generation (Heads of households)19

Office and services employees Business owners, managers Owners of constructing Firms Artisans Semi-skilled workers Unskilled workers Retired, unemployed Sample

15

U.S. born of German parentage 0

German born 3.3

U.S. born of Polish parentage 3.8

Polish born 1.9

0

13.7

11.5

5.6

23.5

8.2

15.4

5.6

35.3 0

23.0 13.1

34.6 7.7

21.2 2.8

35.3 5.9

37.7 1.6

26.9 0

61.4 0.9

17

61

26

321

Roger Simon, The Expansion of an Industrial City: Milwaukee 1880–1910, Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Wisconsin 1971. 16 Polish foreign stock constituted 81.1 per cent of the population within the 14th Ward. 17 German foreign stock constituted 88.8 per cent of the population within the 20th Ward. 18 German foreign stock constituted 75.5 per cent of the population within the 22th Ward. 19 Roger Simon, The Expansion of an Industrial City: Milwaukee 1880–1910, Ph.D. Dissertation, the University of Wisconsin 1971.

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Ethnic Neighbourhoods German immigrants dwelt mainly in the north-western section of Milwaukee, while Polish immigrants settled mostly in the south, where the two groups became neighbours. There were, moreover, two small Polish communities, one on Jones Island, and one on the East Side. On Jones Island, the Polish fishermen (Kaszubi) settled next to the German fishermen who came from the Baltic islands.20 It seems there was little competition between the two groups in their place of residence, and the pattern of ethnic succession in American cities (described for example by Robert Park) does not apply to the Poles and Germans in Milwaukee. However, in other American cities, like Buffalo, Detroit, Chicago or New York, Poles settled next to Germans, and over the course of time started moving into their own districts.21

Cultural Continuity Both Polish and German ethnic groups experienced some feeling of alienation from the dominant American culture.22 The German immigrants who came earlier sought to establish the dominance of their culture, and the Poles wanted to demonstrate the strength of their ethnic tradition. On the other hand, both groups faced prejudice. Their answer was to construct their own ethnic world. Both groups developed a whole range of associations and clubs reaching ethnic institutional completeness.23 The first immigrant institutions in the city were ethnic parishes. Both Poles and Germans established their own parishes in Milwaukee, and in the course of time associated many parochial societies with them. The most popular and most numerous at the beginning were benevolent societies and mutual aid societies. It is important to remember that immigrants used American patterns while establishing their ethnic 20

Ruth Kriehn, The Fisherfolk of Jones Island (Milwaukee, WI: Milwaukee County Historical Society, 1988). 21 Also in case of the rural communities this proves to be true (for example in Texas and Wisconsin). One of the few exceptions is Riverhead on Long Island, New York, where Polish farmers settled far from the German immigrants. 22 Kathleen Neils Conzen, David A. Gerber, Ewa Morawska, George E. Pozzetta, and Rudolph J. Vecoli, “The Invention of Ethnicity: A Perspective from the U.S. A,” Journal of American Ethnic History 12, no. 1 (1992): 3–41. 23 Raymond Breton, “Institutional Completeness of Ethnic Communities and Personal Relations of Immigrants,” American Journal of Sociology 70, no. 2 (1964): 193–205.

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institutions, and so the Irish used American patterns, the Germans who followed them used both American and Irish patterns, and the Poles, while founding their associations in Milwaukee, usually followed the German patterns. Ethnic societies were to promote cultural continuity, but at the same time they were American (and Americanizing) institutions. The societies had to conform to American legalities in order to get a charter. It was especially the case of the mutual aid societies. While establishing them, immigrants were learning both American and ethnic ways. Paradoxically, the process of the ethnic community building produced the bonding social capital (within each immigrant group), as well as the bridging of social capital (which made the relations between the groups easy-going).24 The distinction between bridging and bonding social capital underlines a difference between immigrant group inward activity, which leads toward ethnic institutional completeness, and immigrant outward activity which leads to the contact with other groups in the place of settlement. It seems that immigrant group inward activity became memorized and sanctified, while group outward activity became ignored and forgotten, except for the cases of the spectacular success of individuals in American society. By the end of the nineteenth century, German immigrants founded about 28 to 30 of the city’s 34 Lutheran congregations.25 Most of them belonged to the Missouri Synod (12) and to the Wisconsin Synod (14), both Old Lutheran churches.26 About a third of German immigrants were Protestants, most of them Lutherans. There were, moreover, non-Lutheran 24

“Of all dimensions along which forms of social capital vary, perhaps the most important is the distinction between bridging (or inclusive) and bonding (or exclusive). Some forms of social capital are, by choice or necessity, inward looking and tend to reinforce exclusive identities and homogenous groups. Examples of bonding social capital include ethnic fraternal organizations, churchbased women’s reading groups, and fashionable country clubs. Other networks are outward looking and encompass people across diverse social cleavages. Examples of bridging social capital include the civil rights movement, many youth service groups, and ecumenical religious organizations.” Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone. The Collapse and Revival of American Community (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000), 22. 25 History of Milwaukee County. From Its First Settlement to the Year 1895, ed. Howard Louis Conard, vol. 2 (Chicago: American Biographical Pub. Co., no date, 1895?). 26 Lieselotte Clemens, Die Auswanderung der pommerschen Altlutheraner in die U.S.A (Hamburg: Pommerscher Zentralverband, 1976); Wilhelm Iwan, Die Altlutherische Auswanderung um die Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts (Ludwigsburg: L. Kallenberg 1943).

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German-American Protestant congregations in Milwaukee: a few Baptist, at least one Methodist (Zion Congregation of the Evangelical Association) and one Presbyterian (German Old School Presbyterian Congregation).27 Another third of the German immigrants were non-church people, many of them freethinkers. This group was dominated by the FortyEighters, who seized the leadership within the German-American population.28 Activists rooted in this group started the Turnverein movement which aimed to develop both sport and education.29 The FortyEighters founded many German-American journals, non-sectarian schools, and political clubs. The other third of the German-American population belonged to the Roman Catholic Church. In 1920 there were 46 Roman Catholic parishes in the city, 15 of them were German-American, and 10 were PolishAmerican. German Catholics helped, in 1834–44, to establish the Diocese (later the archdiocese) of Milwaukee, and the Swiss-born, Germanspeaking Johann Martin Henni became its first bishop and archbishop. It was not until 1930 that a non-German was appointed the head of the Archdiocese of Milwaukee.30 The German-American population developed various associations and clubs in Milwaukee, which reflected its internal diversity. There were popular cultural societies (choirs, amateur theatres shooting teams, units of militia, firemen units) and arts clubs for those German immigrants fond of opera, symphony, poetry, etc.31 Moreover, German immigrant churches 27

Bayrd Still, Milwaukee. The History of the City (Madison: State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 1948). 28 Walter D. Kamphoefner, “Dreissiger and Forty-eighter: The Political Influence of Two Generations of German Political Exiles” in Germany and America; Essays and Problems of International Relations and Immigration, ed. Hans Louis Trefousse (New York: Brooklyn College Press, 1980). 29 Horst Ueberhorst, Turners and Social Democrats in Milwaukee. Five Decades of Cooperation 1910–1960, Lecture to the discussion group “Politics and Science,” Freidrich Ebert Stiftung, Bonn, 16 March 1980. 30 J.M. Henni held the office until his death in 1882. Michael Heiss, born in Bavaria, succeeded him. The third Archbishop of Milwaukee was Frederick Katzer born in Austria, and in 1903 the Swiss-born Sebastian Messmer succeeded him. Stephen M. Avella, In the Richness of the Earth. A History of the Archdiocese of Milwaukee 1843–1958 (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 2002); Leo Rummel, History of the Catholic Church in Wisconsin (Madison: Wisconsin State Council, Knights of Columbus, 1976). 31 In the 1840s a Militär Halle was a centre of the German community, in the next decade Markthalle replaced it. In the 1860s Albany Hall and Music Academy turned to attract most German immigrants. By the end of the nineteenth century

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established their own schools of higher education in Milwaukee, with Concordia College (Missouri Synod), Theological College (Wisconsin Synod), and Mount Mary College (School Sisters of Notre Dame, RomanCatholic Church) being the most visible. Because of German dominance in the city population, their ethnic institutions were very visible, and gave Milwaukee the nickname of “German Athens”. Polish societies and clubs also included theatre groups, choirs, shooting teams and firemen units.32 Many of them were connected with parishes, and represented popular culture. In the course of time, the local Polish daily “Kuryer Polski” proved to be one of the best ever published by American Polonia newspapers, and its publisher Michael Kruszka managed to develop a publishing house. Later, the new Polish cultural clubs promoted higher culture (“polonaise culture”) and aimed to acquaint the local population with Chopin, Matejko [Polish painter] and the traditions of Polish democracy. Both ethnic populations were internally diversified; we should not, therefore speak of one German-American or Polish-American community. Instead, there were various communities within each group, and each one produced its own institutions. Church people were involved in church institutions and societies while people who were sceptical about the influence of the church established secular ethnic organizations. Within the Milwaukee Polonia, there was a division separating the supporters of the Polish Roman Catholic Union on one side, from the activists of Polish National Alliance on the other. Both institutions (which were headquartered in Chicago) became patterns for similar Polish-American organizations established at the local level. The church/secular divisions were much more intense within the German-American population. German freethinkers fought local churches, being especially critical of the Roman Catholic Church. At the same time, there were internal frictions within the same denominations, and so German Lutherans who belonged to various churches competed with one another. Musikhalle, Stadttheater and Opernhaus became important cultural centres. Kathleen Neils Conzen, Immigrant Milwaukee, 1836–1860. Accommodation and Community in a Frontier City (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1976). 32 Literary Society of St. Hyacinth, Cadet Society of SS. Cyril and Methodius, Ignace Paderewski Dramatic Society. A centre of Polish culture was Kosciuszko Hall founded next to the St. Stanislaus Parish. We, the Milwaukee Poles. The History of Milwaukeeans of Polish Descent and a Record of Their Contribution to the Greatness of Milwaukee, ed. Thaddeus Borun (Milwaukee: Nowiny Pub. Co.: 1946).

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Ethnic institutions were supposed to prevent assimilation, but they rather eased the Americanization of the immigrants.33 They served to bridge a gap between the old and new country. Some of these organizations had no roots in the old country tradition—for instance Milwaukee City Rifles was a German unit patterned after the Milwaukee City Guards started by Irish immigrants, and Die Washington Garde, another German unit, served as a pattern for the Poles to establish their Kosciuszko Guard. Both German and Polish shooting clubs owned picnic areas outside of the city, a tradition developed in the new country. While shaping and inventing their ethnicity, immigrants were becoming Americans.

Ethnic Relations within the Local Roman Catholic Church Ethnic Parishes German immigrants, who did not settle on the North Side, moved to the South and started a new city district there. They were latecomers who arrived to Milwaukee together with Polish immigrants. Soon, therefore, the Poles joined them and then gradually took over South Side Milwaukee. German Catholics founded the Holy Trinity Parish in 1849 in the new neighbourhood. Polish immigrants initially joined the parish and they were provided with Polish language services whenever a Polish priest was available. When their numbers increased, the Poles decided to launch their own parish. The idea was supported by the Holy Trinity, which organized a concert to raise funds for the undertaking. In 1866, the Polish Parish of St. Stanislaus Bishop and Martyr was established, and the Holy Trinity delegation participated in the opening ceremony.34 Two parishes shared a cemetery opened by the Holy Trinity, until the Poles founded their own cemetery (St. Adalbert) nearby in 1888. In 1868, the Poles opened a parochial school and invited the School Sisters of Notre Dame to run it.35 The nuns came from Bavaria, and in 1850, they established their motherhouse in Milwaukee (their role in Polish-American schools in Milwaukee is discussed in the next section of this paper). 33

Richard D. Alba, Victor Nee, Remaking the American Mainstream. Assimilation and Contemporary Immigration (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003). 34 Záoty Jubileusz Najstarszej Polskiej Parafii ĝw. Stanisáawa B. i M. w Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1866–1916 (Milwaukee: Nowiny Polskie, 1916). 35 Dorota Praszaáowicz, “The Cultural Changes of Polish–American Parochial Schools in Milwaukee, 1868–1988,” Journal of American Ethnic History 13, no. 4 (1994): 23–45.

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In 1873, a second German-American Roman Catholic Parish of St. Anthony opened on the South Side, not far from the St. Stanislaus Church. In the course of time, it was surrounded by the newly established PolishAmerican Parishes of St. Hyacinth (1883), St. Josaphat (1888), St. Vincent (1888), and SS. Cyril and Methodius (1893).36 However, at the turn of the century, some Polish Catholics and many mixed Polish/German families still belonged to this German-American parish.37 In the early years of St. Stanislaus Parochial School, the nuns who taught there rode to the South Side every day from their motherhouse, which was located in the city centre. Later, they were invited to stay in the convent which had been built for the teaching nuns at St. Anthony’s.38 They were guests of St. Anthony’s until St. Stanislaus Parish constructed a convent for them.

Sisterhoods Polish girls who wished to enter a religious order in Milwaukee usually opted for the School Sisters of Notre Dame (SSND). Between 1866 and 1941, 33 girls of the St. Stanislaus Parish entered the SSND, and eight chose the Felician Sisters.39 The latter were Polish nuns who came to Wisconsin in 1874, though in 1882, they moved to Michigan.40 The closest motherhouse of Polish sisterhood was Chicago’s convent of the Holy Family of Nazareth, which opened in 1885. By the beginning of the twentieth century two Polish sisterhoods found their way to Milwaukee, the first was the Felician Sisters, followed by the newly established Sisters of St. Joseph of the Third Order of St. Francis. Starting in1902, therefore, Polish girls who decided to enter a convent, usually opted for a Polish-American one. In St. Hyacinth Parish between 1883 and 1958, 55 girls entered the SSND and ten joined the Sisters of St. Joseph.41

36

Official Catholic Directory (New York: J. Kennedy, 1906). Information based on examination of the parochial records. 38 Záoty Jubileusz. 39 Diamond Jubilee St. Stanislaus 1866–1941 (Milwaukee: St. Stanislaus Parish, 1941). 40 S. M. Jeremiah, “Father Dąbrowski and the Felicians,” Polish American Studies 16, no. 1-2 (1959), 12–23; S. M. Ligouri, “Polish American Sisterhoods and Schools to 1919,” Polish American Studies 13, no. 3-4 (1956), 72–76. 41 St. Hyacinth Parish, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Diamond Jubilee 1883–1958 (Milwaukee, Wis.: St. Hyacinth Parish, 1958). 37

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The School Sisters of Notre Dame had a reputation for teaching excellence. They patterned their parochial schools on Bavarian “Volkschule”, and used the non-standard teaching methods developed by Pestalozzi.42 The nuns prepared school programmes, wrote course books, and trained teachers. Polish candidates took teaching courses within the convent. Surprisingly, they were provided with Polish language courses and Polish language prayer books.43 Polish language retreats were also organized for them. Poles were simply trained to become teachers in Polish-American parochial schools. Indeed by the end of the nineteenth century SSND taught in all seven Polish-American Parochial Schools in Milwaukee. The sisterhood usually sent Polish nuns, and some Irish ones, to run these schools. The SSND authorities believed that the Poles would easily communicate with them (due to a strong Catholic tradition in both Polish and Irish history, and due to the historical experience of the Roman Catholic Church as a defender of Polish and Irish nationality). The SSND established an office of the School Supervisor of the Polish Schools, which was held by a Polish-American nun. In 1914 there were 485 PolishAmerican nuns within SSND, and 324 of them worked in Polish-American parochial schools. In 1947, there were 700 Polish-American nuns within the SSND, which constituted 12 per cent of the community membership. It was the opposite case, however, with regard to Polish-German relations within the sisterhoods in Milwaukee. In 1888, the GermanAmerican order of the School Sisters of St. Francis established its motherhouse in Milwaukee, and Polish girls started entering it as candidates. Initially, they were treated in a friendly manner, as was the case within the SSND. By the end of the nineteenth century, however, the Polish nuns and candidates were asked to refrain from speaking Polish; moreover, Polish language classes, initially organized for them, were discontinued. Polish women rebelled, and decided to start their own religious community.44 Open conflict broke out in 1900 in Stevens Point, Wisconsin, where the School Sisters of St. Francis taught at the local 42

Mother Caroline and the School Sisters of Notre Dame in America (St. Louis: Woodwards & Tieman co., 1928). 43 Information on Polish programmes for Polish-American girls is based on records examined at the SSND Archive in Milwaukee. Additional information was provided by jubilee books of Polish-American parishes. 44 Josephine M. Peplinski, A Fitting Response. The History of the Sisters of St. Joseph of the Third Order of St. Francis, vol. 1 (South Bend, In.: The Order, 1982); S.M. Polczynski, History of Community, manuscript in the SSJ–TOSF Archive in Stevens Point, Wisconsin (no date); Chronical Community History (records in the SSJ–TOSF Archive).

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(Polish-American) St. Peter’s Parochial School. The number of school students was increasing at the time, and it was necessary to employ more teachers. When six girls, members of the parish, entered the order of the School Sisters of St. Francis, the rector Father Pescinski hoped they would be trained to become teachers. However, they were assigned house duties instead. The girls protested, and Father Pescinski supported them. Eventually, 46 Polish-American members of the School Sisters of St. Francis signed a petition to establish their own religious community. They were supported by 50 Polish-American priests, and Sebastian Messmer, who at the time was the bishop of the Green Bay Diocese (Stevens Point belonged to it) supported them. In 1902, the protesters were being allowed to start their own order. They formed the Order of Sisters of St. Joseph of the Third Order of St. Francis, with a motherhouse in Stevens Point. By 1910, the new sisterhood had 1264 members. This case shows that parallel to the smooth cooperation within the SSND, there were also open conflicts between the Polish and German immigrants within the Roman Catholic sisterhoods. A clue to an explanation of the difference between the attitudes of the two GermanAmerican sisterhoods can be found in the date of their arrival in Milwaukee. The SSND came in the mid-nineteenth century, when Bishop Johann Martin Henni implemented within his diocese a policy that we could call cultural pluralism. In this spirit, the SSND shaped their activity: it led them to openness and understanding for non-German culture. Along with the Poles, there were also nuns of Czech and Irish origin within the sisterhood. The School Sisters of St. Francis came to Milwaukee at the end of the nineteenth century. They were concerned about the Americanization of the local German immigrant population at the time, and tried to prevent it. They brought with them German nationalism and hoped to promote it in Milwaukee. Therefore, the Polish candidates to the sisterhood had either to conform to German culture, or leave.45 It is interesting to note that conflict within the School Sisters of St. Francis was solved in a constructive way: thanks to it, the new Polish-American religious community was established.

St. Francis Seminary The St. Francis Seminary, a bicultural German-American, though diocesan school in which young Polish men were being educated and 45 This interpretation has been suggested by Kathleen Neils Conzen in a private conversation (1991).

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ordained, provides another interesting example of Polish-German relations. Despite the German dominance, the seminary provided Polish students with courses in the Polish language, and encouraged them to establish their own cultural society. The Seminary was opened in 1845 in downtown Milwaukee, and after ten years moved to the southern outskirts of the city.46 Johann Martin Henni expected the school to train students in such a way as to allow them to communicate with Catholics of various ethnic origin. Therefore, the ethnic language courses were promoted. Polish students started to enroll in the St. Francis Seminary at the end of the nineteenth century, and their numbers increased in the first two decades of the twentieth century. Between 1907 and 1919 there were about 30 Poles attending the classical programme, and 45 attending theological and philosophical ones, while the total number of students was 245–302.47 The instruction was conducted in English or German, but PolishAmericans were required to take additional Polish language courses. The Seminary hired Polish instructors, either priests (Rev. Jan Rodowicz, Rev. Bolesáaw Góral, Rev. Kazimierz Olszewski, Rev. Dominik SzopiĔski, Rev. James Korczyk), or secular men (Joseph Kempa). Their task was to train skilled priests for Polish-American parishes. There were also Czech students in the St. Francis Seminary, and they too were encouraged to promote their ethnic tradition. Both groups developed their own literary societies in the school, and competed with the German literary ones. Polish students organized performances, which they showed in the Milwaukee Polish-American parishes, moreover they initiated debates, which often focused on Polish-German relations in partitioned Poland. The Polish Literary Society of St. Stanislaus Kostka was started in the St. Francis Seminar already in 1882 and it survived until the 1940s, while German literary societies were closed at the time of the anti-German pressure of the World War I.

The Polish Church War The best-known part of the Polish-German Milwaukee story is the fight of the Kruszka brothers for Polish bishop. The case was carefully 46 Peter Leo Johnson, The Halcyon Days. Story of St. Francis Seminary, Milwaukee 1856–1956 (Milwaukee: Bruce Pub. Co.: 1956). 47 Information cited in BA and MA thesis, written in St. Francis Seminary and kept in the Seminary’s archive. For full list of sources see Praszaáowicz, Stosunki, 168– 172.

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studied and described by Anthony Kuzniewski in his popular book.48 It must be noted that cultural distinctiveness was accepted in Milwaukee at the parochial level, but not at the level of the offices of the archdiocese. Despite a large number of local Polish Catholics, and also despite their involvement in the Church life, Poles were refused representation among the local Church authorities. Rev. Wacáaw Kruszka, a popular, charismatic Polish preacher, who was supported by his half-brother Michael Kruszka, editor of the daily “Kuryer Polski”, raised the issue. In his campaign for Polish bishop, Rev. Wacáaw Kruszka followed Peter Cahensly, who tried to organize separate dioceses for German Catholics within the American Roman Catholic Church. Cahensly failed, despite his good connections with high-ranking Church officials both in Rome and in the U.S. Realizing it was impossible to have ethnic dioceses, Kruszka wanted at least to see Polish-American bishops. In 1907, Paul Rhode, a Polish-American who was educated at the St. Francis Seminary was appointed auxiliary bishop of Chicago. He was to care for all the Polish Catholics in the Midwest. But Milwaukee Poles wanted their own bishop in the local archdiocese. The most important reason why Polish ambitions were not recognized was probably because of the unfavourable position of Sebastian Messmer, Archbishop of Milwaukee (appointed in 1903). The former Archbishop Katzer, seemed to be more sympathetic. Father Kruszka travelled to Rome in 1903 to get support for his cause, and while back in Wisconsin, he wrote articles to “Kuryer Polski” in which he advocated the matter. Being critical of Archbishop Messmer, he often attacked him in his articles, and soon Messmer forbade him to publish in the daily. Moreover, a new Polish-American newspaper, “Nowiny Polskie”, was started in 1907 in Milwaukee to counteract the influence of “Kuryer Polski”. Rev. Bolesáaw Góral was the editor of the new journal. The archbishop instructed Polish Catholics to read the “Nowiny” and not the “Kuryer”. The parishioners complained that Rev. Góral (and a few priests who stood together with him on the side of the archbishop) used the confessional to interrogate the parishioners about whether they read the “Kuryer”. There were rumours that those who stuck to the “Kuryer” were refused absolution.49 This fact was announced openly in 1912 in Milwaukee churches (Letter of Bishops). Rev. Kruszka complied with the archbishop’s demand, and did not publish any more attacks, but he asked for a Church investigation of the 48

Anthony J. Kuzniewski, Faith and Fatherland. The Polish Church War in Wisconsin, 1896–1928 (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1980). 49 As recalled by elderly immigrants in interviews conducted with them by the author in 1988/89.

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case. Thanks to his obedience, he was elevated in 1909 from a small parish in Ripon, Wisconsin to St. Adalbert Parish in Milwaukee. The parish was located next to the St. Hyacinth Parish in which Rev. Góral was the rector, and soon tension between the two priests affected their parishes. In 1911, however, both Kruszka and Góral protested when Czech immigrant Joseph Koudelka was appointed as an auxiliary bishop of Milwaukee. In the same year, the conflict between the Messmer and Kruszka brothers came out in the open and lasted for two years. At the time, members of the Federation of Lay Catholics (chaired by Michael Kruszka) were refused burial at the St. Adalbert Cemetery, and when the Federation opened its own cemetery, Messmer forbid priests to conduct funerals there. It was partially reconciled in 1913 when the Polish-American Rev. Edward Kozáowski was appointed auxiliary bishop of Milwaukee (Koudelka was moved to the Superior Diocese). It is interesting to note that Bishop Kozáowski was also a graduate of the St. Francis Seminary. In 1915 Bishop Kozáowski died, and it was made clear to Poles that no other Polish-American would succeed him. Therefore, the brothers Kruszka continued to attack Messmer. When the archbishop publicly supported the German Empire at the beginning of the World War I, they had a perfect reason for the attacks.

Conclusion It is asserted that Germans and Poles who settled next to each other in Milwaukee (and in other American cities), initially cooperated. At the beginning of the mass immigration, there was a lot of ethnic mixing and intermingling. Soon after their arrival in the U.S., newcomers initiated the ethnic community-building process. Despite the group inward activity, immigrants of both ethnic backgrounds still kept in touch, and relied on each other. Poles were provided (by Germans) with help, organizational patterns and financial means while establishing their own organizations and institutions. The community-building process eventually led in the case of each group to ethnic institutional completeness. The communitybuilding process involved the construction of barriers and boundaries which were to separate us from them.50 In ethnic life, separateness became a leading force. The process was intertwined with rising nationalism both in the Old and in the New World. At the turn of the nineteenth century, many new ethnic leaders came directly from Europe, where nationalism 50

Fredrik Barth, Ethnic Groups and Boundaries (Boston: Little Brown and Company, 1969).

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was developing. These leaders wanted to mobilize their ethnic groups to support the national cause. Eventually, they managed to put two groups into conflict. It picked up at the time of the World War I, when Poles and Germans had conflicting interests. In the public space, however, ethnic overlapping continued. Both groups met in their places of residence, at work, in shops, in schools. These close and intimate relations between Germans and Poles have, thus far, not been greatly discussed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN FROM UNKNOWN PEOPLE TO A SEPARATE DIOCESE: SLOVAK GREEK CATHOLICS IN CANADA DANIEL ýERNÝ

The Slavs of the Eastern rite, who were part of the Orthodox Church and lived in the former Austro-Hungarian Empire, became subjects of the Catholic Church and the Popes of Rome in the mid-seventeenth century after the Union of Užhorod of 1646 (Ungvar in Hungarian or Užgorod nowadays in Ukrainian).1 This union was influenced in many ways by the Union of Brest signed in the territory of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in 1596. Slowly, the vast majority of the Christians of the Eastern rite living in the Carpathian Mountains, who belonged to the ancient Eparchy (Diocese) of Mukaþevo (Munkacs in Hungarian), became Catholics. They used to call themselves Rusnaks—a name which certainly had a clear religious connection to the ancient faith of the forefathers.2 But it would definitely be a mistake to consider this term to be a description of their nationality. We have to keep in mind that at the time of the initial immigration of these people from the ancestral homeland in present day Slovakia, or western Ukraine, national identity was of no importance. The emigrants knew the village where they were from, their valley, county and the fact that they were subjects of the Habsburg emperor and that they

1

For more information on the Union of Užhorod see Michal Lacko, The Union of Užhorod (Cleveland: Slovak Institute, 1976). 2 A good friend of the author of this paper always makes fun about one of the quotations of late bishop Michael Dudick, bishop of the Slovak Greek Catholic diaspora in the United States—the Eparchy of Passaic. According to this friend, Bishop Dudick used to say: “Our people is a simple people, our people is a humble people, our people is a holy people...” And the friend of the author always adds: “However, ‘our people’ has no name.”

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were faithful Catholics, albeit of a different, non-Latin rite.3 As a distinct religious group they were already “unknown” back home. They had not been heard of when they arrived in Canada for the very first time.

The Church in the Diaspora The Slovak Greek Catholic Church had its origin in the only Eastern Rite bishopric in the north-eastern part of the Kingdom of Hungary, whose seat was in the town of Mukaþevo. As the number of the faithful grew, it became difficult to rule and hence several vicariates were created in the vast territory of the Eparchy of Mukaþevo. Several of these vicariates were relocated throughout their history, some had to be suspended, while others were created, but finally many of them were transformed into new ecclesiastical unites, new eparchies, or Exarchates (another juridical form of diocese). These included Prešov (in modern Slovakia: founded in 1818, elevated in 2008 to the rank of the Metropolia), Hajdudorog (Hungary, 1912), Miskolc (Hungary, 1924). This list should also include congregations established on the other side of the Atlantic, its centre being Pittsburgh (U.S., founded in 1924, elevated to the rank of Metropolia in 1969) and its American suffragans Passaic (1963), Parma (1969), Van Nuys (1981, renamed Phoenix, 2010). In recent years, dioceses were also established in Prague (1996–Exarchate) and Bratislava (2008). The Slovak Greek Catholics therefore migrated not only across the Atlantic, but also moved from the province to the cities of Bratislava and Prague. Both migration streams have something in common, being caused by economic push factors. Every nation in east and central Europe has in common that vast majority of its migrants were leaving for America without intending to remain there. On the contrary, their primary goal was to earn enough money to be able to buy a piece of land in the home country which they could farm upon their return. Only later did they settle permanently in their new homes, sending for their families.4

Immigration Waves One can distinguish several waves of immigration of Slovaks (among which were Greek Catholics) to Canada, the first beginning in the 1880s. 3

Ondrej Halaga, Slovanské osídlenie Potisia a Východoslovenskí Gréckokatolíci. (Košice: Východoslovenský kultúrny spolok Svojina, 1947). 4 M. Mark Stolarik, “Slovak Immigrants Come to Terms with religious Diversity in North America,” The Catholic Historical Review 96, no. 1 (January 2010): 69.

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Surprisingly it was not a direct immigration from Slovakia but rather an immigration of the Slovak miners and ironworkers from Pennsylvania, who were recruited there and resettled to western Canada. Indeed, the majority of the first Slovaks, and also first Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada were miners who settled in the mining cities of western Canada (Lethbridge, Alberta; Fernie, British Columbia, etc.).5 For many years, the first pioneers worked either in mines or on the farms. To a certain degree, therefore, the Slovaks in Canada followed the paths of the Ukrainian immigrants there. Later on, they moved to industrial centres and found jobs there. From western Canada, they subsequently migrated to Montreal, eventually creating a relatively large community in the towns of south Ontario, most importantly in Toronto. This migration is documented in the archives of the oldest, and the only continuously published, Slovak newspaper in Canada—the “Canadian Slovak”. Its publication began in Winnipeg, continued in Montreal, and is today issued in Ontario. Quite often, parishes were founded in the cities, where big companies provided job opportunities for the Slovak people. Thus, the parish in Oshawa existed thanks to the General Motors Company; the one in Windsor thanks to Ford; others like Hamilton thanks to the steel mills; and Welland, to the tobacco farmers. Possibly only Toronto offered a wider variety of job opportunities. The first major Slovak emigration wave, occurring in the 1880s, was followed by one during the interwar period, both before the Great Depression, as well as one after it which ended with the outbreak of the Second World War. The east central European interwar immigration to Canada intensified as a result of the 1924 U.S. Immigration Act, which drastically limited immigration from many countries, including Czechoslovakia, with which Slovakia was at that time united. Thus the people had to look for other destinations like Argentina, Brazil, and also indeed, Canada. The main ports of exit, as was the case with almost any other central European nationals inhabiting landlocked countries, were the German harbour cities of Bremen or Hamburg, then Rotterdam (in the interwar period) and of course the Hungarian imperial port of Fiume, as well as one in Trieste. These five seaports have seen the majority of the

5

“O prvých Slovákoch v Kanade,޵ Kanadský Slovák, 17 January 1959, 5; “K starým kanadsko–slovenským dejinám,޵ Kanadský Slovák, 21 February 1959, 5; “Na výroþie slovenských poþiatkov v Saskatchewan a slovenského priekopníctva v Kanade,޵ Kanadský Slovák, 15 June 1966, 2.

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Slovak emigrants leaving their homeland in hope of finding a better place to live.6 The next major emigration wave began after the World War II and continued until the early 1950s. It can be split into several small waves. First of all, there were the supporters of Slovak independence, and to a certain degree, some of them could be considered Slovak nationalists. Although few among them were Slovak Greek Catholics, some became influential in Slovak Greek Catholic matters. However, this immigration wave had a tremendous impact on the formation of the national identity of the Slovak Greek Church in Canada. The Communist coup of 1948 was a direct cause of the next emigration wave, followed by numbers of people, including some clergy, who came to Canada after April 1950, when the Communists liquidated the Greek Catholic Church.7 Without them it would have been impossible to start independent Slovak Greek Catholic parishes there. The last migration wave during the Communist times occurred after the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in August of 1968. Among the new immigrants, there were many Greek Catholics, who reinforced the already existing parishes. The most recent Slovak immigration to Canada has been since the fall of Communism in 1989. According to recent census information, Canada is the country of first choice for Slovak emigrants.8 During my research, I have examined some twenty-three places where Slovak Greek Catholics were present, some of them almost having the status of a parish, others being only missions. Additionally, there are places about which we know only that the Slovak Greek Catholics lived there.9

6

František Bielik, Elo Rákoš, eds., Slovenské vysĢahovalectvo. Dokumenty II. 1919–1939, (Martin: Matica slovenská, 1975). 7 The first priest who came with this migration wave was Fr. Nicholas Szilagyi, who was for a time the pastor of the Lethrbidge parish, and was later appointed the Slovak Greek Catholic missionary for Western provinces by the Ukrainian Greek Catholic bishop of Winnipeg. Cf. “Biskup Savaryn d’akuje za pozdrav Kan. Slov. Lige,” Kanadský Slovák, 28 September 1950, 2. 8 “Slovákom sa viac páþi vo svete, ýeský a slovenský svet,” http://www.czsk.net/svet/clanky/sr/vystahovanie4.html (accessed 14 October 2012). 9 These places include (by province): Alberta (Calgary, Edmonton, Lethbridge); Ontario (Delhi, Hamilton, Kirkland Lake, New Westminster, Niagara Falls, Oshawa, Ottawa, St. Catherines, Sudbury, Thunder Bay, Toronto, Unionville, Welland, Windsor; British Columbia (Fernie); Manitoba (Flin Flon, Winnipeg); Saskatchewan (Kenaston); Quebec (Montreal, Témiscaming).

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Fraternities and National Organizations As with all other immigrant groups, the Slovaks quickly organized themselves in fraternities, which helped poor miners in cases of accidents or disasters. One of them was Gr. Kat. Russke Bratstvo, which is now the Greek Catholic Union (GCU). This organization preceded the founding of the first two Greek Slovak parishes in Canada, one in Lethbridge (1921) and the other in Montreal (1930). Besides the GCU, another great helping hand for the “unknown” church in Canada came from the Slovak associations—particularly from the Slovak League in America. In 1932, its Canadian branches were transformed into an independent organization, the Canadian Slovak League (CSL). After ten years, this organization started to publish its own newspaper, “The Canadian Slovak” (Kanadský Slovák), which is still being published. This newspaper is a great source of historic information about the Slovak Greek Catholics scattered throughout Canada. It contains obituaries of the CSL members, as well as official announcements and invitations to ceremonies organized on the establishment of new parishes, as well as news from parish functions. There were many Greek Catholics among the CSL members who were not of Slovak origin and spoke the Ruthenian (Rusyn) language. However, their homeland being Slovakia made many of them adopt a proud Slovak identity. Another important cultural organization, which had strong ties to the Slovak Greek Catholic Church, was the World Congress of Slovaks (Svetový Kongres Slovákov, SKS), a brainchild of Stephen B. Roman, himself a Slovak Greek Catholic. The secretary of the organization was Jozef E. Suchý, who later became the editor of the “Magazine Mária”. The fact that he was able to devote himself to the SKS full time allowed him to dedicate his skills to the magazine, which later became one of the best Slovak émigré publications.

Slovak Greek Catholic Structures in Canada The ecclesiastical development of the organization of the Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada could be divided into four periods preceding the creation of their own eparchy. The first is the period when Slovak Greek Catholics were either without any spiritual direction or just simply attending other already established Catholic Churches. These included Slovak Roman Catholic Churches, Polish Roman Catholic Churches, Ukrainian Greek Catholic Churches, or some other Catholic Churches. In some cases this status quo

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remained unchanged, mostly due to the low density of Slovak Greek Catholics in a given place, or because of the lack of their own clergy, or even a combination of both. The second period began in Alberta, in 1921, with the founding of a separate Slovak Greek Catholic parish there. Parishes were soon founded—in Montreal in 1930, and in several other places in Ontario in the 1950s. Some other parish founding initiatives took place in the late 1960s, surfacing in various places all over Canada. The third period was the creation of the independent Slovak deanery within the Eparchy of Toronto and Eastern Canada. It was a successful and visible step on the road to the ecclesiastical development of the Slovak Greek Catholic Church in Canada. Two deans served the deanery from its creation in 1957 up to the creation of the eparchy in autumn 1980. However, this deanery comprised only those which were under the jurisdiction of the bishop of Toronto, thus excluding the parish of Lethbridge in Alberta as well as any other Slovak missions, outreaches or communities in the western part of Canada. However, it constituted great progress, a visible sign of the vitality of this community. The fourth period is the one in which the church received a bishop in the person of the former dean of Slovak parishes, Fr. Michael Rusnák, CSsR, who became auxiliary bishop to Isidore Borecky of the Eparchy of Toronto and also, at the same time, the Apostolic Visitator of the Slovaks of the Byzantine rite in Canada. His tenure as an Apostolic Visitator lasted for fifteen years, during which time he was always aiming for the final step, the creation of an independent eparchy for the Slovak Greek Catholic community.10

The First Parish–Lethbridge, Alberta It is said that there existed parish minutes from the time of the founding of the parish in Lethbridge, written in an east Slovak dialect, and documenting the early years of the life of this west Canadian parish. I was able to trace the last surviving relatives of the first secretary of the parish, but the original book is nowhere to be found, either in the parish, or in the possession of the family. Luckily, I was able to locate a copy,11 which was 10

A Copy of the petition of Bishop Michael to establish a Slovak Eparchy of 21 January 1974, Archive of the Center of Spirituality East–West of Michael Lacko, Košice, Slovakia, Section: M. Lacko SJ, Folder: Foreign Correspondence II, R–Z, File: Rusnák. 11 Pariafialna zapisnica Sv. toho Petra I Pavla Greko Katolickoho Viznania, Pontifical Oriental Institute Library, 106-4-4.

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made in the 1960s and donated, for the use of future generations and future researchers, to the library of the Pontifical Oriental Institute in Rome. It was donated to Fr. Lacko,12 a professor of the above-mentioned institute and a great friend of all Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada, whom he visited several times and on several occasions. He was able to have the copy signed by the first recording secretary, who testified, that the word fonitika, describing the language to be used in the church as petitioned to the bishop was to be understood as the Slovak language.13 This parish book shows many different, very interesting aspects of the life of a parish in that period of time. We learn about the furnishings of the church, incorporation, visits of the bishop and his representatives. However, one of the most important things is the new experience of the “unknown” people in Canada, where there was no landlord having the right to assign a priest to a specific parish, but being done instead by the people, who financed the parish. By paying the salary to the priest, they found themselves in charge of the church, including the signing of contracts with clergy. Several pastors changed during the relatively short period of the time described in the book. And these changes were mostly due to bad relations between the clergy and the faithful. On the other hand, we learn about the existence of a parish choir—a fact well worth mentioning, as this was not a common tradition in the shadow of the Carpathian Mountains. Most probably the foundation of the choir was due to the cultural influence of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, as the Lethbridge parish was at that time a part of the Canadian Ukrainian Exarchate—choir singing was much more popular in the

12

Fr. Michael Lacko a Slovak Greek Catholic Jesuit, professor of Church History at the Pontifical Oriental Institute in Rome became one of the most devoted persons and friends of the Canadian Slovak Greek Catholics. He visited parishes and missions several times and made many contacts, which helped to promote the idea of an independent Slovak Greek Catholic Church there. The creation of the Eparchy of Ss. Cyril and Methodius was his lifelong mission and he was blessed to live long enough to see it happen. Presented in person at the solemn establishment of the Eparchy in 1981, he was the one reading the Pontifical bull in Slovak. He served almost like a scout, searching for priestly vocations to serve in Canada, preparing written defences on behalf of the Slovak identity of these faithful, even obtaining pontifical blessings for jubilarians within the community and serving as a walking commercial in the world testifying about the existence of this community. Fr. Michael Lacko (1920–1982) was, and still is, a subject of many academic papers. For more details about his life see Jan Babjak, P. Michal Lacko, SJ. Informátor a formátor gréckokatolíkov (Trnava: Dobrá kniha, 1997). 13 Pariafialna zapisnica Sv. toho Petra i Pavla, second page of the cover.

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Ukrainian Church than among those followers coming from the former Kingdom of Hungary.

The Second Parish–Montreal, Quebec The second Slovak Greek Catholic parish in Canada, the one in Montreal, was founded as a Russka—a Russian parish. For the Slovaks, their religiosity was absolutely clear—they were Greek Catholics—thus, having their Russian church, Russian liturgy and Russian priest allowed to be true to their tradition. However, due to the problems connected to a schism within the Greek Catholic Church which occurred in the late 1920s in the U.S.,14 putting many Greek Catholics into the flock of Orthodoxy, the parish board decided to change its name to a Slovak Greek Catholic parish. This was also the result of growing and maturing national awareness, fuelled by the young, educated intelligence of a new generation, which had already attended Slovak schools during the time of the Czechoslovak republic.

Fig. 16-1: Slovak Greek Catholic Parish, Montreal, 1933.15 14 ZapisĖica Gr. Kat. Osadi Voznesenie, Archive of the Eparchy of Ss. Cyril and Methodius (AECM), Unionville Ontario, Canada, Box “Very” Old Financial Records Ascension Parish, 32. 15 Author’s collection. Used by permission of Bishop John Pazak, 17 October 2012.

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Under the Slovak name this parish gathered many Greek Catholics coming from all different regions of the north-western part of the former Kingdom of Hungary. Besides Slovakia, these churchgoers included people from what is now the Trans-Carpathian region of the Ukraine, present-day Hungary, Romania, and even converts from Byelorussia (modern Belarus). All these parishioners were either ethnically Slovak, or opted to accept this national identity, since their national awareness was not yet firmly developed, but they sought to join a church with a familiar liturgy, rite and customs. Thus we can say that in the early 1930s the term Slovak Greek Catholic had begun to gain a similar value in Canada as the Ruthenian once had—being a general name used to describe a group of Slavic people of the Eastern rite. The change in the parish seal did not really influence the everyday life of the parish, as it did not have its own priest but depended on Ukrainian priests instead. They were not interested in the Slovak cultural life. Conversely, this could have contributed to the stability of the parish and its openness toward diverse ethnics. During this period, the parish of Montreal was not only the place of liturgical worship, but also a social hub for immigrants. They were able to establish their own youth orchestra, with their own music instruments, performing several theatre plays, as well as having successful annual caroller programmes, organizing many picnics, bazaars and other fundraisers, in order to advance the church life. In the beginning, many of the immigrants were living close to their church, and in close proximity to one another. This ghettoized system was common for most of the European nations coming to the New World. Within their neighbourhoods they protected and cared for each other, sometimes to a greater extent than in the old country. It was only after the Second World War when, having learned the language, the parishioners started to migrate to other parts of Montreal, often entering into mixed marriages.

The Years Following the Second World War A significant development of the ecclesiastical life of the Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada is closely connected to the immigration of several young and zealous priests, who came to Canada after World War II. Among them, Fr. Michael Rusnák played the most important role. He was a member of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer-Redemptorists. Father Rusnák came to Canada via the U.S. at a time when the Slovak parish in Toronto had already been established by one of his confreres—

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Fr. Ludvik (Lajos) Minya. Fr. Minya founded the parish in late 1951.16 Fr. Rusnák became the vice-pastor, and since 1 April 1952 the only pastor of the growing community. He was instrumental in founding another parish in Oshawa, and helped to establish parishes in Hamilton and Sudbury (1954) as well. In the meantime another parish was founded in Welland, mostly owing to the efforts of the Slovak Jesuit father, Vincent Danþo, a former alumnus of the Russicum College in Rome, where he learned the Byzantine rite. The members of the parish in Oshawa were able to build a new church thanks to a six-month strike by the workers of General Motors, which provided the necessary time and manpower. Under the guidance of Fr. Rusnák, they were soon also able to pay off the mortgage needed for the construction. In Toronto, the community started to build their own church, but due to some building problems and a misunderstanding with the builder, the construction site was sold to Ukrainians. The congregation bought their present church from a Jewish congregation, B’Nai Israel. Witnesses said that Fr. Rusnák always removed his priestly collar when going to discuss the business with the Jews, thus they had no idea to whom they were selling their synagogue. But once the new purpose of the purchase was discovered, the Jewish community leaders were actually quite happy with the preservation of its religious role.17 Igor Suchacev, a renowned Russian artist who gained worldwide fame for decorating the imperial throne of Ethiopia did a wonderful job, and the church at Shaw Street became one of the artistic treasures of the Slovak Community in Canada. In 1950, the parish in Windsor was founded under the name St. Michael’s Slovak and Sub Carpathian Greek Catholic Parish. Later, it became known only as St. Michael’s Byzantine (or Greek) Catholic Church.18 The parish in Sudbury was founded in 1954 under the title of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Most of the parishioners came from the county of Zemplin, and the parishioners found their jobs in the local nickel mines. After the decline of this industry, most of the people who had lost their jobs settled in other places and the parish was closed in the seventies.19 16 Founding charter of the parish, 29 November 1951, Archive of the Ukrainian Catholic Eparchy of Toronto (AUCET), folder: Parishes, file: Toronto, St. Mary. 17 Paul Kapitan, “From a Synagogue to a Catholic Church,“ Maria 2 (1963): 14. 18 Letter of 29 July 1950, AUCET, folder: Parishes, file: Windsor St. Michael (S). 19 A letter from the parishioners, signed 1 August 1976 informing bishop Michael about the parishioners waiting to see him and celebrate the last liturgy. See AECM, folder Sudbury.

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Klokoþov Sanctuary in Hamilton The parish of Hamilton played a special role in the religious life of the Slovak Greek Catholic Church in Canada. Originally founded under the title of Ss. Peter and Paul, it had to change its name because of the already existing Latin rite parish of same dedication in the town. Upon the arrival of the new young pastor, Fr. Francis (František) Fuga, who was himself originally of the Latin rite from Vinné, near Michalovce and Klokoþov, the title was changed into Assumption of the Mother of God. It was the same dedication as the church in the village of Klokoþov, where a miraculous weeping icon of the Mother of God was kept. Klokoþov was one of the most important places of pilgrimage before the liquidation of the Church in Slovakia, during the main festivities in August gathering some tens of thousands of people each year. Fr. Fuga asked the Oriental Congregation for permission to organize annual pilgrimages under the title of the Mother of God from Klokoþov, in the new shrine, which he was building with his parishioners in the Canadian city of Hamilton. The Congregation gave a favourable answer and Fr. Lacko in Rome arranged a copy of the icon to be painted in the famous Byzantine rite monastery of Grottaferrata near Rome. The icon was then blessed by the Pope and sent to the famous pilgrimage sites of Lourdes and Fatima.20 Pilgrimages in Hamilton were well attended by the majority of the Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada as well as by other nationalities, like, for example, the Roman Catholic Slovenians from Hamilton and nearby cities, who were annually coming to the shrine under the guidance of their local dean. Year after year Fr. Fuga added something new to the shrine, adding to its beauty, making it unquestionably one of the most beautiful Slovak Churches in the world. Worth mentioning are not only images of all the Slovak shrines in the back of the church, or the rare iconographic depictions painted by a famous iconographer (Suchacev), but also two paintings of historical figures of recent Slovak history. One of them is Sr. Miriam Theresia Demjanovich,21 who is currently a candidate for beatification. This sister had Greek Catholic parents, who were born in Europe and migrated from the city of Bardejov to the U.S. east coast. From Bayonne, New Jersey, young Miriam entered a local Roman Catholic convent, where she died, while still very young, in the fame of sanctity. As an American-Slovak saint, uniting east and west she 20

Cf. “Ikona klokoþovskej Matky Božej v Hamiltone,” Mária 8 (1958): 7. Her spiritual biography was published in the West under the title: Charles Demjanovic, Greater Perfection (New York: P. J. Kennedy & Sons, 1928). Recently, it’s been said that she might be beatified soon. 21

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was a perfect model for the immigrants, and many of the volumes of the magazine, “Maria”, carried articles about her. The Greek Catholic Slovaks in Canada became real advocates for her beatification, even despite the fact, that the Roman Catholic Diocese of Patterson, New Jersey, officially conducted the process. The second image was much more controversial. Fr. Fuga also had Mr. Suchacev paint the image of Jozef Tiso, a Catholic priest and a president of the World War II Slovak Republic. To this day, Tiso remains a controversial figure in modern Slovak history—both secular and ecclesiastical.22 Fr. Fuga claimed that the cancer he suffered was cured, or, rather, allowed him to live for some thirteen years more, thanks to the intercession of the president-martyr Tiso, to whom he prayed regularly, and held in high esteem, as a real martyr for the Slovak nation.

The Slovak Greek Catholic Deanery After the establishment of these new parishes, which were incorporated into the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Eparchy of Toronto, headed by the Most Rev. Isidore Borecky (Bishop of the Eparchy since 1947), a special Slovak deanery was formed in 1957.23 Bishop Isidore named Fr. Rusnák, pastor of the Nativity of the Mother of God Slovak Greek Catholic Church in Toronto, as the first dean. The second dean in the history of the Slovak deanery was the Rt. Reverend Francis Fuga, pastor of the Hamilton church, who was in this position in the 1970s.

Press Fights for Defence of the Slovak Identity The Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada had to fight for recognition of their identity and ecclesiastical independence. On the one hand, there were Ukrainian nationalists, who were (quite successfully) trying to persuade other Greek Catholic minorities in Canada to join in. On the other hand, there was a strong opposition on the part of the Ruthenian (Rusyn) clergy from the U.S., who were fighting for their own rights against Ukrainian influences, while denying Slovaks their right to existence as an 22 For various perspectives see Ivan Kamenec, Tragédia politika, kĖaza a þloveka (Dr. Jozef Tiso 1887–1947) (Bratislava: Archa, 1998), 17–42; Milan S. Ćurica, Jozef Tiso 1887–1947: Životopisný profil (Bratislava: Lúþ, 2006), 19–96. 23 It is impossible to locate the original. However a copy in French was found in the Archive of the Generalate of the Redemptorists Fathers in Rome (ACGR). Copie, Decree No. 150.1957, 28 October 1957, ACGR, section: Viceprovincia Yorkton, file: 1957.

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ecclesiastical minority. The Slovak Greek Catholic journal “Maria” proved to be a valuable defence.24 Published between 1955 and 1969, and from 1975 until 1989, this magazine was an important tool of communication and sustenance of the community life among parishes scattered across Canada. Since it was distributed in other countries as well, it also became an unofficial voice for all Slovak Greek Catholics in the world. The idea of publishing the magazine originated in circles close to Fr. Rusnák; its first issue appeared in March 1955.25 Several editors were in charge of the magazine, most notably Fr. Andrej Krafþík, Fr. Francis Fuga and others. In addition to the magazine, two radio programmes were broadcast on a regular basis, beginning in the fifties. One was broadcast from Welland (thanks to the local Slovak Radio Club) and covered the entire Niagara region.26 After the sudden death of its spiritus movens Fr. Nicholas Chanat, at the age of 30, the programme slowly ceased. Another programme was also broadcast on a regular basis from Toronto, some of the talks being published in “Maria”.27 We thus interestingly see the Catholic mass media cooperating to aid the Slovak Greek Catholic Community in Canada.28 Many of the Slovak Greek Catholic festivities were recorded on audio or video tapes, but not all of them have been located. Those available were digitized and these copies are now held at the eparchial chancery in Unionville.29 There is still some hope of finding more old recordings, which not only document the past, but also preserve the culture (including music) brought from the east European villages, but also provide proof of the dedication and love of people for their church. 24

These discussions and fights involved mostly national issues. Regarding the situation in the U.S. A, it is important to mention the paper showing that the majority of the Pittsburgh Exarchate faithful were, in fact, Slovaks: Nicholas Dorko, “The Geographical Background of the Faithful of the Apostolic Exarchate of Pittsburgh,” in Slovak Studies IV, (Rome–Cleveland, Slovak Institute, 1964) 217–224. 25 Francis Fuga, “Na zakĐúþenie dvanásteho roþníka,” Mária 12 (1966): 5–6. 26 Broadcasting on stations: CKFH (1400). Later relocated to St. Catherine’s and broadcasted on CKTA (620). 27 Transmitted thanks to: CHUM-Toronto (dial 1050), CKEY–Toronto (dial 580). 28 “Nový slovenský rozhlas v Kanade,” Kanadský Slovák, 10 March 1956, 2; Michal Rusnák, “ŠtvrĢstoroþie nášho rastu,” Mária 1 (1980): 12. 29 Among the videos, which were digitized was the movie Axios, from the Enthronement ceremony in 1981, and various others from the 1980s. However, there were several video recordings from as early as the 1950s on various Church functions–as for example: The first liturgy in Sudbury (1954), A Pilgrimage to Midland (1955), and various others, which have yet to be found.

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Thanks to the magazine “Maria”, the 1958 the Canadian Slovak Greek Catholic’s pilgrimage to Rome was popularized around the world; the pilgrimage was greeted by the then supreme head of the Catholic Church, Pope Pius XII. In addition, the group was also accepted by Cardinal Eugene Tisserant, dean of the College of Cardinals and the head of the Oriental Congregation, who signed a special blessing for Slovak Greek Catholics.30 Moreover, just before the start of the Vatican II Council, the Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada achieved fame and praise for their organization of the wonderful festivities celebrating the 1,100th anniversary of the arrival of Ss. Cyril and Methodius to convert the Slavs. Since the governments in Soviet Bloc underlined only the cultural aspect of their missions, Slovaks in the Free World lavishly celebrated these missionaries —the Apostles of the Slavs—who brought faith to their ancestors. Ceremonies held at the Exhibition Place in Toronto were a huge success. Among the guests were the papal delegate, Archbishop Gabriel Bukatko from Yugoslavia, Greek Catholic bishops from the USA, and people from Canada and abroad.31 Only later did it become known that during these ceremonies an official request was sent to the Vatican asking for a Slovak Greek Catholic bishop to be established in the Free World, especially for the Greek Slovaks in Canada.32

Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada and the Second Vatican Council The next crucial development in the history of the Canadian Slovak Greek Catholics occurred during the Vatican II Council. The Pope named Mr. Stephen Roman,33 Knight of St. George and a successful entrepreneur, a lay participant of the Council. The Vatican politics of the late 1950s and early 1960s were quite favourable towards several groups of Eastern 30

Cf. Mária 10 (1958): 7. The whole summer issue of the Maria magazine is dedicated to these festivities. Cf. Mária 6 (July–August 1963). 32 Cf. “Historické chvíle pre slov. gréckokatolíkov a slovenský národ,” Kanadský Slovák, 17 October 1964, 1. 33 Stephen Boleslav Roman was indeed one of the greatest members of the Slovak Greek Catholic Church in Canada. More information about him can be found in a commemorative book written in honour of his 60th birthday: Felix Litva, Štefan B. Roman–þlovek v rozdvojenom svete (A Man in a Divided World) (Toronto: Dobrá kniha, 1981). 31

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Catholics. After the Russians, Belarusians, Rusyns and Ukrainians, the Slovaks were also able to achieve one of their goals. As the Church was persecuted back home, the Slovak Greek Catholics received a new spiritual leader—a true new shepherd. The Dean of the Slovak deanery within the Eparchy of Toronto—Michael Rusnák—was named auxiliary bishop of the same eparchy with the additional responsibility of being the Apostolic Visitator for Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada. His solemn ordination took place on 2 January 1965 in the Latin rite cathedral of St. Michael in Toronto.34 His consecrators included Bishop Isidore Borecky as the main consecrator, assisted by Bishop Nicholas Elko (whose parents were from Zemplín County, near the modern day city of Trebišov in Slovakia), and bishop Segedi from Yugoslavia, who served as a bishop for immigrants in Vojvodina (where many people from modern day Slovakia settled in the eighteenth century). The ordination date made it possible for Bishop Rusnák to participate in the final session of the Vatican II council. His speech, in which he asked the Council fathers to condemn Communism, was probably one of the most notable at the Council. Together with bishop Hnilica, they tried to persuade the Council to condemn the greatest enemy of the Church in the modern world–the Communist ideology.35 However, the Vatican’s Ostpolitik was already advanced, and few individuals followed the call. However, it makes us proud to know that the Slovak Greek Catholics were heard at the Council, and that they were honest and sincere and fighting for their brethren under the Communist yoke.

Times of the Apostolic Visitator The first historic visits of the Apostolic Visitator in 1965 proved to be a big success. Bishop Michael visited not only the already existing parishes of the former Slovak deanery in Ontario, but also the Slovak Greek Catholic parish in Lethbridge, Alberta, and then many Slovak Roman Catholic parishes throughout Canada, where he always found Greek Catholics among the parishioners overjoyed with his visit.36 Bishop Michael, thus established a new tradition of celebrating Byzantine liturgies in these new places, some of them occurring regularly around specific days for many more years to come. One such liturgy in Saskatoon 34

“Vysviacka Preosv. Biskupa Michala Rusnaka v Toronte,” Mária 1-2 (1965): 3–4. Bernard Daly, Beyond Secrecy–The Untold Story of Canada and the Second Vatican Council (Toronto: Novalis, 2003), 200. 36 “Cestujeme s p. biskupom,” Mária 5-6 (1965): 4–6; Mária 7-8 (1965): 11; Mária 9-10 (1965): 6–8. 35

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attracted more than 600 people, but even as the organizers were preparing 600 commemorative ribbons it turned out to be not nearly enough for the crowd which eventually gathered. This was partly due to the promotion made by one of the Slovak pioneers in the province of Saskatchewan—Mr. Zeman—who, despite being in his eighties, invited virtually everyone to come to the liturgy, for many the first ever to be led by a Slovak Catholic bishop.37 As a result of this visit, a new parish in Kenaston, Saskatchewan was founded shortly afterwards. However, Bishop Michael had to wait another fifteen years to be elevated to eparchial bishop. In 1974, Bishop Michael petitioned the Vatican to establish the Eparchy for Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada, but this request was rejected. It proved to be a difficult year for him, due to health problems, a shortage of new ordinands, and other problems like having to cover four Sunday liturgies by himself, at various times and places, for the Slovak Greek Catholics.38

Clashes with the Communists in Czechoslovakia Together with Stephen Roman, Fr. Michael Lacko and others, Bishop Michael Rusnák was trying to do his best to persuade the Vatican to demand from the Czechoslovak government freedom for the Greek Catholic Church in Czechoslovakia. The secret service reports show that they (Stephen Roman et al.) tried to persuade the Vatican to offer Prague the solution of appointing a bishop for Greek Catholics in Prešov in order to keep the dialogue open.39 Bishop Rusnák had a vision of the continuous growth of the Slovak Greek Catholic Church, which in fact was growing due to immigration, Furthermore, he envisioned the establishment of a metropolia covering Slovak Greek Catholics, scattered among many nations of the world, including Canada, the U.S., Argentina, Germany, etc.40

37

Ján Zeman, “Aj 600 bolo málo,” Kanadský Slovák, 16 July 1966, 3. Victor Pospishil, “The Toronto Tempest” in Compulsory celibacy for the Eastern Catholics in the Americas (Toronto: Ukrainian Catholic Women’s League, 1977), 7. 39 Report of the head of the 17th division of the Secret service, 26 March 1979, Archive of the Department of Interior (Prague), No. A 005807/17–78. For this document I give thanks to Fr. Atanáz D. Mandzák. 40 Letter of Bishop Michael to Msgr. Bukovský, 9 May 1978, AECM, folder: Bishop Rusnák Correspondence. 38

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Final Step–The Creation of the Slovak Greek Catholic Eparchy in Canada All the dreams and hopes of the Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada were fulfilled towards the end of 1980. The official decree was revealed on 14 December 1980, stating that as of that 13 October, John Paul II had erected a separate Eparchy—the Diocese of Ss. Cyril and Methodius—for the Slovaks of the Byzantine rite in Canada.41 The official enthronement of Bishop Michael Rusnák, CSsR as the first bishop of the above-mentioned eparchy took place on Saturday, 28 February 1981. The ceremony, attended by the Pro-Nuncio and several archbishops and bishops of both the Byzantine and Latin rites, was the official conclusion of the canonical establishment of this Eparchy.42 The fact that the creation of the Eparchy was unknown for more than two months, and that the date of its creation was the eve of the Synod of bishops, where Slovak, Archbishop Jozef Tomko was the Secretary, creates a space for some speculation. The important fact remains that the Eparchy was created for “our people—the Slovak Greek Catholics”. Those who were originally unknown, received a jurisdiction of their own and one could say that in a free world, they would be able to shine as a lighthouse on a tall rock, giving light to their persecuted brothers and sisters back home. And this should be considered as the main goal of the Eparchy—to be able to carry the torch of faith in hard times and return it back to Slovakia, once it had regained its freedom: after the Velvet Revolution of 1989 such a mission became possible.

41

“Torontina Slovachorum Byzantini Ritus,” Acta Apostolicae Sedis, 3 April 1981, 220. 42 A movie entitled Axios (Greek acclamation meaning "He is worthy" used for ordinations in the Byzantine rite churches) was made of the event and digitalized in cooperation with the author of this paper in order to present future generations with some film document from this historic milestone of the Slovak Greek Catholic Church.

PART IV: IMMIGRANT WORKER INTEGRATION

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN EDUCATION AND CAREER PATTERNS OF POLISH MIGRANTS IN PENNSYLVANIA, 1900–1930 PIEN VERSTEEGH

Please print these few words which I send. Maybe they will be of use to people, for not only one person living back home thinks that here in North America ready baked bread is waiting […] True, North America, the United States is a great country and some have a good life in it. But it would be better if we did not know about it. Because this good life in America is not for us. […] It is difficult for a Pole to get a job on the ground, and even if he got one, he would have to suffer much unpleasantness. Most of the Poles work underground in the coal mines, of which there are a multitude in America, particularly in Pennsylvania.1

Working conditions for Polish migrants in the Pennsylvania mines were hard as they were mostly hired for the dirty, unpleasant, ill-paid mining jobs. The Poles who came to the mining region of eastern Pennsylvania at the turn of the twentieth century did not therefore stay very long, and about half of them had already left within ten years.2 Disappointed with the hard working conditions in the mines they left looking for better opportunities in Pennsylvania but also in other states such as New York and Ohio. We might ask what new opportunities these migrants found, and what influenced their prospects? When migrants arrived in the new country, they encountered certain—mostly limiting—structures such as language 1

Danuta Piątkowska, Korespondencja z Ameryki w prasie polskiej na ĝląsku 1868–1900 (Wrocáaw/Warszawa: Ossolineum, 1992), 131–132. 2 Pien Versteegh, “Looking for better opportunities or a way of life?” Paper presented at the Polish American Historical Association Annual Meeting in New York, 1–5 January 2009.

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and cultural differences, labour market dynamics, laws and regulations.3 Language abilities, and especially writing proficiency, could considerably improve their earning capacities.4 In addition, we might expect those Polish migrants who could also speak English would have better opportunities to improve their position in the labour market; prospects would also improve with the next generation. Initially, most Polish children had left school at an early age in order to work so they could supplement the family income.5 Consequently, many Poles could not read or write. However, over the years this pattern changed and more would attend school for a longer period.6 Education became a road to success, as was customary in the United States, and replaced the old Polish values of achievement through hard work.7 For this matter, the second generation would be able to achieve better jobs than their parents, as they had been better educated.

3

John Bodnar, “Immigration Portrayed As an Experience of Transplantation” in Major Problems in American Immigration and Ethnic History ed. Jon Gjerde (Boston/New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1998), 8–16. 4 David Brody, Labor in Crisis. The Steel Strike of 1919 (University of Illinois: Urbana and Chicago, 1987), 40; Christian Dustmann, “Speaking fluency, writing fluency and earnings of migrants,” Journal of Population Economics 7 (1994); Christian Dustmann and Francesca Fabbri, Language Proficiency and Labour Market Performance of Immigrants in the U.K., Discussion Paper No. 156, (Bonn: Institute for the Study of Labor, May 2000). 5 James S. Pula, Polish Americans: An Ethnic Community (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1995); Interview with Stanley Guntack by John Earl, State Archives Harrisburg (SAH), Oral History Collection, Scranton Oral History Project (SOHP), Transcripts, MG-2650, Transcript of tape 5, 2–3; Interview with Bruno Laganosky by Waln K. Brown, Eckley Miners’ Village (EMV), Eckley Oral History Project, transcript of tape 9, 12. 6 Of all children who died at the beginning of the twentieth century and who were members of this fraternal organization, only four per cent had been going to school. Death Claim Records 1907–1915, Balch Institute for Ethnic Studies, Philadelphia (Balch Institute), Balch Collection, Polish Union of the U.S. of North America Records (Polish Union), MSS 57, 5/1/A-E (M89-36), box 2–4. The total sample consisted of 23 children between 8 and 21 years old. About twenty years later more children went to school. Of all children who died, 49 per cent had been going to school. Juvenile Death Certificates 1928–1936, 1939–1941, Balch Institute, Balch Collection, Polish Union, MSS 57, 5/1/A-E (M89-36), box 72. This sample consists of 73 children. 7 Interview with John A. Kuprewicz by Gregory Mihalik, SAH, Oral History Collection, Pittsburgh Oral History Project (POHP), Transcripts, Releases, MG409, box 5, transcript of tape 234, 3a.

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This brings us to the following questions. What opportunities did the Polish migrants find to improve their position in the labour market? To what extent did English language skills and education resulting in the ability to read and write influence their chances there? And did there exist differences between the first- and second-generation Polish migrants? In this paper, we will analyze these issues comparing the Polish migrants coming to Pennsylvania at the turn of the twentieth century with their American counterparts, and we will thus gain more insight into how newcomers have found their way into the new society and what mechanisms have been involved in this.

The Poles in Pennsylvania at the Turn of the Twentieth Century The Poles formed one of the largest migrant groups in the United States at the turn of the twentieth century. Exactly how many had arrived at that point is hard to say, since Poland had been partitioned among Germany, Austria and Russia from 1795 to 1918, thus, the correct nationality of these migrants was not always clear.8 Estimates give us approximately two and a half million Poles arriving in the United States in the period from 1850–1914.9 Pennsylvania was one of their main destinations, as the coal mining and steel industry attracted many migrant workers. Consequently, the Pennsylvania anthracite industry employed the majority of the Poles who came to the eastern part of Pennsylvania.10 Most Polish migrants did not intend to become miners. Many of them dreamt of becoming farmers instead, since owning land was a primary goal for these Polish migrants.11 8

American officials referred to them, for instance, as Russian Polish or Russian (although their names indicated a Polish origin) and sometimes as simply Polish. Matthew S. Magda, The Poles in Pennsylvania, Peoples of Pennsylvania Series Pamphlet 3 (Harrisburg: Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, 1986), 1–4. 9 Andrzej BroĪek, Polish Americans 1854–1939 (Warsaw: Interpress, 1985), 231. The census of 1900 listed 710,156 Poles in the United States. According to the census of 1940 this number had increased to 2,905,859 Poles. 10 More than 40 per cent of the Polish migrants arriving in the United States at the turn of century went to Pennsylvania. BroĪek, Polish Americans 1854–1939, 32; Matthew S. Magda, Polish Presence in Pennsylvania (University Park: The Pennsylvania Historical Association, 1992), 25. 11 Mary Patrice Erdmans, The Grasinski Girls. The Choices They Had and the Choices They Made (Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Press, 2004), 28–29; Pula, Polish Americans, 45; Andrzej BroĪek, “Polish Overseas Emigrants: their Expectations

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They mostly took industrial jobs to save enough money to buy land and eventually become farmers or to send money home. Consequently, most Polish migrants in Pennsylvania entered the labour market as miners, and many of them remained miners. What opportunities did these Polish miners have? Based on the Accident Registers of the Mine Inspectors, 1903–1965, we have reconstructed the labour market position of the Polish and American miners in Pennsylvania:12 the job level of Polish miners is compared here with that of their American counterparts in the period 1890–1940. Initially, the majority of Poles were employed as unskilled labourers in the mines and in larger numbers than their American colleagues. Later on, the Poles were able to change this and more than half of them managed to become skilled workers. Still, in the whole period it was harder for them to get a management or highly skilled position. Apparently, the Poles succeeded in improving their position in the mines, but there was a limit to what they could achieve: mining company policy may have been a factor. Although the mining company itself did not develop a special policy for the Poles, they were sometimes treated differently. The mostly Irish supervisors in the mines were in complete control of their workers. They acted as the “arbitrary lords of the realm” and put the Poles at a disadvantage.13 Language seemed to play a role in this workplace: when Polish miners could not speak English the other miners would give them a hard time.14 Moreover, the American miners would not tolerate Polish supervisors.

Confronted with Reality.” Paper for the Tenth International Economic History Congress, Leuven 1990, 2–3. 12 Accident Registers of the Mine Inspectors, SAH, Department of Mines and Mineral Resources, 1903–1972, General Correspondence of the Secretary of Mines with Mine Inspectors, 1903–1965, Inspection Register, Accident Register, Accident Reports, RG-45, Microfilms 3586–3592. The Poles were selected based on their names. Listed was: name, nationality, profession, and result of accident. 13 Pula, Polish Americans, 46; Interview with Stanley Guntack, 6. 14 Interview with Josephine Pacholec, SAH, Oral History Collection, SOHP, Transcripts, Releases, MG-2650, transcript of tape 8, 5–6; Interview with Stanly Nycz, SAH, Oral History Collection, SOHP, Transcripts, Releases, MG-2650, transcript of tape 17, 6.

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Tab. 17-1: Labour market position of Polish and American miners in Pennsylvania 1890–194015 Job level Unskilled16 Skilled17 Highly skilled18

1890–1895 Poles Americans 62.1% 51.3% 37.9% 46.0% 0% 2.7%

1912–1917 Poles Americans 45.1% 64.5% 54.7% 27.3% 0.2% 8.2%

1935–1940 Poles Americans 46.2% 67.9% 53.1% 27.9% 0.7% 4.2%

Mobility Next to limited chances for advancement, working conditions in the mines were hard. But since the anthracite region mostly offered mining jobs, there were limited alternatives and sometimes moving was the only way to improve working conditions. Therefore, we expect to find that Polish migrants would be more mobile than their American counterparts, and that moving would become a road to success for them. In the following study the career paths of the Polish migrants living in the mining town of Nanticoke in 1900 have been compared with the career paths of their American counterparts. Nanticoke was a major coal-mining centre for anthracite coal. King Anthracite attracted thousands of migrants: in 1880, the population of 15 For Poles, in years: 1890–1895, Number (N) was 480, 1912–1917, N was 1,076 and 1935–1940, N was 572. For Americans, in years 1890–1895, N was 359, 1912–1917, N was 304 and 1935–1940, N was 408. Source: Accident Registers of the Mine Inspectors, 1903–1965. 16 Unskilled jobs such as labourer, door tender, driver, slate picker, loader, jig tender, oiler, slate loader, latch tender, footman, etc., and including second number miner (a second number miner was less skilled than a miner—second number miners were assistants, and were trained on the job). Mildred Beik in her book on Windber claimed that miner meant unskilled piecework, but from the accident reports we may conclude that miner meant skilled work and that the labourer was his assistant. Miner here is viewed as skilled work. Reports of the Inspectors of the Anthracite and Bituminous Coal regions of Pennsylvania for the Year 1892 (Harrisburg: Edwin K. Meyers, state printer, 1893), 100; Mildred A. Beik, The Mines of Windber: The Struggles of New Immigrants for Unionization, 1890s– 1930s (University Park (PA): The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1996). 17 Skilled jobs such as miner, mason, driller, blacksmith, patcher, topman, timberman, sinker, headman, etc.; second number miner excluded as this had been viewed as unskilled work. 18 Highly skilled and supervisiory jobs such as engineer, foreman, and slate boss.

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Nanticoke was not even 4,000, but when mass immigration took place from 1880 and reached its peak in 1930, the population of Nanticoke had increased to more than 26,000.19 The Susquehanna Coal Company was the most important coal mine. It was started in 1870, and contained seven coal breakers. Later, in 1899, Glen Alden was established, building the Auchincloss, Bliss, and Truesdale Collieries. So, thanks to the mining industry Nanticoke developed into an important mining town in eastern Pennsylvania. To determine the career paths of the first- and second-generation Polish migrants and their American counterparts they need to be followed through time.20 The Poles and Americans listed in the records of the Twelfth Census of the United States in Nanticoke (1900) formed the basis for this study.21 These people were followed for the next 30 years, giving us a good idea about the opportunities for the Polish migrants in Nanticoke in comparison with their American counterparts. Data has been collated under the following categories: mobility, first and last jobs someone performed and whether their career paths had moved up or not. Altogether, the Polish inhabitants of Nanticoke were more apt than their American counterparts to leave this city. Table 17-3 shows that more Polish migrants

19

In 1900 26,043 inhabitants of Nanticoke were recorded, http://www.nanticokecity.com/history.htm#HISTORY (accessed 13 August 2012). 20 First generation Polish migrants meant that the parents and the migrating person had been born in (a part of) Poland, second generation migrants were born in the United States. Americans were people whose parents and they, themselves, were born in the United States. 21 For this study, a sample of Polish immigrants and Americans registered in the Twelfth Census of the United States (1900) was taken and checked in the censuses of 1910, 1920 and 1930. The U.S. census data, also available at census.gov but in a different form, was extracted from the website ancestry.com. This website offers the census materials online in one database combining all information from the censuses. When a search for a certain person was put out, all records listing thas person would show. For this matter, it was possible to follow the Poles and Americans after they had left Nanticoke. Ancestry.com also includes military records, marital, divorce, and death records. Moreover, next to these public records, a researcher may find newspaper extracts, personal memories and photographs, which were added (by users that compiled family trees). All these materials helped to locate the people from the sample. In many cases, this has been difficult as many had changed their names, their names had been misspelled or the quality of the census material was poor. Women were especially hard to locate as they took the name of their spouses. Materials were gathered from http://www.ancestry.com (accessed in the period of 2007-2010, last accessed 4 January 2010).

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would also leave the anthracite region than the American inhabitants of Nanticoke. Tab. 17-2: Mobility Poles and Americans, 1900–193022 Still living in Nanticoke After 10 years After 20 years After 30 years Moved out of PA

Poles 52% 30% 18% 91%

Americans 58% 29% 22% 22%

Tab. 17-3: Frequency of mobility23 Moved outside Pennsylvania

Moved twice

Moved more than twice

Poles

91%

9%

5%

Americans

22%

15%

11%

Thus, compared with the American inhabitants of Nanticoke, the Poles were more mobile. They would leave Nanticoke and Pennsylvania more often than the Americans. Although the Americans moved more frequently they tended to stay within the anthracite region: 70 per cent of the Americans who left Nanticoke did not go further than a circle of 40 miles around the mining town. The next question would be to what extent were these Polish migrants able to find better opportunities? And had moving been a wise choice? The study group has, therefore, been divided into two groups, the ones who stayed in Nanticoke in 1900–1930 and the ones who left. The career paths of these two groups will be compared with the ones of their American counterparts giving us more information about how well the Polish migrants did in the labour market. As seen in Table 17-4 the Americans seemingly achieved better positions than the Poles, and would more frequently end up with whitecollar jobs, or become craftsmen. The Poles had fewer opportunities and the majority ended up with unskilled jobs. Very few managed to become farmers. This was the case for the workers who stayed in Nanticoke. How was it for the ones who left to look for new prospects elsewhere? 22

N Poles was 216, N Americans was 90. Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth and Fifteenth Census of the United States listed on www.ancestry.com (accessed 4 January 2010). 23 Ibid.

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Tab. 17-4: Last jobs of Poles and Americans who stayed in Nanticoke, 1900–193024 Last job

Poles Americans

White collar 6%

12%

Farmer

1%

2%

Craftsman

2%

6%

Unskilled

57%

35%

34%

45%

None

25

Tab.17-5: Last jobs of Poles and Americans who left Nanticoke, 1900– 193026 Last job White collar Farmer Craftsman Unskilled None 27

Poles 2% 0% 1% 66% 30%

Americans 8% 8% 0% 55% 30%

As seen in Table 17-5, the Poles ended even less well off. The Americans found more opportunities to improve their position on the labour market and got four times more white-collar jobs and fewer unskilled ones than the Poles. The dream of becoming farmers was not possible for these Poles to fulfil, unlike the Americans. We might ask to what extent moving opened up new options. Therefore, in Table 17-6, the opportunities of the ones who stayed and the ones who left have been compared with each other.

24

N Poles who stayed was 109, N Americans who stayed was 49. 21 Poles and 1 American of the sample were too young to give any information and had therefore been left out from the sample. Ibid. 25 None meant either housewife or in school. 26 N Poles who left was 86; N Americans who left was 40. Source: Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth and Fifteenth Census of the United States listed on www.ancestry.com (accessed 4 January 2010). 27 None meant either housewife or in school.

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Tab. 17-6: Labour mobility of Poles and Americans staying and leaving Nanticoke, 1900–193028 Poles

Americans

Stayed Left Stayed Up29

17% Same 81% Down 3%

Left

10% 38%

27%

81% 54%

59%

10% 8%

14%

Contrary to our expectations, leaving did not result in better opportunities. It seems that both groups would have been better off had they stayed in Nanticoke, although the Americans had more opportunities than did the Poles. Surprisingly, moving did not open up better job opportunities for the Poles. This could not be explained by the differences between the groups that stayed and those who left. In short, we cannot say that majority of the people who left, were those with few opportunities. Of the Poles who stayed, 2.8 per cent were well educated or already had a good job before coming, as compared to 2.3 per cent of the ones who left. Another explaination for this effect would be that the ones who left needed to start all over again so they could not use the networks they had previously built up. The networks, contacts with family, friends and fellow countrymen, were very important for the Polish migrants, for networks not only supported the newly arrived migrants while they adjusted to their new environment, they also helped the newcomers in finding a job or housing.30 By controlling job placement and negotiating working 28

N Poles who stayed was 109, N Poles who left was 86, N Americans who stayed was 49, N Americans who left was 40. Source: Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth and Fifteenth Census of the United States listed on www.ancestry.com (accessed 4 January 2010). 29 Up: the person had in 1930 (or the last recorded job as someone might have died before) a job on a higher level than in 1900 or 1910 (when a person had been really young, sometimes no job had been listed in 1900). Same: the person had in 1930 (or the last recorded job as someone might have died before) a job on the same level as in 1900 or 1910 (when a person had been really young, sometimes no job had been listed in 1900). Down: the person had in 1930 (or the last recorded job as someone might have died before) a job on a lower level than in 1900 or 1910 (when a person had been really young, sometimes no job had been listed in 1900). 30 Interview with Walter T. Kamyk by Gregory Mihalik, SAH, Oral History Collection, POHP, Transcripts, Releases, MG-409, box 5, transcript of tape 255, 3-7;

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conditions for relatives, the family exercised a limited form of control over the job situation.31 These arrangements were also beneficial to the employer since he had a certain guarantee that the new worker was reliable because another employee had recommended him/her. Besides, employers used the networks of contacts to increase their work force as well. They even sent recruiters to the homeland in order to hire new workmen.32 Nevertheless, too many relatives in the same company were considered to represent a risk. In order to prevent this, the employer limited the number of family members who were allowed to work in his/her business. A Polish miner recalled: There was three of us there, there was too many from one family. Then he had 2 for his first cousins. The boss said to him, Joe, you got too many working from the family. So I said, do you think I can get a job, yeah, I’ll get a job at Loomis and I worked there 11 years.33

Although finding work through relatives had many advantages, there were some limitations as well. Job advancement through relatives was limited because newcomers were only introduced to jobs that their relatives or friends themselves occupied. This resulted in the clustering of Poles in certain industries like the coal extraction and steel industry in Pennsylvania.34 The Poles also grouped together in the companies themselves. Some accidents involved mostly Polish miners, indicating that they had worked close or next to each other.35 Moreover, the newcomers Interview with Joseph S. Dulski by Gregory Mahlick,Ibid., transcript of tape 225116, 2; Pula, Polish Americans, 46. 31 Frank Renkiewicz, “Polish American Workers, 1880-1980” in Stanislaus A. Blejwas and Mieczysáaw B. Biskupski, eds., Pastor of the Poles: Polish American Essays Presented to Right Reverend Monsignor John P. Wodarski in honor of the Fiftieth Anniversary of His Ordination. Polish Studies Program Monographs (New Britain, CT: Central Connecticut State College, 1982), 116–136; Interview with Joseph S. Dulski, 9–11. 32 Interview with Bruno Laganosky and Piker Ferko, EMV, Eckley Oral History Project, transcript of tape 11, 32. 33 Interview with Ben Grevera, Anthony Piscotty by John Bodnar, SAH, Oral History Collection, 2nd Nanticoke Oral History Project, Transcripts, Releases, MG-409, box 1, transcript of tape 2, 10. 34 John Bodnar, Roger Simon and Michael P. Weber, Lives of their Own. Blacks, Italians, and Poles in Pittsburgh, 1900–1960 (Urbana–Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1982), 62–63; Magda, Polish Presence in Pennsylvania, 20–25. 35 For instance, 5 Polish miners were involved in an accident on April 9, 1895 in the mine Shaft No. 2, 8 Polish miners were involved in an accident July 18, 1912 in the Langcliffe mine, and all 4 miners who were involved in an accident on April 30, 1914

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only qualified for professions their relatives occupied.36 Another negative effect of using networks to get jobs was that it created a society based on favours. Without contacts, it was very difficult to get a job.37 “The only way to do so was through somebody at work who got you in”.38 Therefore, moving did not turn out to be advantageous or the road to success. So what other chances did the Poles have to improve their position in the labour market?

Education The introduction mentioned that education and language skills could have a positive effect on the labour market opportunities. In the following section we will elabourate upon this. Again, the information listed in the censuses provided the required information, especially the 1900 census, which listed the amount of time that a person attended school and whether he or she was able to read and write.39

in the Woodward mine were Polish. Listed in Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, Reports of the Inspectors of Mines of the Anthracite and Bituminous Coal Regions of Pennsylvania for the Year 1895 (Harrisburg: Clarence M. Busch, State Printer of Pennsylvania, 1896), 130; Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, Reports of the Inspectors of Mines of the Anthracite and Bituminous Coal Regions of Pennsylvania for the Year 1912 (Harrisburg: WM. Stanley Ray, State Printer, 1913), 256–257; Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, Reports of the Inspectors of Mines of the Anthracite and Bituminous Coal Regions of Pennsylvania for the Year 1914 (Harrisburg: WM. Stanley Ray, State Printer, 1915), 295. 36 Pien Versteegh, “’The Ties That Bind’: The Role of Family and Ethnic Networks in the Settlement of Polish Migrants in Pennsylvania, 1890–1940,” The History of Family. An International Quarterly 5, no. 4 (2000): 117. 37 Pula, Polish Americans, 46. 38 Interview with John A. Kuprewicz , 7a-8, 23. 39 The number of months (either 6, 8 or 9) of schooling was listed in the census of 1900. The next ones only registered whether a person had attended school or not. In many cases the information offered would change: in 1900 children would have been going to school, but in 1910/1920 no education was registered. In these cases the information of 1900 had been used.

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Tab. 17-7: Education rates 1900–193040 Poles

Americans

Stayed Left Stayed

Left41

Went to school

33%

32% 24%

34%

Did not go to school

67%

68% 76%

66%

Could read

94%

95% 98%

100%

Could not read

6%

5%

0%

Could write

90%

91% 96%

100%

Could not write

10%

9%

0%

Spoke English

82%

86% 100%

100%

14% %

0%

Did not speak English 18%

2% 4%

This time the records contradicted each other. Even when “no education” was recorded, the person would still be able to read and write. This was the case for both groups. Nevertheless, we could conclude that more Americans than Poles were able to read and write. The differences were small, though. It was not surprising that more Americans than Poles could speak English. Remarkably, the differences in education and language skills between the Poles who stayed and the ones who left were also small. This was not the case for the Americans: not as many Americans who left Nanticoke went to school as those who stayed. The next two tables provide information about the effect of education and language skills on the job opportunities of the Poles and Americans, divided between the ones who stayed and the ones who left Nanticoke.

40

N Poles who stayed was 109, N Poles who left was 86, N Americans who stayed was 49, N Americans who left was 40. Source: Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth and Fifteenth Census of the United States listed on www.ancestry.com (accessed 4 January 2010). 41 N Poles who stayed was 109, N Poles who left was 86, N Americans who stayed was 49, N Americans who left was 40.

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Tab. 17-8: Relation between job mobility and education/language skills of Poles and Americans who stayed in Nanticoke, 1900–193042 Poles Up

43

Americans Same Down None Up

Same Down None

Education/Yes 17%

41%

0%

32%

30%

0%

50%

35%

Education/No

83%

59%

100%

68%

70%

100% 50%

65%

English/Yes

92%

83%

100%

78%

100%

100% 100%

100%

English/No

8%

17%

0%

22%

0%

0%

0%

Literate/Yes

92%

95%

100%

81%

100%

100% 100%

91%

Literate/No

8%

5%

0%

19%

0%

0%

9%

0%

0%

Seemingly, for the Poles staying in Nanticoke, there was a weak correlation between education and career opportunities, 17 per cent of the Poles who improved their position in the labour market had been educated compared to nought per cent of the ones whose position worsened. English language skills did not seem to matter though. For the Americans a correlation between education and career opportunities could not be detected. How was it for the Poles and Americans who left Nanticoke? This time no clear connection could be detected between career opportunities on the one hand and education and language skills on the other.

42

N Poles who stayed was 109, N Americans who stayed was 49. Source: Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth and Fifteenth Census of the United States listed on www.ancestry.com (accessed 4 January 2010). 43 Up: the person had in 1930 (or the last recorded job as someone might have died before) a job on a higher level than in 1900 or 1910 (when a person had been really young, sometimes no job had been listed in 1900). Same: the person had in 1930 (or the last recorded job as someone might have died before) a job on the same level as in 1900 or 1910 (when a person had been really young, sometimes no job had been listed in 1900). Down: the person had in 1930 (or the last recorded job as someone might have died before) a job on a lower level than in 1900 or 1910 (when a person had been really young, sometimes no job had been listed in 1900). None: either housewife or in school.

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Tab. 17-9: Relation between job mobility and education/language skills of Poles and Americans who left in Nanticoke, 1900–193044 Poles

Americans

Same

UnDown Known None

Up

Same

Down Unknown None

Education/Yes 50%

24%

100%

8%

0%

50%

31%

33%

31%

20%

Education/No English/ Yes English/ No Literate/ Yes Literate/ No

50%

76%

0%

92%

100%

50%

69%

67%

69%

80%

100%

82%

100%

39%

100%

100% 100% 100%

100%

100%

0%

18%

0%

61%

0%

0%

0%

0%

100%

88%

100%

55%

100%

100% 100% 100%

100%

100%

0%

12%

0%

45%

0%

0%

0%

0%

Up 45

0%

0%

0%

0%

Altogether, there was only a weak correlation between education and career opportunities. One possible explanation for this may be that the records were not very clear, at times indicating “no school” by the literate person’s name. Apparently, there were more ways to become educated than by going to school. Most children received an important part of their schooling at home.46 Next, the parochial schools would instruct the Polish children in catechism and the Polish language.47 Although language skills did not seem to influence career opportunities as much as had been expected, language did matter when it came to the dynamics of the labour 44 N Poles were 86, N Americans were 40. Source: Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth and Fifteenth Census of the United States listed on www.ancestry.com (accessed 4 January 2010). 45 Up: the person had in 1930 (or the last recorded job as someone might have died before) a job on a higher level than in 1900 or 1910 (when a person had been really young, sometimes no job had been listed in 1900). Same: the person had in 1930 (or the last recorded job as someone might have died before) a job on the same level as in 1900 or 1910 (when a person had been really young, sometimes no job had been listed in 1900). Down: the person had in 1930 (or the last recorded job as someone might have died before) a job on a lower level than in 1900 or 1910 (when a person had been really young, sometimes no job had been listed in 1900). None: either housewife or in school. 46 Harriet Pawlowska, “’The Lessons Which Most Influenced My Life… Came from My Parents,’” in Immigrant Women, ed. Maxime Schwartz Seller (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994), 229. 47 Marie Iwanczyk, Ambridge Polonia and St. Stanislaus Church (Ambridge, PA: privately printed, 1966), 4.

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market. Migrant groups who had entered the job market before the Poles, would put them at a disadvantage.48 In this case, language did matter. When the Polish miners could not speak English the other miners would give them a hard time.49 Prejudice also seemed to play a role here.50 A stronger correlation existed between ethnicity and career opportunities. Americans would have more opportunities to improve their position in the labour market than the Poles, both within and outside the mines.

Second Generation So far, we detected a weak correlation between education and job opportunities. Tab. 17-10: Career patterns, second generation Poles and Americans (1900–1930)51 Last jobs52 Farmers Craftsmen Miners White collar jobs Other blue collar/ unskilled work

Poles Stayed 0% 11% 33% 11% 44%

Left 0% 11% 0% 0% 89%

Americans Stayed 0% 11% 22% 33% 33%

Left 20% 5% 5% 20% 50%

The introduction mentioned that educational differences disappeared over the generations; for second-generation migrants, education would become a road to success and they would therefore go to school as much as the Americans. We expected that the differences in position in the labour market would disappear for the second-generation migrants but on the contrary, it turned out that fewer second-generation Poles were able to achieve a white-collar job than the Americans, especially the ones who 48

Interview with Stanley Guntack, 6. Interview with Josephine Pacholec, 5-6; Interview with Stanly Nycz, 6. 50 Interview with Henry Dende, SAH, Oral History Collection, SOHP, transcripts, Releases, MG-2650, transcript of tape 19, 6. 51 N Poles who stayed was 27, N Poles who left was 9. N Americans who stayed was 9, N Americans who left was 10. Source: Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth and Fifteenth Census of the United States listed on www.ancestry.com (accessed 4 January 2010). 52 White collar jobs included: management, inspector, bookkeeper, and teaching. Blue collar/unskilled jobs included: teamster, labourer, salesman, and driver. 49

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left—they also had fewer opportunities. Again, mobility did not result in more opportunities. Altogether, it was harder for the Poles to improve their position in the labour market, for both the first- and second-generations.

Input of the Poles into Their Labour Position We have seen that contacts with friends and family played an important role in the careers of migrants, helping them with job placement and negotiating working conditions. In addition to these informal networks, the Poles managed to organize themselves quite well. Large nationwide fraternal organizations with local lodges were established, providing financial security to their members.53 The role of these fraternal organizations stopped here though; they did not become a tool to improve job opportunities. Nor did the labour movement help the Polish migrants to advance their careers, being mainly limited to improving working conditions, such as shorter working days. Their fellow workers viewed Poles as poor unionists.54 However, this was a prejudice working as an impediment to unionization because, in reality, Polish workers were quite active in the labour movement. For instance, twenty-six Poles were killed during the Lattimer Massacre in 1897, representing the majority of the victims.55 The Lattimer Massacre was a traumatic event for the Polish labour movement. The strike had started as a protest against the harsh working conditions in the mines and the “alien tax” in the company stores. During this strike, launched by Slavic coal miners in Luzerne County (PA), a peaceful march of 400 people in Lattimer was brutally ended by James Martin, the county sheriff. The marchers were halted and commanded to leave, and without warning the sheriff’s deputies started to fire, killing 19 people and wounding 38. The massacre has thus been characterized as one of the most serious acts of violence against American labourers in general and the Polish

53

Versteegh, “‘The Ties That Bind,’” 111–148. Wiliam G. Falkowski, “Labor, Radicalism, and the Polish-American Worker” in Polish Americans and Their History: Community, Culture and Politics, ed. John J. Bukowczyk (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1996), 39–57; Brian McCook, The Borders of Integration: Polish Migrants in Germany and the United States, 1870–1924 (Ohio University Press, Athens: 2011), 62ff; Pien Versteegh, “Polish Americans in the Labor Movement” in Jim Pula, ed., The Polish-American Encyclopedia (McFarland & Company, Inc. Publishers: North Carolina, 2011), 344–347. 55 Pula, Polish Americans, 49ff. 54

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community in particular, and thus became a symbol of mass martyrdom that inspired Polish workers to become engaged in the union cause. The Poles were not to blame for the difficulties in organizing the workers. The ethnic diversification of the migrants hindered organizing all these groups of nationally and culturally varied people. Mildred Beik has argued in her book about the mines of Berwind-White that the immigrant communities as ethnic enclaves were isolated, fragmented, controllable and, therefore, impossible to organize.56 Ethnicity kept the groups apart and non-unionized. Consequently, it was very hard for the migrants to become union members, which was also discouraged by the mining companies. When a Polish migrant did manage to become a union member, he joined the United Mine Workers of America (UMWA), which proved to be ethnically friendly, pluralistic and class-based. The UMWA had even made some adjustments in order to address members of Polish origin, for instance by making important documents available to them in translation.57

Conclusion Overall, we can conclude that ethnicity played an important role in job opportunities. Polish migrants had to overcome prejudices and a hostile labour market. They therefore had fewer opportunities than the Americans. Within the mines, they were able to move up, but only to a certain level, and managerial positions were mostly kept out of their reach. Also, outside the mines, Poles were not able to achieve as many good positions as Americans. This was the case for both the first- and second-generation Polish migrants. Research has shown that there was a weak correlation between education and career opportunities. Education opened up better prospects, and although the records did not prove that language skills had an effect on their professional chances, language differences did seem to emphasize the prejudices against the Poles, and were an excuse for discrimination and the denial of job opportunities. Moving did not open up new opportunities. The Polish migrants who had come to Nanticoke and then stayed there were better off than the ones who left. Those who stayed were able to use their networks to improve their position in the labour market as opposed to the ones who left and had 56

Beik, The Mines of Windber, 108–109. Victor R. Greene, The Slavic Community on Strike: Immigrant Labor in Pennsylvania Anthracite (London: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968), 125ff. 57

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to start all over again. Moving to the United States had opened up new opportunities for the Polish migrants, but moving further afterwards did not.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN EDUCATION IN WAR AND EXILE: THE POLISH EXPERIENCE IN BRITAIN, 1940–1954 BRIAN MCCOOK

Issues surrounding the integration of displaced people, asylum seekers and refugees are at the forefront of contemporary politics on both sides of the Atlantic. In the twenty-first century, the number of global refugees is rising rapidly and will do so for the foreseeable future. As highlighted by recent United Nations statistics for 2011, there were approximately 327,000 claims made for refugee asylum across Europe, representing nearly a 20 per cent increase over 2010. In the United States and Canada, there were 99,000 claims representing an increase of 26 per cent over the previous year.1 Presently, the challenges facing western countries in dealing with refugees are enormous. An especially significant obstacle is the education of refugee children and young people, many of whose lives have been damaged by experiences of war, loss, and dislocation. As the United Nations 2011 Report of Refugee Education emphasizes, education for refugees is woefully inadequate across the globe; even in highly developed countries refugees find their life chances stunted by inadequate access to education at all levels.2 In Britain, as numerous recent studies indicate, poorly conceived and executed policies can make it quite difficult for younger refugees to attain necessary skills and educational 1

United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHRC), Asylum Levels and Trends in Industrialized Countries (Geneva: 2011) http://www.unhcr.org/4e9beaa19.html (accessed 24 July 2012). 2 UNHRC, Refugee Education: A Global Review (Geneva: 2011) http://www.unhcr–centraleurope.org/pdf/resources/evaluation–and– research/refugee–education–a–global–review.html (accessed 24 July 2012).

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qualifications. Key obstacles to gaining an education include: a long waiting period for school places in local authorities, lack of counselling and other support mechanisms in schools, discrimination and bullying, and refugees’ inexperience in a British classroom combined with insufficient English language skills. In addition, young asylum seekers increasingly find it more difficult, if not impossible, to gain legal “refugee status”. This means that in many cases refugee youth do not have access to higher or further education because, unlike native students, they are ineligible for financial loans and grants.3 In critically considering contemporary problems of refugee education, I find examining the Polish experience in the United Kingdom worthwhile. Many substantial historical studies have been written on the plight of Poles during and after World War II, as well as the varied difficulties and challenges these refugees faced settling in Britain.4 However, the literature 3

Sarah Walker, Something to Smile About: Promoting and Supporting the Educational and Recreational Needs of Refugee Children (Refugee Council, 2011) http://www.refugeecouncil.org.uk/policy/position/2011/smilereport (accessed 24 July 2012); Refugee Support Network “I just want to study”: Access to Higher Education for Young Refugees and Asylum Seekers (2012) http://refugeesupportnetwork.org/sites/all/sites/default/files/files/I%20just%20want %20to%20study.pdf (accessed 24 July 2012); Laura Brownlees and Nadine Finch, Levelling the playing field. A UNICEF U.K. report into provision of services to unaccompanied or separated migrant children in three local authority areas in England (UNICEF, 2010) http://www.unicef.org.uk/Documents/Publications/levelling–playing–field.pdf (accessed 24 July 2012); Lisa Doyle and Megan McCorriston, Beyond the school gates: supporting refugees and asylum seekers in secondary school. (Refugee Council, 2010) http://www.refugeecouncil.org.uk/policy/position/2008/inclusiveschools.htm (accessed 24 July 2012). 4 Jerzy Zubrzycki, Polish Immigrants in Britain: A Study of Adjustment (The Hague: M. Nijhoff, 1956); Keith Sword, Norman Davies, and Jan Mieczysáaw Ciechanowski, The Formation of the Polish Community in Great Britain 1939– 1950 (London: School of Slavonic and East European Studies, University of London, 1989); Keith Sword, Identity in Flux: The Polish Community in Britain (London: School of Slavonic and East European Studies, University of London, 1996); Tadeusz Radzik, Z dziejów spoáecznoĞci polskiej w Wielkiej Brytanii po drugiej wojnie Ğwiatowej, 1945–1990 (Lublin: Wydawn. Uniwersytetu Marii Curii–Skáodowskiej, 1991); Peter D. Stachura, The Poles in Britain, 1940–2000: From Betrayal to Assimilation (London: Frank Cass, 2004); Maria Pestkowska, DoczekaliĞmy niepodáeglej: z dziejów powojennej emigracji polskiej (Warszawa: Oficyna Wydawn. Rytm, 2005); Kathy Burrell, Moving Lives: Narratives of Nation and Migration among Europeans in Post–war Britain (Aldershot: Ashgate,

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is more limited when it comes to Polish education efforts in exile as well as to the role of post-war British governments in supporting educational opportunities for Polish refugees. This past history is important, both in terms of better understanding the specific experience of Poles in Britain and in more broadly considering the issue of how state policies influence refugee inclusion or exclusion. Education was a key means through which Poles ensured their national survival at the time of Poland’s greatest calamity. The British post-war experience with thousands of young Poles provides a notable case study in how government effectively aided refugees in acquiring the social and cultural capital necessary to better integrate into their adopted society.5

Polish Education in Britain, 1940–45 The brutal efforts of the Nazi and Soviet regimes to eradicate Poland’s educated classes and destroy Polish pre-war culture made education a subject of paramount importance to the Polish government-in-exile.6 Education provided the means through which the scientific and cultural

2006); Mieczysáaw Nurek, Gorycz zwyciĊstwa: los Polskich Siá Zbrojnych na Zachodzie po II wojnie Ğwiatowej, 1945–1949 (GdaĔsk: Wydawn. Uniwersytetu GdaĔskiego, 2009); Jerzy Adam Radomski, Demobilizacja Polskich Siá Zbrojnych na Zachodzie w latach 1945–1951 (Kraków: KsiĊgarnia Akademicka, 2009). 5 At the time, both Polish exile leaders and British officials were aware of the significant achievements made, despite difficult circumstances, with regard to education in the early post-war years. The Ministry of Education issued for posterity its 1956 report Education in Exile–A History of the Committee for the Education of Poles in Great Britain (London: H. M. Stationery Office, 1956). while between 1955 and 1961, the Polskie Towarzystwo Naukow na ObczyĨnie (the Polish Society of Arts and Sciences Abroad–PTNO), under the direction of Tadeusz Sulimirski, published the three volume Nauka polska na obczyĨnie (London: Towarzystwo Naukow na ObczyĨnie, 1955). In the secondary literature, the most comprehensive overviews of Polish education in Britain remain the works of Tadeusz Radzik, Szkolnictwo polskie w Wielkiej Brytanii w latach Drugiej Wojny ĝwiatowej (Lublin: Wydawnictwo Polonia, 1986); Szkolnictwo polskie w Wielkiej Brytanii po drugiej wojnie Ğwiatowej (Lublin: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Marii Curie-Skáodowskiej, 1991). 6 Nazi and Soviet oppression of Poland during World War II and the drive toward the cultural (and physical) liquidation of Poles, both Jewish and Christian, is well known. Most recently amongst popular histories, see Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands: Between Hitler and Stalin (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010) highlighting the horrors suffered by Poles and other Eastern European peoples under either Nazi or Soviet dictatorship (or both).

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achievements of the Polish nation could be preserved and national solidarity amongst thousands of Poles in exile maintained. It was also vital for ensuring the development of a future generation who would rebuild Poland after the war. The re-establishment of functioning Polish educational institutions at the primary, secondary and tertiary levels consequently took on great urgency, as highlighted by the creation of the Polish University Abroad (Polski Uniwersytet na ObczyĨnie (PUNO)) in Paris in November 1939, mere weeks after the fall of Poland.7 With the defeat of France and the transfer of Polish government-inexile to Britain in May 1940, the task of organizing and overseeing Polish education fell to General Józef Haller and his Central Education Office. From July 1943 onwards, this Office was transformed into the Ministry of Education under the leadership of Professor Adam Skąpski and later Professor Tadeusz Sulimirski. At the primary and secondary levels, the initial education policy of the government-in-exile was to send the small number of children who early in the war lived in Britain to English or Scottish day and boarding schools.8 However, this was soon seen as impractical and undesirable. Concern among Polish education officials was expressed that in many such schools children were taught exclusively in English; fears were raised that the lack of Polish language training would weaken the ties of the younger generation to Poland and the Polish nation. Such worries were not unjustified: only about one half of the Polish children in British schools were able to receive some form of Polish language training, typically taught either after formal school sessions ended or through Polish youth clubs such as the Polish Scouts and Girl Guides. Moreover, due to the nature of Polish deployment in Britain in which military units were often scattered to isolated rural areas, it was often quite difficult for Polish children to actually attend local British schools.9

7

The Polish Institute and Sikorski Museum Archive (PISM), KOL 548/14. Under the initial tutelage of Oskar Halecki, PUNO enrolled approximately one hundred exile students in its first incarnation in France. For a brief overview of the history of PUNO, which continues its education programmes after seventy years, see Joanna Pyáat, Zarys historii Polskiego Uniwersytetu na ObczyĨnie (London: 2009) http://puno.edu.pl/tradycje.htm (accessed 24 July 2012). 8 PISM, KOL 548/14. To meet the costs of attending such schools, a Paderewski Fund was established in autumn 1941 while many British schools also lowered fees for Polish children where possible. In the period between 1943 and 1945, there were over 200 Polish children were attending British schools. 9 PISM, KOL 548/14.

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It was soon recognized that full-fledged Polish primary and secondary schools needed to be created and in September 1940, the Central Education Office established the first four schools in Scotland near the region where a large portion of the Polish I Army Corps was based. Schools established included: a grammar school for boys in Dunalastair, a boys’ vocational school in Glasgow, a girls’ high school in Perth and a mixed primary school at Douglas in Lanarkshire. The total enrollment of students in 1941 was small, slightly over 200.10 From this modest beginning, a wide and varied network of Polish educational institutions would subsequently develop in Britain and that would aid in the education of thousands of Poles at the primary and secondary levels, especially after the spring of 1942 when tens of thousands of Poles living under harsh conditions in Soviet exile were allowed to leave the Soviet Union via Iran and the Middle East under the auspices of the newly formed Polish II Army Corps under General Anders.11 Amongst those able to escape were 20,000 children whose educational needs would have to be met. These younger refugees soon found themselves scattered to the four winds. Some remained part of the Anders Army and followed the II Corps to Palestine, north Africa, and eventually Italy. Others were transported to British refugee camps established in the Middle East, India, and, overwhelmingly, East Africa. Hundreds even made their way as far afield as New Zealand and Mexico.12 The challenge 10

PISM, KOL 548/14. Initially the boys’ grammar school, named after Juliusz Sáowacki, was set up in Ealing, London but then was moved to Scotland. 11 For a history of the Anders army, see Wáadysáaw Anders, An Army in Exile:The Story of the Second Polish Corps (London: Macmillan, 1949); Piotr ĩaroĔ, Armia Andersa (ToruĔ: Wydawn. Adam Marszaáek, 1996). 12 PISM, KOL 548/14. The scope and scale of Polish primary and secondary education outside of Britain between 1942 and 1945/6 is as follows: Persia: students (teaching staff): July 1942: 2771 (115); November 1942: 8004 (268); September 1943: 5037 (297); November 1944: 1322 (93); July 1945: 1032 (77). India (schools/number of students): Summer 1942: 2/301; September 43: 6/1896; 1943/44: 7/1789; 1944/45: 13/2533; 1945/46: 12/2369. Lebanon (schools/number of students): 1944/45: 2/102; 1945/46: 11/1068. Palestine and Egypt (schools/number of students): 1940/1: 2/126; 1941/42: 2/131; 1942/43: 17/3331; 1943/44: 17/3514; 1944/45: 24/2814; 1945/46: 24/3757. East and South Africa (schools/number of students): 1941 and 1942: 2/80; 1943: 34/5810; 1944: 48/7297; 1945: 51/7526; 1946: 53/7331. Mexico (number of students): 1943–44: 185; 1944– 45: 608; 1945: 598; 1946: 591. New Zealand (number of students): 1944: 728; 1945: 716; 1946: 603. Italy (all secondary schools): Spring 1945: 4273 students and 215 teachers. Austria and Bavaria: 1945/6: 91 schools with 4894 pupils. (Note: care for postwar Polish DP children in Germany was provided by UNRRA. The

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of establishing schools in these diverse regions was enormous; so too was the provisioning of adequate learning materials and teaching staff. Most significantly, the trauma of violence, losing family members, and the experience of dislocation often made the re-socialization of youths into a regular school routine quite difficult.13 In addition to organizing instruction for children and young adults, the Ministry of Education was also responsible for supporting active–duty soldiers whose primary and secondary education was interrupted by the outbreak of war. Beginning in early 1941, primary evening schools were created for Polish soldiers. The pressure put on such schools was high. By the spring of 1944, about 860 Polish Army or Air Force students were attending primary courses, with about fifty per cent of those enrolled passing.14 Secondary school education for Polish servicemen followed a similar pattern. From 1943 onwards, demand for secondary school places became acute as numerous Poles who escaped from Soviet Russia (via the Middle East and Italy) or deserted from the German army began arriving in Britain; most had little formal schooling, owing to the War and its effects.15 Initially, the Polish Army and Air Force organized secondary courses, usually in technical subjects, but these tended to be less than two months’ duration and of poor quality. As a consequence, the government-

larger history of this dramatic forced migration from the Soviet Union and the subsequent Diaspora is examined from first hand accounts in Tadeusz Piotrowski, The Polish Deportees of World War II: Recollections of Removal to the Soviet Union and Dispersal throughout the World (Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 2004). For more specific historical accounts of see also: Krystyna Skwarko, The Invited: The Story of 733 Polish Children Who Grew up in New Zealand (Wellington: Millwood Press, 1974); Lynne Taylor, Polish Orphans of Tengeru: The Dramatic Story of their Long Journey to Canada, 1941–49 (Toronto: Dundurn Press, 2009). 13 Cf. Lieutenant Colonel W.E. Szkoda Collection, Imperial War Museum (IWM). 14 PISM, KOL 548/14. 15 By the end of the War, there were approximately 50,000 so-called exWehrmacht Poles who originally came from the western provinces of Poland and after 1939 were forcibly drafted into the German Army or their auxiliary forces. These Poles either deserted from their units or were captured by the Allies as POWs in North Africa, Italy, and Western Europe and later incorporated into the Polish II Corps. For further information about these soldiers see National Archives (NA) FO 371/47654; FO 371/39528; FO 371/34601. The topic of these soldiers also came into prominence in the late 1980s and early 1990s as a consequence of the Hetherington and Chalmers war crimes enquiry. For further information see Sir Thomas Hetherington and William Chalmers, Report of the War Crimes Inquiry (London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1989).

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in-exile established correspondence schools in late 1944 to provide students with greater flexibility in their studies and improve the quality of courses on offer. Such correspondence courses were condensed, so material that normally took a year to learn was taught in seven months. Lesson plans were frequently outdated and not always the right fit for students who were in many cases much older than the audience for which they were originally written. There was often also a lack of textbooks and trained teachers. Nonetheless, the correspondence courses represented an improvement and the success rate for those who finished these secondary school courses of study was over 50 per cent between 1941 and 1944.16 In addition to primary and secondary instruction, the Polish government-in-exile also supported the creation of Polish Faculties at several British universities. In 1941, a Polish Faculty of Medicine was established at the University of Edinburgh. This was soon followed by a Faculty of Architecture at Liverpool, a Board of Academic Technical Studies in London in 1942, a Faculty of Veterinary Studies in Edinburgh in 1943, and a Law Faculty affiliated to Oxford University in 1944. In addition, there were Polish students who chose courses of study at other British universities during the War, most notably St. Andrews. All told, by 1945–46 there were approximately 900 Polish students pursuing higher education degrees in Britain.17

Post-War Education in Britain, 1946–1954 With the end of hostilities in Europe, Poles in exile faced new and unprecedented challenges when it came to education. During the war it was hoped that educational institutions and the students who passed through them could be transferred back to the homeland. By the war’s end, the dominance of the communists in Poland made return unthinkable for a majority of Poles in Britain; Polish education in exile would need to

16

PISM–KOL 548/14. Of the 448 who took secondary school exams, 278 passed. For Gymnasium leaving certificates, i.e. Matura, 114 out of 191 passed between 1942 and 1944. 17 NA ED 128/10; PISM–KOL 548/14. Outside of Great Britain there were approximately 800 additional students studying in higher education with the majority, about 500, in Switzerland. For a brief history of the Polish School of Medicine see J. Roslowski, “Polish School of Medicine University of Edinburgh, 1941–49,” The British Medical Journal 1, no. 5499 (1966), 1349–1351.

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continue.18 The questions that needed to be determined were: On what basis? With what aims? And, who would be in charge? After the formal de-recognition of the Polish government-in-exile in July 1945, initial responsibility for the oversight of Polish education fell to the Interim Treasury Committee (ITC) for Polish Questions. This was an administrative body situated within the British Treasury, led by Sir William Edy, but also having a substantial Polish representation comprising of members of the former government-in-exile such as Count Edward RaczyĔski. The ITC had oversight over Polish education and under its auspices the Polish Board of Technical Studies developed in late summer 1947 into the Polish University College, which was affiliated with the University of London. The ITC also began closing other Polish Faculties established at British Universities during the war, though this process would last until 1950.19 With the passage in March 1947 of the Polish Resettlement Act, responsibility for Polish education in Britain was transferred to the Minister of Education for England and Wales and the Secretary of State for Scotland, who in April 1947 jointly established the Committee for Education of Poles in Great Britain, a body led by George Gator and a board comprising of British and Polish education officials. The Committee would have full responsibility for Polish education in Britain at all levels until its demise in September 1954. In its efforts during this period, over

18

NA PREM 8/637; PISM Sig. XVIII 1.2 Of the more than 200,000 Poles in the armed forces and the approximately 50,000 civilian Poles under British authority by the end of the War, around 160,000 refused to return to Poland. For a history of the fate of those Poles who did return see Krzysztof Tochman, Z ziemi obcej do Polski: losy Īoánierzy Polskich Siá Zbrojnych, którzy powrócili do kraju po II wojnie Ğwiatowej (Zwierzyniec: AWR Atrium, 2006). 19 NA ED 128/143. After 1950, Polish university-level educational institutions financed by the government-in-exile or the Polish community itself remained within London such as PUNO and the Szkoáa Nauk Politycznych i Spoáecznych (Polish School of Political and Social Science). The SNPS was organized in November 1948 and ran a three-year course of study (either in class or via correspondence) that led to a diploma in International Affairs, Social Service or Journalism. Courses were run on a shoestring budget. Staff volunteered their time and students (in 1951/52 approximately 245 in London and 564 via correspondence) were only charged £4 per annum tuition. The Committee for the Education of Poles in Britain provided the SNPS a modest subsidy of £600 in the early 1950s. For further information see NA ED128/36.

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£9 million (an economic cost equivalent to £724 million today) was expended supporting Polish education.20 There were various factors underpinning the willingness of the British government to support Polish education. After Yalta, Churchill’s subsequent pledge to allow Poles to settle in Britain, and the recognition of the Polish Provisional Government in Warsaw, there was a sense of obligation amongst government officials, especially in the War Office, the Foreign Office, and the Treasury, to aid Poles as far as possible given post-war geo-political realities. At the same time, providing for Polish education was in the government’s best interest. As the Treasury noted in its February 1947 Brief to the Ministry of Education, from a political and cultural standpoint, it would be Wise…to promote the education of a substantial number of Poles. Whether the Poles eventually stay here or emigrate overseas, the fact that they have received British education should assist them in finding employment. If they decide to return to Poland, the fact that they have received British education should also be of benefit and we should hope to be able to count them as ‘unofficial ambassadors’ in the future.

Supporting the education of Poles also made financial sense since Poles not in education would otherwise have drawn upon some other form of welfare assistance from the government. Considerable cost savings 20

NA ED 128/143; PISM KOL 548/19–Education in Exile (1956). Inflation adjusted calculations provided by Measuring Worth website (http://www.measuringworth.com/) and based on economy cost as share of GDP. The amount expended on Poles in the period 1947 and 1954 constituted only a small part of the Education budget in the U.K. as a whole, where Annual expenditure on Education in the early 1950s was approximately £500,000,000. See House of Commons Debates: Hansard HL Deb., 9 February 1955, vol. 190, col. 1066. The full membership of the Committee in 1948 was as follows: Sir George Gater, Chairman; Mr. A. C. F. Beales, Reader in Education, Kings College, London; Sir Wm. A. Brockington, formerly Director of Education, Leicestershire; Dr. M. Giergielewicz, Chairman, Association of Polish Teachers in Great Britain; Dr. S. Grocholski, Secretary, Polish Union; Mr. G. T. Hankin, Formerly H.M. Inspector of Schools; Mr. A. J. Lilliman, Headmaster the Central School, Watford, and member of the Executive of the National Union of Teachers; Mr. A. C. Marshall, Director of Education, Clackmannan; Count E. RaczyĔski, Formerly Polish Ambassador in London; Miss C. E. Robinson, Formerly Headmistress, Howell’s School, Denbigh; Professor W. J. Rose, Director, School of Slavonic and Eastern European Studies, University of London; Mr. F. H. Harrod, MC., Secretary, formerly Director of Education, Coventry. See Hansard HC Deb., 23 November 1948, vol. 458, col. 102W.

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could be achieved, particularly with qualified Polish servicemen, since it cost less to demobilize them from the Polish Resettlement Corps (PRC) and provide an educational stipend to support their full-time study than it did to maintain them in active service.21 Between 1947 and 1954, the tasks facing the Committee were formidable. In 1947, the Committee was responsible for six nursery, eleven primary, and five secondary schools encompassing nearly 1,600 students. It oversaw a student population of approximately 4,000 attending British universities or training colleges; this included nearly 1,200 students studying at the Polish University College in subjects ranging from civil and mechanical engineering to chemistry, architecture and economics. Soon after its formation, the Committee faced the particularly pressing problem of the large influx of Polish children arriving in Britain from the Middle East, India, East Africa, France, Germany and elsewhere, for which the Committee had to make provision: at its peak in 1949, the Committee assumed direct responsibility for over 4,000 children, most of whom spoke no English prior to arrival. Finally, it also took on the challenge of providing adult education classes, especially English language classes, for approximately 16,000 in the numerous Polish resettlement camps throughout Britain.22 21

NA ED 128/143. NA FO 371/56530; NA ED 128/19; PISM KOL 548/19–See Annual Reports of the Committee for Education of Poles in Great Britain for the years 1948 to 1954 inclusive as well as Education in Exile (1956). It is important to note that the Committee did not exercise direct control over instruction in the camps of the Polish Resettlement Corps (PRC), as the PRC fell under the remit of the War Office; however, students accepted onto higher or further education courses would normally be discharged from the PRC and their support as students would come under the remit of the Committee. For further information on education in the PRC see NA FO 371/56530; NA ED 128/130 and NA ED 128/137. The ITC (prior to mid-1947) or the Committee (thereafter) also did not have any responsibility for education among the thousands of Polish children in DP camps in Germany, including within the British zone of occupation, the competency for which fell under the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) and later from July 1947 the International Refugee Organisation. In Autumn 1945, there were over 72,000 Polish children and young adults in occupied Germany enrolled in primary and secondary education, with an additional 1,400 pursuing higher education degrees; by 1948, this figure fell to 16,721 and 820, respectively. For further information of Polish education in DP camps see Anna JaroszyĔskaKirchmann, “Patriotism, Responsibility, and the Cold War: Polish Schools in DP camps in Germany, 1945–51,” The Polish Review 47, no. 1 (2002), 35–66; The Exile Mission: The Polish Political Diaspora and Polish Americans, 1939–1956 (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2004), 58–103. 22

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Upon assuming responsibility, the Committee was tasked with restructuring Polish education in Britain. Whereas during the war, education was geared towards preparing Poles for an eventual return to Poland, once the Committee took over, it sought to utilize the educational institutions under its authority to promote the integration of Poles into British society. As the first annual report of the Committee notes, our goal is to fill in some measure the gaps in [Poles’] education, to help [Poles] to live again in a normal civilized community, and to fit [Poles] to take their place as citizens in the country of their choice.23

To this end, the Committee undertook a variety of reforms. Of immediate concern was ensuring that the educational facilities provided to Poles were actually adequate to the task of instruction. Most nursery, primary and adult education schools were located in former military camps used to house Polish refugees. These resettlement camps, which after 1948 were managed under the authority of the National Assistance Board, were usually located in rural areas and camp accommodation typically consisted of a collection of prefabricated Nissen (Quonset-style) huts.24 Polish secondary schools, which in 1949 included two grammar schools for university-bound students and three modern secondary technical schools for the trades, were likewise situated in isolated former military encampments. Organized as boarding schools, these institutions were directly run by the Committee.25 23 1948 Annual Report of the Committee for Education of Poles in Great Britain, PISM KOL 548/19. 24 NA FO 371/71595. See Committee inspection reports by Frank Savery and Tadeusz Romer to Stowell Park Girls School (near Cheltenham); Grendon Hall (near Aylesbury), June 1947; Joseph Conrad School at Haydon Park (near Sherborne), October 5–6, 1948; the Primary School at the Polish Hostel at Hedgemoor (near Amersham), 27 November 1948; and Lilford Park Technical School (Northamptonshire), 15 December 1948. 25 1950 Annual Report of the Committee for Education of Poles in Great Britain; Education in Exile (1956), PISM KOL 548/19–1949. The secondary schools were: Stowell Park (near Cheltenham) which included a girls’ grammar and secondary modern school; the Bottisham Grammar School for boys (near Cambridge); the coed secondary modern at Diddington (near Huntingdon), and the boys’ Technical School at Lilford Park (Northamptonshire). At the latter was also located the Polish Merchant Navy College, though this school came to an end in 1949. For photographic images and personal remembrances of these schools, as well as the Polish displaced person camp experience in the UK, see the excellent website

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The challenge of setting up proper educational facilities in such environments was daunting. Requests for improvements to camp buildings often had to be channelled through the Ministry of Works, which could take months in approving recommended changes and hiring contractors to do the required work.26 Classrooms and living quarters were often cramped and library facilities insufficient. There was also little privacy. As the Committee noted its May 1949 report on conditions at the Polish Technical School, a secondary school in Lilford Park (Northamptonshire): Most boys still sleep, work and relax in one and the same unpartitioned hut. There is still no reading room and there is a modicum of privacy only for the prefects. Hence, not only is there no quiet comfort for reading, but a kind of mental torpor is induced by the dull sameness of the surroundings. Quite frankly, the premises in their present condition are unsatisfactory for the recognized number of 486 students.

Student spirits were also undoubtedly low in light of an acute shortage of clothes, insufficient sanitary facilities, and the plague of rats at the camp, which were biting children while they slept. Not surprisingly, there were problems with discipline, including incidences of damaged property and theft.27

maintained by Zosia Biegus Hartman, “Polish Resettlement Camps in the U.K.” http://www.polishresettlementcampsintheuk.co.uk/index.htm (accessed 24 July 2012). Also, for additional photographs of Lilford Park, see The Lilford Estate, “Lilford Technical School (in Lilford Park)” http://www.lilfordhall.com/Polish%20Technical%20School.asp (accessed 24 July 2012). 26 Inspection Report of the Polish Technical School, Lilford, 17–18 May 1949, NA ED 128/19; Inspection Report of the Secondary School for Polish Boys at Bottisham Camp (near Cambridge), Ibid.; Hansard HC Deb., 22 November 1948, vol. 458, cols. 93-4W. In many cases, Poles were willing to do renovation work themselves, but this was not necessarily encouraged by British officials out of fear of complaints from local tradesmen. For example, in March 1949 Polish residents of the Hiltingbury resettlement camp (near Southampton) wanted permission to redecorate their chapel and requested painting supplies for the task. However, the case had to first be evaluated and passed on by the Ministry of Works via the National Assistance Board, especially because of concerns that the trade unions and, in particular the local painters society, would complain. Permission for the improvement work was eventually granted and an allotment of supplies provided, but this took until May. For further information, see NA WORK 22/378. 27 NA ED 128/19. See especially Inspection Report of the Polish Technical School, Lilford, 17–18 May 1949; NA ED 128/98.

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Despite an inauspicious start, classroom and accommodation issues eased as improvements to living conditions and education facilities were made and the overall number of Polish students began to decline in the early 1950s. Under the Committee’s oversight, library provision of Polish and English books quickly improved and within libraries, distinct “English” reading rooms were established where students could, among other activities, practice their English with volunteers drawn from the local community. Relations with English neighbours were generally cordial and concerted efforts made to promote opportunities for students to interact with native inhabitants through such activities as playing football with local teams, joint Polish-English scouting trips, and arranging week-long placements with host families in the summer. These efforts helped to ease the cultural segregation of Poles, though it would remain a problem for as long as distinct Polish secondary schools existed. The last school, Lilford Park, graduated its final cohort of students in 1957.28 Another key area for reform was the curriculum. The Committee believed that the course of study needed to be reorganized along British lines in order to increase the acceptance of Polish students into British primary and secondary schools run by local education authorities. Curriculum reform was also vital to ensuring that Polish students applying to University and further education colleges had the requisite background to pass the General Certificate of Education as well as University matriculation examinations.29 As soon as was feasibly possible, teaching in Polish at primary and secondary levels was replaced by instruction in English in all subjects except religion, Polish history, and Polish language and literature. British educators particularly targeted the secondary schools for reform, especially as they felt that Polish methods of instruction that were previously geared to Polish students earning the Matura were deficient, with too much emphasis placed on rote learning. As the Committee, in its 1956 summary report noted, the “content and methods of Polish education” were profoundly influenced by French models, resulting in a certain rigidity in outlook and presentation, together with a preoccupation with examinations, [which] tended to raise doubts…as to whether such a vigorous mental discipline was altogether in the best interest of [Polish] pupils, who were in many cases ill or backward.30 28

NA ED 128/19; NA ED 128/43. By 1954, all secondary education, both grammar and technical, had been amalgamated to Lilford Park. 29 Dziennik Polski, 23 August 1948, FO 371/71595. 30 Education in Exile (1956), PISM KOL 548/19.

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In developing the curriculum at the secondary level, students in Polish grammar schools studied a varied diet of subjects including: English language and literature, mathematics, ancient and modern history, Latin, Polish, geography, physics, chemistry, biology, music, and physical education. Many of these same subjects were taught at the modern comprehensives, though to a less advanced degree, along with a greater emphasis on practical trade and handicraft subjects. Instruction ran from Monday to Saturday morning, with a typical class day starting at 8:30 a.m. with six 45 minute lessons, lunch for an hour, two to three additional afternoon classes, a half-hour tea break, an hour or so for games, supper at 6:30 p.m., with time for homework in the evening, and lights out by 10:30 p.m.31 The rigidity of students’ daily routine left little free time and this did subsequently become an area of concern for Committee school inspectors who worried about potential developmental problems caused by insufficient opportunities to pursue individual interests and to become more independent. As one inspector noted in his January 1951 inspection report detailing his visit to Stowell Park Grammar School for Girls: In view of the amount of time given to book learning, with all the accompanying written exercises and memory work, one would expect to find some kind of break or change…from the rather monotonous sequence of lessons and homework. The fact that the school is a boarding school should facilitate the development of a variety of leisure time activities which would give the girls a chance to pursue their personal tastes and interests, to explore and develop new skills and, above all, to learn how to manage their own affairs without constant direction from above. It is sad to find how many girls are lacking in the capacity to make decisions or to assume responsibility, even in small matters. The fault lies, not in the girls themselves, but in the prevailing circumstances, which offer no scope for initiative; everything is arranged.32

The inspector’s plea for a more balanced work/life schedule was understandable, though unrealistic given the circumstances. With interrupted educations, most Polish students needed to cover a significant amount of ground quickly: pursuits not directly related to completing their education were a luxury few could afford in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Moreover, such a critique was out of place given that educators at 31

NA ED 128/19; NA ED 128/31. Inspection Report of the Polish Grammar School for Girls, Stowell Park, 15–18 January 1951, NA ED 128/19; Inspection Report of the Polish Technical School, Lilford, 17–18 May 1949, Ibid.

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Stowell Park and other Polish schools were working towards Committee directives to educate Poles as quickly as possible: this pressure was primarily responsible for the rigorousness of the educational curriculum. A final critical area of reform pursued by the Committee concerned teacher training. There was anxiety that the English-language proficiency of Polish teachers was inadequate, thereby threatening the ability of students to learn the language and eventually transition into local British schools, pass key examinations such as the English language and literature O-levels, or find employment. Polish educators were subsequently provided with training schemes that focused on standardizing methods for the instruction of pupils in English and expected to take examinations to prove their English-language proficiency. Teachers were also potentially subject to formal classroom inspections to determine their fitness to instruct, and remuneration was tied to the acquisition of satisfactory English language skills.33 Fears about the English language abilities of Polish teaching staff proved, on the whole, unwarranted. Problems of fluency were sufficiently few and largely confined to primary level personnel. At the secondary level, most English language and literature instructors were native speakers; those who were Polish had lived many years in Britain and were sufficiently fluent. Polish tutors in other subjects were also highly qualified, as subsequent inspection reports clearly indicate. For instance, a Bottisham Grammar School inspector reported unease in June 1949 that, in contrast to Polish instructors, some of the British teaching staff were “well-meaning amateurs” whose standard was “quite definitely lower than that of any of the Polish teachers”. Furthermore, Polish instructors were judged to be generally more engaged than British teachers and, not surprisingly, better able to relate to their students.34 By the early 1950s, the Committee had achieved what it considered satisfactory progress in reforming Polish education. Critiques of past Polish educational practices and various pressures placed on school administrators and teachers reflected, to a degree, an underlying snobbery and belief that the British educational system was superior. Nonetheless, it is important to stress that a genuine, cooperative spirit existed among British and Polish members of the Committee as well as between the Committee and the Polish and British teaching staff it supervised. In achieving its goals, the Committee was flexible and willing to work in a close, consultative manner. For example, in the early 1950s, passing 33

NA FO 371/71595; NA ED 128/31. Report on the Secondary School for Polish Boys at Bottisham, 20–21 June 1949, NA ED 128/19.

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the English section of both the General Certificate of Education and University matriculation exams was proving to be a major hurdle that many otherwise well-qualified Polish students were unable to overcome. The cause for this was largely due to students failing the composition portion of the English test, where the task set proved difficult for Polish students unfamiliar with English idioms, customs, culture and habits. For example, one of the exercises was to “write a letter to your friend abroad describing your house or flat”, a seemingly simple task for a British student. For Polish students, though, this exercise could be quite abstract; many could not recollect ever living in a proper house or flat, having spent practically their whole lives in Nissen huts as refugees. Upon consulting with Polish teachers at the secondary level, the Committee approached the London Matriculation and Schools Examination Council in April 1951 to provide an alternative composition paper for Polish students that better reflected their background, experience, and skill-set, and pass rates consequently improved.35 The work of the Committee, and its ability to forge a path forward in the matter of Polish refugee education was particularly impressive given the general animosity towards Poles in Britain in the post-war period. Within British society, fears ran rampant in the 1940s and 1950s, particularly on the left, that Poles were stealing jobs and living off the taxpayer.36 In matters dealing with education, various outcries would appear from time to time about the supposed favouritism accorded to Poles over native-born Britons, such as occurred in February 1947, when leftwing Labour MPs and the press criticized the “exclusive” Polish girls’ grammar school in Perthshire (Scotland). As MP Henry Hynd complained before Parliament, Mention has been made, for example, of a Polish girls’ school at Pitlochry. I happen to know it. It is a very exclusive school, and provides a kind of education such as very few girls in this country are getting. That is an exclusive institution which should not be allowed to continue. Let us have 35

NA ED 128/31; Education in Exile (1956), PISM, KOL 548/19. Polish manpower was generally welcomed by the British government after World War Two due to the labour shortage facing the country; however, there was widespread opposition in various unionized sectors of British industry such as coal mining to the employment of Poles based on “British jobs for British workers” arguments. Within Parliament, backbench Labour opposition to the employment of Poles was also strong, in particular amongst those with sympathies for the Soviet Union. For an excellent oral history highlighting the discriminatory problems Poles faced see Andrew Nocon, “A Reluctant Welcome? Poles in Britain in the 1940s,” Oral History 24, no. 1 (1996), 79–87. 36

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it, provided it is open to other people. Let us get these girls mingled with the other girls in this country, if they are to settle down in this country. If they are not to settle down in this country, I suggest we should then give them every facility to go back to Poland at the earliest possible date.37

As Hynd’s views indicate, many in British society felt that Poles were being accorded preferential treatment by the government. Even though this was not generally the case, it is still unsurprising that resentment and a “go home” attitude towards Poles became widespread, especially in a period when ordinary Britons were still subject to rationing, housing shortages, and other types of post-war deprivation. The Committee’s control over the education of Polish youth also aroused suspicions within the Polish community. Prominent in the Polish press was the claim that Polish children were becoming de-nationalized as a consequence of British educational policy and the move to an almost exclusively English-language curriculum. As the “Dziennik Polski” complained in July 1948: Do our young people, let alone our children, read any Polish books at all? Returned home from the holidays from school or convent, [our] children speak English even with their parents. They have simply forgotten how to speak Polish and the parents regard this as something natural against which they do not contend.38

The great difficultly the Committee faced when navigating between the Scylla of British anti-Polish sentiment and the Charybdis of Polish suspicion is underscored in the matter of education scholarships and maintenance grants provided by the Committee to Polish students to study at a British or Irish University, Polish University College, or in technical colleges. Such grants had existed in various forms both during the War, when the government-in-exile controlled them, and afterwards under the authority of the ITC. The Committee, by necessity, continued the scholarship programme because most Poles, as resident aliens, were ineligible for public grants available to British students such as those offered by local education authorities. In organizing scholarship support, the Committee decided that after 1947 the total number of students eligible for support would be capped at 2,000, with about ninety per cent of grants given to ex-servicemen and 37

Hansard HC Deb., 12 February 1947, vol. 433, col. 417; HC Deb., 4 March 1947, vol. 434, col. 34W. 38 Dziennik Polski, 12 July 1948, FO 371/71595.

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women; this decision was made in response to fears of giving the impression of favouring Poles at the expense of native students.39 Such a cap meant that some capable young Polish adults would be disappointed and effectively denied access to higher education—older Polish students outside the traditional age range for university study were particularly hard hit.40 Still, this action must be seen within the context of the period. At a time when Britain was still recovering from war, the government committed to providing maintenance grants that averaged typically between £230 and £254 per student per year. Returning Polish soldiers seeking higher education actually had slightly more opportunity to qualify for study grants when compared to de-mobbed British soldiers, with one per cent of the Polish ex-servicemen eligible versus 0.69 per cent for native Britons.41 In the latter half of 1948, controversy over the grants within both the Polish community and in British society erupted. In September, complaints arose amongst members of the London Polish community that the Committee was favouring Poles who were in the “anti-Mikoáajczyk” camp of the government-in-exile.42 Internally, the Committee was dismayed by the claims by pro-Mikoáajczyk forces, judging them without merit. In October, the Committee met with representatives of the Polish press to better publicize to the wider community the financial support available to Polish students. Polish newspapers such as the “Dziennik Polski” ran stories describing how the Committee supported 3,247 students in the 1947–48 school year and would be supporting at least 2,600 in 1948–49, with this number potentially rising to more than 3,000 students.43 The number of available stipends publicized in the Polish press was, however, incorrect. Even so, the damage had been done as Henry Hynd 39

NA ED 128/143. IWM, Peter Fleming Collection. As recounted by Fleming, the effects of not qualifying for aid because of his age meant that he needed to abandon his dream of becoming a dentist. He eventually became a civil servant in Brighton. 41 NA ED 128/143; NA FO 371/71595. 42 Stanisáaw Mikoáajczyk was a leader of the Polish Peoples Party and part of the Polish government-in-exile during the war, serving as Prime Minister of Poland between July 1943 and November 1944. He was persuaded to join the Provisional Government in Warsaw as Deputy Prime Minister in 1945, believing in the promises made by the Yalta powers that there would be free and fair elections in Poland. Mikoáajczyk’s decision to go to Warsaw was seen as an act of betrayal by the government-in-exile. After the communist triumph in the rigged elections of January 1947, Mikoáajczyk was forced to flee Poland, returning initially to London, where he received a decidedly cool reception from many within the Polish community, and then eventually immigrating to the United States. 43 Dziennik Polski, 22 October 1948, NA FO 371/71595. 40

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soon expressed his outrage on the matter, raising the issue of Polish student allowances in the House of Commons. Publicly intimating that Poles were indeed receiving preferential treatment, Hynd asked Education Minister George Tomlinson under “what authority 2,700 Polish students” were receiving maintenance allowances, how were the students were selected, and what was the cost to the taxpayer? At the time, the total number of students receiving support was indeed well above the 2,000 cap due to the continued aid to existing students finishing their degrees. Tomlinson was forced into the less than desirable position of having to publicly defend the grants and explain how the Polish Resettlement Act authorized them.44 In the end, both Polish and British grumbling about the grants subsided as the number of Polish students eligible for and actually requiring assistance fell below 2,000 by the early 1950s; the 1948 controversies surrounding the grants were, in the end, a tempest in a teapot. Nonetheless, this episode highlights the complicated, politically delicate nature of the Committee’s work in promoting Polish access to British further and higher education.45

Polish Education in Britain: An Assessment Polish exiles, in cooperation with the British authorities, built an extensive educational network that supported the educational needs of thousands of children and young adults. The scale of the efforts both in Britain and abroad was impressive; while there is no recompense for the childhoods that the war damaged, in the period between 1940 and 1954 a remarkable commitment was made by Polish and British educators, civil servants, politicians, and ordinary men and women to ensure that younger wartime and post-war refugees had opportunities to successfully develop intellectually and socially. The skills acquired in schools, colleges, and universities subsequently provided a means to become full citizens in their adopted societies. While Polish education in this period can hardly be 44 NA FO 371/71595; Hansard HC 2, December 1948 vol. 458, cols. 207–8W. Tomlinson noted in his response that between April and October 1948, the total amount of grant aid spent on Polish maintenance grants was 393,000 pounds. 45 NA ED 128/42; NA ED 128/43. Grants to Polish students would continue to be issued by the Committee until its demise in 1954; thereafter, a new Advisory Committee within the Ministry of Education continued the programme, though by late 1950s fewer than 100 students were still receiving awards. By 1962, when the programme effectively ended, this number had dwindled to a mere handful, mostly comprising Polish teenagers who were able to leave Poland after 1956 to be reunited with family in Britain.

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described as “normal”, it did contribute substantially to the normalization of a generation of Poles traumatized by war and dislocation. In examining education efforts made on behalf of Poles given the postwar realities after 1945, the work of the Committee for the Education of Poles in Great Britain was particularly noteworthy. While the Committee could not be all things to all people, and nor was it without its faults and ingrained prejudices, its actions in matters related to the Polish education were competent and commendable—by present-day standards they were enlightened, and this is perhaps the larger legacy of this history. In an era where the number of refugees and asylum seekers in western countries is rapidly rising and public toleration and patience with them is in short supply, the past Polish experience in Britain highlights an alternative process for negotiating immigrant refugee acculturation, especially with regard to children and young adults. Under the Committee’s oversight, a clear pedagogical programme was developed that enabled thousands of Polish refugees to receive vocational and non-vocational instruction at secondary and university level; by the time of its formal disbandment in September 1954, it had provided a means through which many young post-war Polish refugees obtained the social and cultural capital that would enable them to integrate successfully into British life, or life elsewhere in the west.

CHAPTER NINETEEN ARGENTINA’S ATTEMPT TO FOSTER IMMIGRATION FROM EASTERN EUROPE IN THE 1990S SILVIA G. DAPÍA

As a result of authoritarian regimes, particularly that of the 1970s, and economic crises, Argentina recently has become a country of emigration. However, Argentina’s history has been shaped extensively by immigration. Indeed the 1853 Constitution reflected the idea that immigration was the most important tool for the transformation of Argentina into a modern nation. Between 1830 and 1950, the number of immigrants entering Argentina was exceeded only by those arriving in the United States. In 1992, because of manipulation of the currency exchange rates, the Argentine economy appeared to be experiencing rapid growth. This false sense of growth seemed to justify President Carlos Menem’s decision to attract 300,000 central and east Europeans to Argentina. He even went so far as to make a formal presentation of the idea before the European Union. This chapter will examine the specifics of this selective immigration policy, how it affected east European emigration to Argentina, and how it differed from that of other nations. To accomplish this, I will examine different phases of immigration to Argentina so as to create a context for the central topic; that is to say, the east European immigration of the 1990s.

Historical Waves of Immigration to Argentina1 In recent decades Argentina has received immigrants from Korea, Taiwan, and the surrounding South American countries. But between 1830 1

Some of the following information on Argentine immigration perspectives is taken from my earlier article, Silvia G. Dapía, “Polish and Jewish Identities in the Narratives of Ana María Shua,” Polish American Studies 65, no. 2 (Autumn 2008), 53–69.

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and 1950, Argentina received 8.2 million European immigrants, a figure exceeded only by the number of European immigrants to the United States.2 As was the case in the United States, Italians and Jews—the latter coming mostly from East European countries like Poland and Russia— constituted the two largest groups entering Argentina. During the second half of the nineteenth century, an early supporter of liberal economics in Argentina, Juan Bautista Alberdi, concerned over what he perceived to be the under–population of Argentina, asserted: “Gobernar es poblar” (To govern is to populate). Argentina’s immigration policies have been closely related to this idea. The 1853 Constitution reflected a strong concern for populating the country, including a clause regarding European immigration: The Federal Government shall foster European immigration; and may not restrict, limit or burden with any tax whatsoever, the entry into the Argentine territory of foreigners who arrive for the purpose of tilling the soil, improving industries, and introducing and teaching arts and sciences.3

The 1853 Constitution reflects the liberal economic thinking of Alberdi and Domingo Faustino Sarmiento, among others. Alberdi created the famous phrase “to govern is to populate” to encapsulate the idea that immigration was the most important tool for the transformation of Argentina into a modern nation. In Alberdi’s view, education by itself was not going to be able to change the stagnant nature of an inherited Spanish colonial society. Even if one makes the gaucho “go through the transformation of the best education system”, Alberdi thought, “not even in a hundred years will you get an English worker”.4 For Alberdi, the alternative was to bring to Argentina from developed Europe a population that had modern skills and a work ethic. Anglo-Saxons, Alberdi proclaimed, “are identified with the steamship, with commerce, and with liberty, and it will be impossible to establish these things among us without the active cooperation of that progressive and cultivated race”. Spaniards, Alberdi argued further, were “incapable of establishing a 2

Julia Albarracín, “Explaining Immigration Policies in Argentina During the 1990s: European Immigration, ‘a Marriage in Sickness and in Health,’” a paper delivered at the 2003 meeting of the Latin American Studies Association, Dallas, Texas, 27– 29 March 2003, 1. 3 “Constitución Política de la República Argentina de 1853,” http://pdba.georgetown.edu/Constitutions/Argentina/arg1853.html (accessed 26 July 2012). 4 See Juan Bautista Alberdi, Bases y Puntos de Partida para la Organización Política de la República Argentina (Buenos Aires: Eudeba, 1966).

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republic”, either here in America or there in Spain.5 Sarmiento, another supporter of liberal economics during the second half of the nineteenth century, delineated the terms of the debate in the “civilization–barbarism” dichotomy. Sarmiento agreed with Alberdi that the local population would not be able to develop and adapt to modern civilization under its current conditions. For one thing, the Spanish legacy had to be totally eradicated because it was regarded as a symbol of backwardness, and along with it there were calls for the elimination of the famous gaucho, whose image was equated politically with the idea of federalism. In Sarmiento’s view, the gaucho had no means of subsistence, no education, living happily in his poverty and barbarism; for him “mental activities [were] useless or impossible”.6 Therefore, there was no room for him in a modernized Argentina. Like the indigenous peoples, the gaucho had to be pushed aside. The equation was clear to the liberal economic elites: the country needed immigrants that would work the land and transform the country as had been done in the United States. In their eyes, European immigration appeared to be the key to Argentina’s modernization. The most desirable were Anglo-Saxon immigrants, and they should come from Protestant Europe, for these intellectuals believed the people of those countries possessed the qualities necessary for constructing a prosperous, democratic nation guided by Enlightenment principles.7 With the “right” population, the liberal economic elites argued, Argentina would integrate successfully into the modern world as an exporter of agricultural and meat products.8 Thus, Argentina became one of the world’s leading countries of immigration in modern times. Between 1870 to 1914, during what the economic historians named the “first wave of globalization” or the “age of mass migration”, 60 million people migrated from Europe (Britain, Germany, France, the Scandinavian countries, Spain, Italy, Portugal, 5

Alberdi, as quoted in Jeane DeLaney, “National Identity, Nationhood, and Immigration in Argentina: 1810–1930,” Stanford Electronic Humanities Review, vol. 5, no. 2 (1997), http://www.stanford.edu/group/SHR/5–2/delaney.html (accessed 21 December 2007). 6 Domingo Faustino Sarmiento, Life in the Argentine Republic in the Days of the Tyrants; or, Civilization and Barbarism (New York: Macmillan, n.d. (first published in 1868); trans. by Mrs. Horace Mann), 51. 7 Tulio Halperín Donghi “¿Para qué la inmigración? Ideología y política inmigratoria y aceleración del proceso modernizador: El caso Argentino (1810–1914),” Jahrbuch für Geschichte von Staat, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft Lateinamerikas (Köln: Bohlau Verlag, Band 13, 1976), 443. 8 Albarracín, “Explaining Immigration,” 5.

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Poland, Russia, Romania and nations of the former Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman empires) to the New World, and nearly seven million arrived in Argentina (of which about four million eventually returned to their countries of origin).9 Anxious to build a modern Argentine nation, and after waging wars of extermination against the indigenous population, the Argentine state actively sought to attract European workers for agricultural and cattle production to populate the country. The efforts to “Europeanize” Argentina were encompassed in an immigration bureau which was established in Buenos Aries and which appointed immigration officers in Europe to recruit settlers. Upon arrival, immigrants were given temporary lodging in the port of Buenos Aires and free transport from the port of arrival to different zones of the country.10 By 1914 more than 30 per cent of the country’s population and approximately 50 per cent of the population of the city of Buenos Aires were foreign-born. Although the original plan was to recruit Anglo-Saxons, few of these were interested in migrating, except for railway engineers, and temporary residence by investors and bankers interested in economic opportunity but not settlement. Nevertheless, the investments helped to fund the infrastructure of an extraordinarily wealthy agrarian—and meat processing—export economy.11 Those who did come were mainly Italians, followed by Spaniards, Russians, Poles, French, Ottoman Turks, Lebanese, and Syrians.12 At the turn of the century, the first contradictions of the immigrationorientated model surfaced. For one, only as few as eight per cent of immigrants were landowners by 1895, indicating that the colonizing of the land had not developed as expected.13 The structure of rural property ownership was clearly favourable to Argentine elites, which still controlled cattle-raising and agriculture. But the newcomers were occupying positions of increasing status, with 70 per cent of businesses belonging to foreigners. Furthermore, most immigrants settled in the big cities, where

9

Andrés Solimano, “Globalization and International Migration: The Latin American Experience,” UN Comisión Económica para América Latina y el Caribe (CEPAL), vol. 80 (August 2003), 55. 10 David Rock, Argentina 1516–1987: From Spanish Colonization to Alfonsin (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 141. 11 David Rock, “Racking Argentina,” New Left Review, vol. 17 (2002), 5, http://www.newleftreview.org/ (accessed 20 December 2007). 12 Rock, Argentina 1516–1987, 166–67. 13 Ibid., 140.

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they represented 60 per cent of the urban working class.14 Yet, much as in the United States during the same era, immigrants were not becoming Argentine citizens as expected. By 1914, only around two per cent of male foreigners were naturalized.15 The economic liberal elites, who had previously supported immigration, came increasingly to perceive the immigrants’ tendency to refuse naturalization, their inclination to educate their children in their own language and schools, as well as their proclivity to establish their own-language newspapers, aid societies, and hospitals as obstacles to assimilation. However, the greatest challenge represented by the European immigration for the Argentinean ruling class was the introduction into Argentina of the new ideologies of socialism, anarchism, and trade unionism. Thus, as civil unrest grew and strikes multiplied, the Argentinean ruling class blamed the faulty selection of immigrants.16 Reaction did not take long to be felt. Italians and Jews became targets for xenophobic attacks and abuse. No longer would every European settler be welcome in the Argentine community. To prevent the arrival of undesirable strikers and deport the existing ones, the Congress enacted two anti-immigrant laws, the so-called Residence Law in 1902 and the Social Defence Law of 1910. By means of these two laws, the Argentine state would turn down or allow the expulsion of those who, because of their background or leftists ideologies, were regarded as “undesirable elements” or “agitators”.17 14

Carl E. Solberg, Immigration and Nationalism in Argentina and Chile: 1890– 1914 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1970), 44. 15 Halperín Donghi “¿Para qué la inmigración?” 443. 16 Aline Helg, “Race in Argentina and Cuba, 1880–1930: Theory, Policies, and Popular Reaction,” in Richard Graham, ed., The Idea of Race in Latin America, 1870–1940 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1990), 45; Solberg, Immigration and Nationalism, 80–83, 108–113. 17 Helg, “Race in Argentina,” 46. Literature reflects this negative image of the immigrant. Authors such as Carlos María Ocantos lamented the fundamental linguistic and cultural changes being wrought by immigrants in a 1911 novel entitled El peligro (The Danger), and worried about the future of the Argentine nation in view of these massive changes. In ¿Inocentes o culpables? (Innocent or Guilty?) Juan Antonio Argerich, for his part, narrates the life of an impoverished family of Italian origin, the Dagiore family, whose son does not succeed in escaping from his ancestors’ “inferiority” and leads a degraded existence. In the overtly anti-Semitic novel La Bolsa (The Exchange), Julián Martel makes his protagonist, Dr. Glow, lament over the babelic confusion that reigns in Argentine society: “Now we do not even know what we are—French or Spanish, Italians, or English.” On immigration and literature see Fernando Aínsa, “Entre Babel y la Tierra Prometida: Narrativa e inmigración en la Argentina.” Also Brigitte

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To integrate Europeans into the nation, the government initiated an “Argentinization” campaign, which rested on two pillars, mandatory public education and military service. The Argentine elites felt that there was a need to create that single framework of understanding, what Benedict Anderson called a new “imagined community”.18 The newcomers, so the elites thought, had to learn to see themselves as “Argentine” not just as residents of the country. But what did it mean, for the ruling class, to be an Argentinian? The Argentinian elites promoted a nationalism understood as the demand that the Argentine state contain one, and only one, framework against which the people would negotiate their differences. The nationalist movement came alive as an incipient political identity in Argentina around 1910. As a supposed antidote to a perceived weakening of Argentine nationality due to massive immigration, nationalist thinkers created a “cult of pre-liberal and pre-immigrant Argentina”.19 Although there were different brands of nationalism, the main idea they all shared was a desire to “Argentinize” the immigrants through their exposure to a supposedly pre-existing “authentic” Argentine culture.20 Thus, via public education, diverse brands of nationalism attempted to provide immigrants with new forms of loyalty and identification with the nation-state, delineating, in that attempt, a collective Argentine identity which could operate, for those uprooted individuals, as a homogenizing factor, integrating them to the nascent nation-state.21 Natanson, “El discurso sobre la pobreza y la miseria en la literatura argentina sobre la migración.” 18 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1983), 6. 19 David Rock, Authoritarian Argentina: The Nationalist Movement, Its History and Its Impact (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 37. 20 Some Argentine élites looked back to Spain in search of a supposedly preexisting “authentic” Argentine culture that could be inculcated in the newly arrived immigrants. Some others believed that the emerging Argentine nation was a mixture of diverse European and native elements. Ricardo Rojas was one of the few intellectuals who had an inclusive vision, seeing continuity between the indigenous pre-Columbian cultures and modern Argentine nation-state. Furthermore, Rojas called for a complete reorganization of the national school curriculum. Public schools, Rojas believed, should be instrumental in the effort to “define the national conscience” and bring about a “real and fecund patriotism,” focusing their curricula on Spanish language and heritage, Argentine literature, national history and geography. See Ricardo Rojas, La restauración nacionalista (Buenos Aires: Ministerio de Justicia e Instrucción Pública, 1909), 48. 21 The leaders of the nationalist educational movement were Ricardo Rojas and the physician and writer José María Ramos Mejías. On the nationalist educational

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World War I, the high inflation of the 1920s, and the economic crisis of the 1930s led to restrictive migration policies in many destination countries. The United States applied restrictive immigration policies in 1921 and 1924, causing migrants to look at Brazil and Argentina. Argentina received three million European immigrants in the 1920s although approximately two million subsequently left the country.22 The economic crisis of the 1930s also caused European immigration flows to Argentina to diminish, resuming again in the mid-1940s when the Second World War compelled many Europeans to leave their home countries, and sending many of them to Argentina. However, the rapid European economic recovery of the late 1940s and 1950s, combined with the economic decline of Argentina, practically stopped the migration flows from Europe.23 If income per capita gaps between Argentina and Europe closed, income gaps between Argentina and neighbouring Latin American countries such as Paraguay, Bolivia and Chile widened and worked as incentives for migration.24 Thus, since the 1950s, immigration has been dominated by countries of the Southern Cone. Moreover, since the late 1950s, especially in the 1970s, authoritarian regimes have caused Argentinians to emigrate. But Argentinians also emigrated for economic reasons. In 2001–2002 the collapse of the currency experiment of the 1990s prompted a wave of reverse immigration from the country, in many cases to nations from where the original immigrants had come—the direct reverse of what had taken place a century earlier.

Eastern European Immigration in Argentina In the 1920s and 1930s immigration included larger numbers of central and eastern Europeans (Czechs, Slovaks, Lithuanians, Poles,25 Ukrainians26),

movement see Carlos Escudé, “Education, Political Culture and Foreign Policy: The Case of Argentina,” www.argentina–rree.com/documentos/culture_escude.htm (accessed 31 December 2007). 22 Solimano, “Globalization and International Migration,” 55. 23 Andrés Solimano “Development Cycles, Political Regimes and International Migration: Argentina in the Twentieth Century,” United Nations Report No. 22, Economic Development Division, Santiago, Chile, January 2003, 10. 24 Solimano, “Globalization and International Migration,” 57. 25 As with the United States, accurate estimates of the number of Poles who settled in Argentina (and other Latin American nations) is clouded by the absence of a Polish state until after World War I, leading most ethnic Poles to be labelled as Austrians, Germans, or Russians during the earlier years. The number of Argentineans of Polish origin is estimated at 450,000 according to data provided

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by Marta Kania at the Jagiellonian University in Kraków in an e-mail to the author—based on information from Polish embassies in Latin America, local Polish organizations in those countries, and national census data. The larger-scale and more continuous migration of Poles (and Ukrainians), largely from the Galician section of Poland, began in the late 1890s. A peasant migration beginning with 14 families of Ukrainian and Polish origin settled in Misiones Province (northeast Argentina) in 1897; by 1905 it expanded to some 5,000 people. The Argentine government and the province of Misiones, which wanted to develop agriculture in the area, provided each family with 25 to 50 hectares of land, and loans to assist them in establishing farms. Argentine researcher Bernarda Zubrzycki, concluded that “by the end of the first year, visitors reported that the area had taken on a distinctly Polish look, with small homes, roadside chapels, churches, and schools. Aside from foodstuffs, the major commercial crops were tea and yerba mate, a plant that produces a drink somewhat like green tea that is popular in Argentina and its surroundings countries.” In the interwar period Argentina was the second nation in Latin America, after Brazil, to recognize the new independent Polish state. In 1921 and 1924, the United States’ enactment of restrictive immigration policies, caused Poles to look at Argentina and Brazil. Between 1921 and 1930 Argentina received 119,410 Poles and another 31,500 during the depression years of 1931–40. Taken from Bernarda Zubrzycki, “Polish Immigrants in Argentina,” Polish American Studies 69, no. 1 (Spring 2012), 75– 76, 80. For informative recent treatments of East European immigrants in the agricultural colonies in Misiones Province see Ryszard Stemplowski and Leopoldo José Bartolomé, Polacy, Rusini i UkraiĔcy, ArgentyĔczycy: osadnictwo w Misiones 1892–2009 (Warszawa: Muzeum Historii Polskiego Ruchu Ludowego, 2011) and Serge Cipko, Ukrainians in Argentina, 1897–1950: The Making of a Community (Edmonton and Toronto: Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies Press, 2011). The latter also includes information on Ukrainian organizations in Argentina and those established in Paraguay and Uruguay. 26 At the end of the nineteenth century the greater part of Ukraine—central and eastern Ukraine—lay under Russian Tsarist control, while the westernmost fringe of Ukrainian ethnographic territory constituted the Austrian Crown Lands of Galicia and Bukovina and the Hungarian-administered region of Carpathian Rus (Trans-Carpathia). From the early 1890s up to 1914, 15,000 Ukrainian peasants emigrated from the Austrian Crown Lands of eastern Galicia and Bukovyna into Argentina where they settled mostly in the northern Territory of Misiones. While the period 1896–1902 was the most important for immigrants from Austria, especially Galicia, the period 1905–14 was the most important for Ukrainians from the Russian Empire. As with the Poles who settled in Argentina the number of Ukrainians is clouded by the absence of a Ukrainian state until the 1990s, leading most ethnic Ukrainians to be labelled as Austrians or Russians during the earlier years. After 1918 the situation became further confused as the former Austrian Galicia became part of the newly created Poland, and its Ukrainian population, formerly Austrian by nationality, became Polish nationals. From 1920–1939, 80,000 Ukrainians emigrated to Argentina of whom about 70,000 remained. The

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a pattern that continued in the years following World War II. In 1992, during his first term in office (1989–1995), Carlos Menem announced his plan to attract 300,000 central and eastern Europeans to Argentina.27 In February, he presented it to the European Union. In addition, he expected to receive financial assistance from international institutions and banks to fund his plan. The programme would include Spanish courses, temporary lodging at the time of arrival, and loans for housing and entrepreneurial activities. Although the financial aid did not materialize, the facilities for the entry of these Europeans remained in place. In 1991, a South American common market or Mercosur was created. Its founding members were Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay, and Uruguay. Chile and Bolivia signed free-trade agreements with Mercosur in 1992. The creation of Mercosur probably influenced the enactment of an amnesty for neighbouring migrants in 1992. Menem stated that this policy placed the nation on the road to complete integration with its Mercosur partners. 1992 was therefore a year of policies that fostered immigration. In 1994, the Ministry of the Interior decided to enact Resolution 4632/94, which provided special treatment of people coming from eastern Europe. This law allowed these people to apply for a temporary residency visa for a year without a job contract as required by previous immigration laws (December 1023/94 in 1994). In 1999 sources from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs estimated that between 6,500 and 7,500 visas were issued under those conditions (the majority for people of Ukrainian nationality). The 2001 Census enumerated 8,156 Ukrainian immigrants (3,705 males vast majority of these came from Galicia and Volyn, then controlled by Poland, and hence carried Polish passports. There was a third phase of Ukrainian immigration into Argentina after the end of the Second World War. From 1946– 50, approximately 6,000 Ukrainians arrived, although it is thought that up to two thirds of these may have returned (re-emigrated). Most of these immigrants who remained in Argentina settled in Buenos Aires and environs. Since the independence of Ukraine in 1991 there has been a trickle of Ukrainian immigration to Argentina. Again, most of these new immigrants have settled in Buenos Aires and environs. Based on information in M. Vasylyk, “Ukraintsi v Argentini z hospodarskoho pohliadu,” Kalendar Almanakh Vidrodzhennia perestupny rik 1972 (Buenos Aires: Vidrodzhennia, 1972), 18–35, as presented in John C. Lehr and Serge Cipko, “Contested Identities: Competing Articulations of the National Heritage of Pioneer Settlers in Misiones, Argentina,” Prairie Perspectives: Geographical Essays 3 (2000; Jacek I. Romanowski, ed.), 165–80. 27 These included Poland, The Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Croatia, Yugoslavia, Slovenia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Albania, Russia, Armenia, Georgia, Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania, Belarus, Bulgaria, Moldavia, Macedonia, Ukraine and Romania.

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and 4.451 female). This number included the Ukrainians who arrived in Argentina in the interwar period (36 per cent who were 65 years old or older), and recently arrived immigrants (44 per cent of who declared they had arrived within the five years prior to the 2001 census).28 But the two groups (South American and eastern European) did not seem to be treated equally by the Argentine government. Although the Argentine state decided to reverse its policy and require a job offer in order to be eligible for a work visa, a policy that was supposed to apply to everyone, a major exception was soon made. That same year, Resolution 4632/94 was approved allowing central and eastern Europeans to simply provide their national origin and adequate identity to apply for residency. Thus, despite the new law, the two groups continued to be treated quite differently.29 When the country’s economy deteriorated, the predictable concerns about immigrants taking jobs away from local workers started to circulate. This generated anti-immigration sentiments that curiously were not directed toward the European immigrants, but towards the South Americans who were blamed for enjoying social services to which they were supposedly not contributing with taxes, and for different social ills. Images of South American immigrants as criminals abounded in the media. Thus, as Julia Albarracín rightly indicated, immigrants from neighbouring countries appeared to be the barometer of the economic situation and as soon as the economic situation became uncertain, Argentina’s doors were closed to its neighbours.30 Albarracín posed a very pertinent question: “Why, then, does the state of the economy shape policies for neighbouring countries’ migrants, but not the immigration rules for Europeans? What determines this double standard for Europeans and Latin Americans?” She explained this by discarding the argument “that neighbouring immigrants compete with Argentines for the same jobs”. According to Albarracín, fears about the economic effects of labour-market competition among low-skilled workers were not realistic because “the Argentine labour force has been traditionally educated and skilled, and thus should face more competition from Europeans than migrants from the region”.31 However, Albarracín appears to treat Argentina as if it were an entirely middle class society. Realistically, it was the lower economic class that “competed” for jobs with immigrants from the surrounding nations. Furthermore, since 28 See María Inés Pacecca and Corina Courtis “Inmigración contemporánea en Argentina: dinámicas y políticas,” CEPAL 84 (Santiago de Chile, 2008), 34–35. 29 Albarracín, “Explaining Immigration,” 8. 30 Ibid., 11–16. 31 Ibid., 10–11.

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educated immigrants from central and eastern Europe, who in her view ought to be the real competition for the middle class, in practice were not a threat because they lacked the language skills in Spanish and the governmental red tape placed in the way of recognition of foreign degrees relegated many of the new immigrants to the lower paying jobs that regional immigrants might otherwise have taken. In any case, the so-called competition with the lower classes did not seem to have any impact on the economy.32 This seeming incongruity—rejecting Spanish-speaking people from neighbouring nations in favour of people from considerably different linguistic groups—fits exactly with the Argentinian imagined national identity. Throughout history, Argentines sought to create a “European” imagined community, preferring to think of themselves as European rather than Latin American. So, once again, Menem’s decision to privilege central and eastern European immigration, while not necessarily based on economic needs, is in keeping with the traditional Argentine “imagined community”; that is, emphasizing the European aspects of its imaginary national identity. In this case, it was also to the benefit of Poles, Ukrainians, and others wishing to migrate from central and eastern Europe.

32 See Silvia Montoya and Marcela Perticará, “Los migrantes limítrofes aumentan el desempleo?” Novedades Economicas 17, no. 170 (1995), 10–16.

CHAPTER TWENTY STEREOTYPE OF THE POLISH IMMIGRANT WORKER IN FRANCE IN THE CONTEXT OF EUROPEAN INTEGRATION MAàGORZATA PATOK

The European Union (EU) migration policy offers new opportunities for its European citizens in the community labour market. If the flow of workers answers the needs of the local market, it may also be seen as a source of anxiety for the host countries.1 In this sense, the goal is to determine the actual results of the EU migration policy. Integration is defined as a process by which a social group appropriates individuals to ensure its cohesion. Immigrants go through several phases in order to properly adapt to the new society in question. Social integration is always linked with adaptation, and together they cause individuals to share the same values and attitudes of the new group.2 However, behind this mechanism of social integration is a hidden approach that allows for understanding as to how people view each other. Most French citizens are aware of the portrayal of the rural “Polish plumber”—a stereotype largely overstated by the French media. The objective here is to determine whether or not this depiction still affects the opinions of the French people today. This chapter is concerned with the integration of immigrants in the workplace, particularly of the Polish immigrants working in France in low-skilled jobs. It also examines the careers of Polish immigrants along with the attitudes of their French employers and customers have of them. These attitudes are measured against Polish workers in France, so it is 1

“La libre circulation des ressortissants de l’UE,” Comission européenne, http://ec.europa.eu/social/main.jsp?catId=457&langId=fr (accessed August 10 2012). 2 Raymond Boudon, “L’adaptation sociale,” in Dictionnaire de la sociologie, ed. Bernard Valade (Paris: Encyclopaedia Universalis, A. Michel, 1998), 20–23.

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through their discourse and experience that it is possible to understand the impact certain myths have on French society regarding the process of integration. This research is based on semi-structured interviews taking place from 1 October 2011 to 10 March 2012 with Polish immigrants working in France. In the first part, the methodology and the description of the population are discussed; the following section is connected with the results of the research. First, the typical depictions of Polish workers in France are presented. The study then examines the analysis of relations between the Polish immigrants in French society in their workplace. In conclusion, a possible interpretation of the impact of the national stereotypes on the process of integration in France for citizens of both countries is offered.

Methodology and Population This study is based on a corpus of 40 interviews conducted using the qualitative approach of Grounded Theory.3 The sample represents the population of Polish immigrants employed in manual labour or nonmanagerial work in France (Table 1 and Table 2). On the one hand, this social group was a subject of media discourse in 2005 in France, which caused apprehension in public opinion in France. On the other hand, low-skilled work is easily accessible. Employees with a principal status or who are overqualified are also present within the French labour market, but require a different analysis based on elite globalization. However, this is not the objective of this paper.

3

Barney G. Glaser and Anselm L. Strauss, La découverte de la théorie ancrée, stratégies pour la recherche qualitative, trans. Marc-Henry Soulet and Kerralie Oeuvray (Paris: A. Colin, 2010).

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Tab. 20-1: Study population: Women by sex, age and occupation N°

First name

Age

1

Magda

20

2

Monika

3

Dorota

Occupation

N°

First name

Age

Occupation

12

Agnieszka

29

20

Au pair caregiver Intern

13

Dagmara

34

Au pair caregiver Dancer

21

Cleaning lady

14

Edyta

34

Cleaning lady Dancer

4

Monika

22

Vendor

15

Joanna

36

5

Wera

23

16

Marta

36

6

Aleksandra

24

Ice cream Saleswoman Waitress

17

Lucyna

37

7

Agata

25

18

Violeta

37

8

Aleksandra

25

Au pair caregiver Waitress

19

Wioletta

38

Cleaning lady Waitress

9

Sabina

26

51

Secretary

10

Maja

11

Magda

Cleaning lady Guard

20

Maágorzata

27

Au pair caregiver Dancer

21

Jolanta

57

Hostess

28

Secretary

22

Aleksandra

61

Waitress

Tab. 20-2: Study population: Men by sex, age and occupation N°

First name

Age

Occupation

N°

First name

Age

10

Wojciech

34

11

Marek

35

12

Robert

36

13

Darek

36

14

Paweá

38

Occupation

1

Kamil

21

2

àukasz

23

3

Artur

24

4

Artur

27

5

Grzegorz

27

Construction worker Construction worker Construction worker Construction worker Plumber

Construction worker Plumber

6

Paweá

27

Vendor

15

Grzegorz

41

Construction worker Mechanic

7

Waldemar

27

Mason

16

Piotr

42

Mason

8

Konrad

30

Engineer

17

Marian

55

Guard

9

Mariusz

33

Construction worker

18

Mariusz

56

Construction worker

Construction worker Chauffer

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Research Results Typical Depictions of Polish Workers in France Origins and Motivations for Immigrating to France First, it is necessary to identify why the Polish worker chose to immigrate to France.4 Also, it is important to ascertain whether the immigrant is from the countryside and willing to work for a lower wage as popularly believed by French opinion. The interviews clearly show that the answers to these questions are primarily based on three different motives: 1. The immigrant’s arrival in France is unplanned. Initially, he or she was looking for work in Poland, but instead found an opportunity to work abroad in France. He or she is not aware of differences between France and Poland, especially concerning the French labour market. The immigrant arrives alone and does not know anyone in France. This applies to both men and women who have not established their own families. 2. The immigrant joins their family or friends, already working in France. He or she comes to France already having the guarantee of a job and place to stay. The immigrant is seen to be in a better position thanks to a network of contacts in France. These are women and men, who, upon arrival, usually have a family and children in Poland. 3. The immigrant, mostly represented by young women, has already had contact with the French language, and dreams of immersing him- or herself in French culture and integrating into French society, which cultivates the myth of France as a friendly country renowned for its artistic heritage. This type of immigrant would like to achieve a professional status in France. Enterprises: Organizational Structures and Working Conditions The interviews show that as a result of new European standards, three different types of company employ Polish immigrants in France. 4

Following the political changes in Poland starting in the early 90s, the migration patterns for the majority of Polish immigrants of the middle class are primarily economic ones. In terms of destinations for Polish emigrants, France ranks seventh, compared to other EU countries such as, Britain, Germany, Ireland, the Netherlands, Italy and Spain. Ryszard Bera, Emigranci Polscy w nowym Ğrodowisku pracy (Lublin: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Marii Curie-Skáodowskiej, 2011), 27.

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1. The company is French, registered in France and pays its taxes in France. It may be either a French or Polish business. Since the opening of the labour market for Poles in 2008, Polish immigrants are supposed to be employed under the same rules and rights as French workers.5 2. The company is Polish and registered in Poland, but operates only in France. The employees are technically registered in Poland but work and are located permanently in France. They often come from the same town or village in Poland and are provided with housing by their employer. The company employs an average of 10 permanent employees and several seasonal workers (often illegally). 3. The company relates to foreign franchises in France and employs people of varied ethnicity. The company employs many foreigners, who receive equal treatment by the managers—also often of foreign origin. All formal aspects are quickly resolved. Workers often take advantage of several benefits, such as training provided or funded by the company in order to improve their skills. It should be noted that the fact of being employed in different companies, in particular: Polish, French or foreign, has an impact on the standard of living of the immigrant and the immigrant’s future livelihood as well (e.g. salary, health, retirement benefits, etc.). Career Stages: The Categories of Workers and Sequential Models of Professionalization The Polish immigrant working in France goes through several phases of professional development. The research shows that three models of career development can be distinguished: 1. The Stagnation Model. Cleaning workers or waiter/waitresses mainly represent this lack of professional development. Workers in this model have performed the same job since their arrival. Both the skills and the profession do not change, in contrast to contact networks that help the worker to choose only the most favourable offers. In the area of gastronomy, the situation is moreover reassuring and stable (documents, an insurance, a contract, the knowledge of the rights and obligations). As a result, the individual does not wish to look for other occupations. Women usually represent this model. 2. The “Jack of all trades” Model. Here, a person holds different occupations for many years. For example, he or she is simultaneously, for 5

“Wspóápraca gospodarcza: Francja,” Polskie Ministerstwo Gospodarki, http://www.mg.gov.pl/Wspolpraca+z+zagranica/Wspolpraca+gospodarcza+Polski +z+krajami+UE+i+EFTA/francja.htm (accessed 10 August 2012).

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example, a circus artist, mechanic and a lorry driver at the same time. This is primarily a way to make money, which could be used for personal projects such as a return to education. This model often applies to men. 3. The Developing Career Model. This model is based on promotion, e.g. starting from an assistant to an owner of a renovation company. Young male immigrants working in companies involved in renovation usually represent this model. Once employed, the worker goes through several stages. Beginning as an assistant, the worker gradually learns other skills (brickwork, electrical, plumbing, etc.). Finally, the worker is financially independent and versatile, and can open a business.

Competition It should be determined whether the lower wages of immigrant workers are a form of “competitive strategy”, allowing immigrant workers to have the edge in the French labour market, or simply the result of the employer’s discrimination against the Polish workers. The interviews show that, certain of their position in the French labour market, Poles do not very often experience competition for work. Regarding the example in the renovation and construction market, it should be noted that Polish immigrants are often in frequent contact with French, Portuguese, Arabs and workers from the post-Soviet states. In addition, Poles say that they are seen as competitive in France because of their diligence, effectiveness, practicality, theoretical knowledge of business, or the reasonable price of their services. However, we have identified two potential sources of competition for work faced by Poles in France. 1. Unemployed Polish workers try to take another worker’s position for a lower wage. They are often men specialized in the fields of renovation and construction. 2. Foreigners outside of the EU (e.g. Ukraine and Moldova). Having no documents to be employed, they work illegally so they are offered lower wages. Moreover, these cheap services may also result from the lack of knowledge of the French labour market among the new arrivals. They are usually women employed as cleaning ladies and men specialized in the construction and renovation domain.

Plans for the Future Does the worker want to stay in France or does he or she plan to return to Poland? Does he or she take away French capital, or does this actually

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help stimulate the French economy? The interviews clearly show that here, we can distinguish four types of worker: 1. Workers who stay. Usually this decision is made after spending several years in France. Often these workers have already established their families abroad. After that, people find that their networks of professional contacts and of friendships are mainly or completely in France. The worker starts to feel “at home”, and he or she even feels afraid to return. Both having the experience of being unemployed in Poland and/or being paid much less makes them unsure about returning. There is a “turning point”: once the worker makes the decision to stay in France, his or her lifestyle changes. Saving money is no longer the main priority and he or she starts to “live as the French”, for example, taking vacations. 2. Workers without any future plans. Young female and male workers without a plan want to stay but are unsure for how long. They are happy to be in France, but do not wish to plan the future. At the same time, these workers can save money and make investments such as buying an apartment. 3. Workers who desire to work abroad. On the one hand, these are young people with the need to achieve a professional status (e.g. luxury boutique vendors, office workers for renovation businesses, etc.). They want their employer to move them for a short time (one or two years) to another city or country for a new experience. On the other hand, workers, who before coming to France were living in another foreign country for many years, represent a desire to return there. They usually stay in France because of some administrative (work-related accident, or terms of the contract) and/or family (children education in France) obligations. 4. Workers who want to return to Poland. On the one hand, they are individuals that are rather well educated and speak French, but who have had difficulty adapting to French society. They often feel “rejected” by the French (Parisians). Feeling alone in France, they wait impatiently for the contract to end. They are unhappy at being so far from their homeland, families and friends. On the other hand, there are also people who have worked in France for a long time. They do not speak French, so they do not make an effort to integrate. Working in France is a strategy to save money to help their children studying in Poland and to prepare their own return (a financial base for the future). They live in modest conditions to save as much money as possible. Since the opening of the labour market for Poles in France in 2008, these workers are less common.

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Relations between Polish Immigrants and French Society in the Workplace After looking at the typical depictions of Polish workers in France, the everyday relationships at work were analysed to finally understand the process of integration and adaptation of Polish immigrants into French society.

The Role of Language in Establishing Contact with French Society Language is a fundamental factor in the integration process. That is why it is important to ask the question concerning differences between French and Polish language etymologies, which could create a cultural barrier, based on misunderstanding. The interviews show that there are Poles who usually feel they must learn the French language. Moreover, throughout history, Poland was a country with a high level of emigration and a low level of immigration.6 As a result, it was the Poles who were learning French, almost never the reverse. Therefore, to what the extent does the effort to learn a foreign language create a sense of dominance attributed to the French by the Polish immigrants? First of all, the interviews show that the Polish workers perceive the knowledge of French as a necessity: “We need to integrate. [...] If you do not speak French, it’s as if you were disabled” (Sabina, 26-year-old, au pair). In addition, the ambition to take advantage of professional skills mobilizes workers to make an effort to learn. For example, a young engineer taking a course in theatre is more comfortable speaking French: Working in construction is primarily working with people [...]. It is a diplomatic work. If you do not speak the language needed, you do not work at all (Konrad, 30-year-old engineer).

On the one hand, workers are sometimes encouraged: “The French, when they hear that you speak their language and you make an effort to be a part of their culture, they react very positively” (Weronika, 25-year-old ice cream sales). On the other hand, workers can be frustrated by an inability to communicate in English. “The French people reply in French, 6

Robert RauziĔski, “Migracje zagraniczne Polaków w XX i XXI wieku w Ğwietle badaĔ demograficznych,” in Emigracja jako problem lokalny i globalny, Aleksander Lipski and Wiesáawa Walkowska, eds. (Mysáowice: GórnoĞląska WyĪsza Szkoáa Pedagogiczna, 2010), 11.

Stereotype of the Polish Immigrant Worker in France

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when I ask (something) in English. (…) Once a lady said to me that we are in France so here we speak French”, (Paweá, 27-year-old vendor). “The French think their language is the king of all languages” (Joanna, 36-yearold dancer). Finally, the worker without language skills has low self-esteem: “It is certain that the French will not employ a Polish woman who does not speak French to babysit their children” (Dorota, 21-year-old cleaning lady).

The Representation of Poland and the Polish Worker from a French Point of View In general, common French knowledge about Poland is rather limited. Indeed, the representation of this country is very limited. The interviews with Polish immigrants in France show that the French perceptions of Poland can be grouped into four descriptions. 1. Poland is a cold country located in eastern Europe next to Germany. 2. Poland is a poor Catholic country ravaged by a difficult period of communism in its past. “They think that we wash our clothes in the river. One lady asked me, if we have washing machines in Poland and she wanted to explain me how to use it” (Marta, 34-year-old cleaning lady) 3. Polish people work very hard and they like to drink vodka. “Often they ask me if I do the plumbing [...]. The Polish worker must be a plumber right away! [...] The Polish are always drunk, because there is this expression to be drunk as a Pole [...] which comes from Napoleon’s period”7 (Waldemar, 28-year-old mason) 4. People are believed to be blond, with blues eyes. Immigrant Reaction to this Representation On the basis of interviews with Polish workers in France, Polish Immigrants have three main reactions to the French depictions of Poland and Polish culture as well as common French knowledge about Poland: 1.Poles do not have an opinion and they do not react emotionally. Women usually represent this type. 7

“Soûl comme un Polonais” is a 20th century French expression, which means, “completely drunk.” The explanation comes from The Napoleonic era when Polish solders where highly appreciated. The anecdote suggests that despite drinking in the evening, they were known for being ready for battle in the morning, in contrast to the French. “Expressions françaises,” http://www.expressions-francaises.fr /expressions-s/628-soul-comme-un-polonais.html (accessed 9 August 2012).

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2.Immigrants who laugh about these depictions. Often, they are young or middle-aged female and male workers well integrated with French society. “When they ask if polar bears walk on our streets, I like to often reply that yes, this is true!” (Joanna, 36-year-old dancer). 3. Workers react angrily with disgust. Generally, middle-aged conservative men are represented in this category. I do not know if it’s arrogance or a lack of knowledge on their part”, or for an advertising of Euro 2012 “The expression ‘Discover Poland’ seen in subways, it seems strange. There’s a difference between ‘Discover Poland’ and ‘Get to Know Poland,’ Poland has already been discovered [...]. They appropriate the identity of Marie Curie. She was originally known as Maria Skáodowska and she was a Polish and not a French woman (Waldemar, 28year-old mason).

Cultural Expectations: Attitudes of French Employers and Clients towards the Polish Worker and Vice Versa This approach highlights the influence of cultural expectations attributed to Polish immigrants in France. Here, the question about worker status in the labour market was asked. This status is analysed through the prism of the French imagination and the image created by the immigrant, which are measured in the discourse and experience of the Polish worker. First of all, the interviews show that being Polish is often advantageous, especially among the young women working as waitresses and the young men employed by renovation companies. “I was employed immediately when the boss saw that I’m Polish. He told me that he likes to employ Poles because they work well” (Aleksandra, 25-year-old waitress). Immigrants also meet employers who take advantage of their lack of knowledge regarding French labour laws. These situations involve people arriving for short periods (e.g. for three months) and are ready to work illegally. Usually, they depend on the employer who offers housing. In addition, Poles do not have the same rights as their French co-workers (e.g. vacation time, internships, and holiday pay) though this changes when they insist on obtaining them. Secondly, according to Polish worker opinion, the difference between a friend and a colleague is greater in France. However, French colleagues are very helpful in administrative procedures, but they tend to hold themselves in high regard. They are specialized in one area (e.g. in masonry), in contrast to the versatile Poles ready to change their occupation and to be responsible for several domains in one company (e.g. masonry, electricity and plumbing).

Stereotype of the Polish Immigrant Worker in France

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Finally, customers are satisfied with the services of Polish workers. Their satisfaction is usually expressed by the premiums and recommendations. They are also very helpful for example in learning the French language. “The lady called us by emphasizing that she wants Poles to repair her home” (Grzegorz, 28-year-old plumber). However, they may be jealous: “I was fired by a lady when my husband came to pick me up and she saw that he had a nice car” (Marta, 36-year-old cleaning lady).

Integration of a Worker Taking into account the knowledge of the French language, the character of the company and the work performed, based on the results of this research three types of Polish worker integration can be distinguished. 1. The immigrant is not integrated because he or she only works with other Poles. These are often the manual workers in Polish construction and cleaning enterprises. Representing different age groups, these people have no contact with either the French or other non-Polish immigrants. They do not speak French so their everyday life is limited to the Polish community in France. 2. These workers are well integrated with French workers, but not with the Polish community in France. They speak French well. The immigrants work either in French businesses or for foreign franchises. Their limited contact with other Poles is often a strategy of adaptation with the French society. Moreover, these people usually have or had a partner of French origin. “I knew that to feel good here I must be among the French people, understand their culture” (Paweá, 27-year-old vendor). 3. Feeling rejected by the French (mostly by the Parisians), they integrate very well with other immigrants of different ethnicity. These workers often speak French and have many contacts with other foreigners sharing the same problems of adaptation in France. The other immigrants often meet outside the workplace, such as religious associations. These workers think that close relations with French are rarely possible, in contrast to close relations with immigrants. “There is quite a division: the French and the foreigners” (Agata, 25-year-old au pair).

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The Integration Process and the Stereotype Integration is a starting point for the creation of the European Union.8 Having been implemented over many years at various levels (political, economic, cultural, etc.), this is directly related to the coexistence of citizens living in the different countries of one community. Nevertheless, and despite all European strategies, resistance to integration is inevitable.9 Behind these barriers, one can find a way in which nations perceive each other.10 These judgments are based on a stereotype forming part of one’s collective beliefs that could be seen as an obstacle for the process of integration. Playing an adaptive role, the stereotype is a perceptual scheme spontaneously associated with certain people. This perceptual scheme allows these persons to be categorized according to a social viewpoint, or how society sees an individual or group. These descriptive and simplified categories are the way by which we can portray others without thinking.11 The shared beliefs concern not only the personal characteristics and the personality traits of a group of people, but also their behaviour.12 Some authors emphasize the emotional nature of a stereotype, assuming that emotion is the core around which a stereotype is created.13 As a source of meaning, the social imagery can “contain” both negative and positive representations including emotions and attitudes towards another group of people. These emotions and attitudes have their sources in history or in the past and in current political situations.14 The myth of the rural Polish worker popularized by the mass media in France is one of the examples of these social beliefs. It is important to note that Polish immigration has a great tradition in France. There was a wave of Polish nobility during the French Revolution and the Napoleonic wars. Polish officers and soldiers were a part of the 8 Kazimierz àastawski, Historia Integracji Europejskiej (ToruĔ: Wydawnictwo Adam Marszaáek, 2006), 9. 9 Jürgen Habermas, Après l’Etat-nation, Une nouvelle constellation politique, trans. Rainer Rochlitz (Paris: Fayard, 2000), 90–91. 10 Ibid., 104–111. 11 François Gresle et al., Dictionnaire des sciences humaines, Anthropologie– Sociologie (Paris: Nathan, 1994), 355. 12 Jacques-Philippe Leyens, Vincent Yzerbyt and Georges Schadron, Stéréotypes et cognition sociale (Sprimont: Mardraga, 1996), 24. 13 Edith Sales-Wuillemin, La categorisation et les stéréotypes en psychologie sociale (Paris: Dunond, 2006), 80–82. 14 Maurice Halbwachs, La mémoire collective (Paris: Albin Michel, 2005).

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French army. The most important period of intellectual and political elite migration is known as the Great Emigration (1831–1870).15 Another wave of migration concerning contract workers to the north of France took place between the two World Wars. After World War II, there was also a crucial intellectual and political emigration from communist Poland.16 Nevertheless, it is the most recent stream of economic migration, since 2004, which set off this controversy with mass media depiction of the rural Polish worker. This discussion was affiliated with the Polish accession to EU structures and the French debate on the European Constitutional Treaty in 2005.17 Firstly, the stereotype of the “Polish plumber” is an image of a good worker who adapts quickly to the foreign labour market. Considered as a very effective and affordable employee, he is seen as being poor, but brave, strong, polite and committed to working hard. This image of a Polish immigrant is linked with Poland’s difficult historical past. The French see Poland as a victim of the Second World War and of Soviet domination after Yalta in 1945. Moreover, in the past, it was a “garden of Europe”. As a result, Poland is still seen as a peasant country with a tradition of agriculture.18 Farmers are generally considered to be resourceful, independent and accustomed to fight for their survival on a daily basis. Secondly, we can evaluate whether the image of the Polish worker is indeed a positive one. It refers, to the stereotype of a single individual, ready to work at low-skilled jobs and unglamorous trades. The immigrant comes to France to look for a higher living standard. The malignant representation of the Polish plumber is one of a rustic and physically strong worker who is without any intellectual aspiration, but has a great need to be recognized as part of the labour market.19 Does this stereotype hide a fear held by French society? Behind this depiction, there is an anxiety about those who come to take “our” jobs in a difficult European 15

Janusz Pezda, “Polska diaspora we Francji do 1870 roku,” in Polska diaspora, ed. Adam Walaszek (Kraków: Wydawnictwo Literackie, 2001), 168–176. 16 Wiesáaw ĝladkowski, “Polska diaspora we Francji 1871–1999), in Polska diaspora, ed. Adam Walaszek (Kraków: Wydawnictwo Literackie, 2001), 181–188. 17 “Bolkestein, c’est bien plus que le plombier polonaise,” Arte Journal, 24 August 2010, http://www.arte.tv/fr/3388070,CmC=3388316.html (accessed 10 August 2012). 18 Michal Warchala, Raport z badaĔ: Polska–Francja, wzajemny wizerunek w okresie rozszerzania Unii Europejskiej (Warszawa: Instytut Spraw Publicznych, 2001), 9–10. 19 Jean Gabriel Fredet, “Le plombier polonais rentre à la maison,” Le nouvel Observateur, 21 July 2011, http://tempsreel.nouvelobs.com/monde/20110701.OBS6261/le-plombier-polonaisrentre-a-la-maison.html (accessed 10 August 2012).

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financial context. They are therefore a real source of competition for “our” workers. If too many decide to come to France, the Poles could threaten the local lifestyle and the old order. Nevertheless, the results of this research demonstrate that according to the Polish worker experience, stereotypical images and portrayals of the Polish worker in France do not necessarily reflect reality. Based on historical depictions, the stereotypes represent more of a distorted misrepresentation of Poles. It therefore highlights the fact that contemporary Poland and its society is not very well known to the majority of the French. Based on interviews with Polish workers in France, the following theses can be advanced: First, the Polish worker is not an immigrant willing to work in France for any salary. In general, he or she may look for an occupation that will allow him or her to increase his or her personal standard of living. However, he or she usually arrives in France rather by chance due to a personal situation either via a network of contacts currently in France or through the current demand of the local labour market. It should be noted that today’s France is not the first choice of destination for Poland’s economic migrants. Furthermore, with the exception of the Polish companies in the French market, the Polish worker can be employed on the same principles as French citizens. They require no special procedures to work legally in France. Once a Polish worker knows his or her rights, he or she wishes to be respected in the same way as a French counterpart though this is not always the case. Little by little, Poles in France want to have the same opportunities as the French. They want to live like the French, and spend money on small pleasures during their free time. As a result, they do not always send money back to Poland, as French society commonly may suspect, but instead use their savings in their country of residence. Obviously, there are also Poles whose sole intention is to save money for their future in Poland, but they are becoming less common in France. Their future plans are also contradictory to French opinion. If the young Polish worker feels good in France, he or she is ready to stay, have a family and invests his or her savings. Moreover, they often help their French employers by putting them in touch with contacts and business partners in Poland. In addition, the Polish worker in France is usually not a rural immigrant. At the same time, though regarded as little cultivated, the workers make a great effort to learn the French language in order to be comfortable in everyday situations. They are usually embarrassed or even ashamed when they cannot speak French.

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This present research shows that the image of Poland confronting the interviewed Polish workers in France is far from true. Having developed very rapidly during its period of transformation in the early 1990s, Poland is no longer a poor and slightly modernized country. However, it is still seen as a “victim” of Soviet policy. Evidence of this false depiction is based on the reactions of Polish workers amused or even shocked by the current lack of knowledge of today’s Poland. The following example is a reaction by a group of French friends that were invited by a Polish worker to his hometown: They were very surprised that Poland was so interesting [...]. They were shocked that we have shopping centres with all the stores, brand names, exactly the same as in France [...]. We rented a car, a Mercedes of good quality. They were even more shocked that we have these cars in Poland. Therefore the representation of Poland in France is that of a backward country [...] (Mariusz, 33-year-old construction worker).

Despite these concerns inherent in French public opinion in 2004 and 2005, this research also shows that Polish workers are rather willingly employed in France. The fact remains that they do not see much competition for their work, often due to their efficiency as well as through the need of low-skilled occupations in the French labour market. Polish immigrants assimilate easily with their French colleagues. Customers, meanwhile, are quite satisfied with the services of Poles. Indeed, all these practices show that recently, the image of the Polish worker faced by these immigrants has been slowly changing, though it is still far from actuality. Finally, the media image of Polish workers as employed in occupations called “manual labour” has paradoxically helped the Poles, especially construction workers, as they are recognized by French society for their work. However, the easy adaptation of these immigrants to the labour market should not be reduced to the media’s simple and exaggerated depiction. The market demand and the different sources of motivation of these Poles are of greater importance. The research results also confirm that cultural and social barriers still exist today. More studies are therefore needed to understand how to relieve opinions of prejudice and national stereotypes.

Conclusion Being culturally similar, Poles easily assimilate in western Europe. They integrate quickly as workers and as residents in France. Their employers confront them with common French society requirements. The

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workers therefore face a new situation in the workplace. However, flexibility, versatility and determination allow them to quickly adapt to these demands of the French labour market. In this research, two theoretical frameworks were traversed in analysis of the discourse of Polish immigrants. First, to understand the integration process from the Polish workers’ perspective, we analysed the aspect of relations between these workers and French society. For this purpose, the concepts from the symbolic interactionism, more accurately from the labelling theory of Howard Becker20 and from Erving Goffman’s notion of stigma21 were applied. Secondly, the choices made by those workers were analysed using the theories of rational actions of Michel Crozier22 and Raymond Boudon.23 The analysis of the integration of Polish workers in France at a time of economic crisis shows that behind this process we can find distorted opinions on which both groups base their judgments. It therefore seems important to study the stereotypes hidden in the reciprocal contacts and the impact of these representations on the integration process. Despite the easy assimilation of the two analysed nations, we always meet the beliefs and representations preventing or even blocking the adaptation process of the foreigners. The difference between those arriving and those who are from “here” will be always visible. In effect, we need to understand the mechanism behind these depictions in order to ameliorate the actual integration strategies.

20 Howard S. Becker, Outsiders, L'étude de sociologie de la deviance, trans. J.-P. Briand and J.-M. Chapoulie (Paris: Métailié, 2009). 21 Erving Goffman, Stigmate, Les usages sociaux des handicaps, trans. Alain Kihm (Paris: Les éditions de minuit, 1996). 22 Michel Crozier and Erhard Friedberg, L'acteur et le système, Les contraintes de l’action collective (Paris: Le Seuil, 1977). 23 Raymond Boudon, La logique du social (Paris: Hachette, Pluriel, 1983).

CONTRIBUTORS

Agata Biernat (Political Sciences and International Studies at the Nicolaus Copernicus University, ToruĔ, Poland), Ph.D. Candidate (M.A. in Political Science, B.A. in Balkan Philology). Research interests: Turkish foreign policy, modern history of the western Balkans, European integration. M. B. B. Biskupski (Professor of History, Central Connecticut State University, USA). B. A. in History summa cum laude from UCLA. Received an MA in History, also from UCLA, and an M.Phil. and Ph.D. from Yale University; the recipient of numerous fellowships and awards, including the KrzyĪ Oficerski, Order Zasáugi. Prof. Biskupski now holds the S. A. Blejwas Endowed Chair in Polish History at Central CT State University. He is the author of twelve books and a great many articles. His latest books, published in 2012, are The United States and the Rebirth of Poland, 1914–1918, and Independence Day: Myth, Symbol and the Creation of Modern Poland. Daniel ýerný (Department of History, Faculty of the Eastern Christian Studies, Pontifical Oriental Institute, Rome, Italy), Licentiate in Eastern Christian Studies (Easter Customs of the Slovak Greek Catholics), Pontifical Oriental Institute (2010); MA in Greek Catholic Theology, University of Prešov, Slovakia (2008). Doctoral thesis: “The Slovak Greek Catholics in Canada-from the beginnings to the creation of the Eparchy of Ss. Cyril and Methodius”. Research area: cultural and religious aspects of Slovak emigration, religious ethnography. Jan Daniluk (Historian, University of GdaĔsk, Poland). Works at the Institute of National Remembrance, GdaĔsk. Research interests: military history of GdaĔsk, 1813–1945; SS and German police structure and activity in Pomerania, 1926–1945. Has published a dozen articles, and finished a book the SS in GdaĔsk (to be published in 2013). Ph.D. Candidate (Garrison of GdaĔsk in the years 1939–1945).

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Contributors

Silvia G. Dapía (Professor of Foreign Languages, Chair of the Department of Modern Languages and Literatures at John Jay College, City University of New York, USA). Academic interests: contemporary German and Latin America (Southern Cone) literature and culture, philosophy and literature, comparative literature, and literary theory. She is the author of Die Rezeption der Sprachkritik Fritz Mauthners im Werk von Jorge Luis Borges (1993) and of numerous articles on Latin American literature, literary theory and comparative literature. She has been a member of the International Editorial Board of “Variaciones Borges” since 2006. She served as guest editor for a special issue on Poles in Latin America for the scholarly journal “Polish American Studies”, Spring 2012. She is currently working on two books: the first about the relationship of reality and representation in Borges in the context of post-analytic philosophy, and the second dealing with Fritz Mauthner’s critique of language. Mary Patrice Erdmans (Associate Professor of Sociology, Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, USA). Ph.D. in Sociology, Northwestern University (1992). Her books Opposite Poles: Immigrants and Ethnics in Polish Chicago, 1976–1990 (Penn State Press, 1998) and The Grasinski Girls: The Choices They Had and the Choices They Made (Ohio University Press, 2004) were honoured with the Oskar Halecki Prize for the best book in Polish-American studies by the Polish American Historical Association. She has also published numerous book chapters and journal articles on varying topics related to Polish immigrants and Polish Americans including emigration decisions, intra-ethnic conflict, suburban and urban immigrant communities, and labour markets for undocumented workers. Her areas of interest include ethnicity, immigration, gender, and narrative research methods. Anne M. Gurnack (Professor of Political Science, Visiting Professor of Public and Non Profit Management, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, Professor Emerita, University of Wisconsin-Parkside, USA). Author of books on contemporary public health concerns, drug and alcohol abuse. Research area: public policy and administration. In the last decade, she has developed an interest in her Polish heritage and conducted research about New York City’s Polish community. Recently published articles in “Polish American Studies” and the Polish American Encyclopaedia. Aleksej Kalc (Slovenian Migration Institute, Research Centre of the Slovenian Academy of Sciences and Arts, Ljubljana, Slovenia). Ph.D. in Historical Anthropology, Institutum Studiorum Humanitatis in Ljubljana.

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Research interests: migration history of the multi-ethnic areas along the borders between Italy and Slovenia; overseas emigration from AustriaHungary to America; role of Trieste as a port of emigration; methodological and interpretative aspects of historical migration research. Arnold KáonczyĔski (Institute of History, University of GdaĔsk, Poland). Ph.D. in History 2005, author of two monographs: My w Szwecji nie porastamy mchem. Emigranci z Polski w Szwecji w latach 1945–1980 (GdaĔsk 2012); Stosunki polsko-szwedzkie w latach 1945–1956 (GdaĔsk 2007) and a dozen of articles in Polish, Swedish and English about economic, political and cultural contacts between Poland and Scandinavia in the twentieth century and about Polish immigrants in Sweden. Research areas: Polish–Swedish relations after World War II and history of the Polish diaspora in Scandinavia. Anna Mazurkiewicz (Institute of History, University of GdaĔsk, Poland). Ph.D. in History 2006, award of the Polish National Centre for Culture. Books and articles on U.S. policy towards Poland; Dyplomacja Stanów Zjednoczonych wobec wyborów w Polsce w latach 1947 i 1989 (Warsaw: Neriton, 2007) and Prasa amerykaĔska wobec wyborów w Polsce w latach 1947 i 1989 (GdaĔsk: University Press, 2009). Recipient of the Kosciuszko Foundation Fellowships and grants from the Foundation for Polish Science and the Visegrad Fund. Currently writing a book about the Assembly of Captive European Nations—U.S. based émigré organization of east European exiled political leaders. Brian McCook (Head of Department for History, Politics and Philosophy and Associate Dean of Faculty at Manchester Metropolitan University, U.K.). Ph.D. in History, University of California at Berkeley. Recipient of fellowships from organizations such as: the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation, the Social Science Research Council, the German Historical Institute, the Kosciuszko Foundation, the British Academy, German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD) and the Woodrow Wilson Center. His most recent work is The Borders of Integration: Polish Migrants in Germany and the United States, 1870–1924, 2011. Current research: Polish migration and settlement in Great Britain during and after World War II. Slavomír Michálek (Director of the Institute of History of the Slovak Academy of Sciences, Bratislava, Slovakia). He is the author and editor of numerous articles and books on the U.S. foreign policy, Czechoslovak—

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Contributors

American relations after World War II, outstanding Slovak personalities in the Czechoslovak diplomacy, i.a.: Ján Papánek and Štefan Osuský. His most recent books are: The Oatis Case: the Czechoslovak Communist Regime versus the Associated Press Reporter (2005), Juraj Slávik Neresnický: from Politics through Diplomacy to the Exile (2006), The Year 1968 and Czechoslovakia: the Views of the U.S., the West and the UN (2008). Oskar Myszor (History, University of GdaĔsk, Poland). Chairman of the History Graduate Student Association, University of GdaĔsk. MA in History (Port of Gdynia during and after World War II: Destruction and reconstruction). Has published over 20 articles, mainly on naval history. Associate author of “OkrĊty Wojenne” (“Warships”, bimonthly). Recipient of the mayor of Gdynia grant (2007). Ph.D. Candidate in History. Research interests: maritime and naval history; port of Gdynia history; maritime identity in Poland; contemporary history of Southeast Asia, especially during Great East Asian War. Currently works on a monograph about “Morze” (“The Sea”) monthly 1945–1992. Harriet Napierkowski (Instructor of educational leadership at the University of Colorado Colorado Springs, USA). She currently provides rhetoric and writing support to students in the Leadership, Research, and Policy Ph.D. Program. Prior to her work in the Department of Leadership, Research, and Foundations, Dr. Napierkowski was the Director of the UCCS Professional Writing Program, Department of English. Her research interests include the intersection of rhetoric and technology, visual rhetoric, writing assessment, and Polish American literature—particularly literature written by and/or inhabited by Polish-American women. Béla Nóvé (Independent Hungarian writer, historian and documentary film maker, Budapest, Hungary). M.A. in History and Literature, Loránd Eötvös University (1986). Active member of the democratic movement during the 1980s, and of Amnesty International and Helsinki Watch. Author of studies, essays and articles, film and TV scripts. Served as editor of “BeszelĘ” liberal weekly, “Replica” periodical of social sciences. Since 2001 has lectured on history and film history (in Hungary and USA). Recipient of Soros Foundation grant (1995, 2004). Mieczysáaw Nurek (Professor of History, Chair of the Department of Contemporary History, University of GdaĔsk, Poland). His recent book (2009, reprint 2011), Gorycz zwyciĊstwa: Los Polskich Siá Zbrojnych na

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Zachodzie po II wojnie Ğwiatowej 1945–1949 on the fate of the Polish armed forces in the west after World War II received wide acclaim, winning the Grand Prix in the Jan Dáugosz Competition organized by the Ministry of Culture and National Heritage and Cracow Book Fair; Oskar Halecki Competition—History Book of the Year (organized by the Polish Public Television, the Polish Radio and the Institute of National Remembrance); award by the Ministry of Science and Higher Education; nominated for awards in Kazimierz Moczarski and the “Polityka” magazine competitions. Research interests: international relations in the Baltic area, British-Polish relations. Maágorzata Patok (Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, Université Paris Descartes, Sorbonne, France). M.A. in Sociology, 2010 from the Université Paris Descartes, M.A. in Political Science and Licentiate in Sociology, 2009 from the University of GdaĔsk. Ph.D. Candidate in Sociology. Research interests: immigration, including European integration, assimilation, collective beliefs, stereotypes, stigma, Polish workers, low-skilled occupations, careers and employment integration. Jože Pirjevec (Professor of History, Slovenian Academy of Sciences and Arts, Ljubljana, Slovenia). Ph.D. in History, Ljubljana University (1977); MA in History, University of Trieste (1966). He initially researched the relations between Italy and the South Slavic peoples during the Risorgimento in the mid-nineteenth century. Since the 1980s, he has been researching the history of Yugoslavia, the Yugoslav wars and the history of the Slovenes in Italy. He has taught the history of eastern Europe at the universities of Pisa, Trieste and Padova. Published dozens of works in Italian and Slovene, including recently: Tito in tovariši, 2011; Foibe: una storia d’Italia, 2009; “Trstje naš!” Boj Slovencev za morje, 1848–1954, 2007; Vojna in mir na Primorskem, as editor, 2005; Le guerre jugoslave, 1991–1999, 2001. Dorota Praszaáowicz (Professor of Sociology at the Jagiellonian University, Kraków, Poland). She holds the Chair of Migration and Ethnic Studies at the Institute of American Studies and Polish Diaspora. In 2003/2004 she was a Fulbright Scholar at the New York University. Her research projects include: “‘Old neighbours’ in the New World: Poles, Germans, Jews and Ukrainians in Manhattan”, “Poles in Berlin: old and new migration streams”, and “Polish schools in the United Kingdom: past and present”. Research interests: world migrations, migration theories,

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Contributors

ethnic groups, ethnic relations in the United States, gender perspective in migration studies. She is the author of three books on Polish–Americans, past and present. Maja Trochimczyk (Poet and music historian, President, Moonrise Press, Los Angeles, USA). She is also a Board member of the Modjeska Club, and Board member, Polish American Historical Association. Ph.D. in Musicology (Space and spatialization in contemporary music), McGill University in Montreal (1994); M.A. in Sound Engineering, Chopin Academy of Music in Warsaw (1987); M.A. in Musicology, University of Warsaw (1986). Served as Assistant Professor of Music History, USC Thornton School of Music, 1996-2004. Research interests: history and aesthetics of nineteenth and twentieth century music, especially of Poland. Has published four books on music studies: A Romantic Century in Polish Music, 2009; Polish Dance in Southern California, 2007; The Music of Louis Andriessen, 2002; After Chopin: Essays in Polish Music, 2000; and four books of poetry, as well as over 130 poems in journals. Pien Versteegh (Windesheim University of Applied Sciences, Christelijke Hogeschool Windesheim, Director of Support Services, Netherlands). Executive director, Polish American Historical Association. Recognitions: grants from the Balch Institute for Ethnic Studies in Philadelphia, the Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission in Harrisburg and the Dutch Research Council. Ph.D. in Socio-Economic History at Radboud Universiteit, Nijmegen. Research interest: settlement processes of Polish miners in Europe and the United States. István Kornél Vida (North American Department, Institute of English and American Studies, University of Debrecen, Hungary), Ph.D. in History 2008. Research interests: nineteenth century history of the United States, with particular focus on the Civil War era and migration history; Hungarian-American history. Has published two monographs on the Hungarian Forty-Eighters’ involvement in the American Civil War, including Hungarian Émigrés in the American Civil War: A History and Biographical Dictionary (2011). Co-founder (2012) and secretary of the Center for International Migration Studies in Debrecen. Currently working on a new monograph on immigration booster literature.

NAME INDEX Abrahamson Kjell Albin, 37 Adamic Louis, 4, 5, 6 Adamowski Józef, 114, 115 Adamowski Timothee (Tymoteusz), 114, 115, 121 Adams Marko, 19 Adamska-Osada Aleksandra, 111 Alba Richard, 225 Albarracín Julia, 320 Alberdi Juan Bautista, 312, 313 Aleksi Paskal, 19 Anderson Benedict, 316 Archmandrite Mitred, 15 Austin Warren, 53 Bajuk Andrej, 8 Banasikowski Edmund, 39 Baraga Frederik Jernej, 3 Becker Howard, 338 Beik Mildred, 289 Benisáawski, Michaá, 169 BenkĘ István, 153 Berger Karol, 95 Bernadotte Folke, 35 Bibó István, 82 Bismarck Otto von, 11 Báaszczyk Leon T., 103 Blejwas Stanislaus, 93, 225, 226, 231 Blloshmi Danny, 20 Bloch Franz, 181, 182 Bódis János, 152 Bohuszewicz Edward B., 96 Bójnowski Lucjan, 222, 224, 226 Borchardt, Karol Olgierd, 171 Borecky Isidore, 258, 264, 267 Borkowski, Eustazy, 171 Boudon Raymond, 338 Boulanger Nadia, 105, 108, 110 Brando Marlon, 102 Brewster Mary, 198

Brodsky Lawrence Vera, 98 Brunski Daniel, 231 Bryks Rachmil (Jerachmiel), 38 Brysh Theodore, 227 Buczewski Zenon, 40 Bukatko Gabriel, 266 Bukowczyk John J., 95 Burgoyne Arthur G., 116 Bush George H. W., 8 Cadogan Alexander, 53 Cahensly Peter, 250 Cardia Isabelle Vonèche, 70 Chanat Nicholas, 265 Chopin Fryderyk (Frederic), 95, 96, 98, 99, 102, 116, 121, 122, 244 Churchill Winston, 5, 299 Cogan Martha S., 60 Crawford Ruth Mitchell, 59 Crozier Michel, 338 Curie-Skáodowska Maria, 332 Dąbrowski Wáadysáaw, 168 Dallapiccola Luigi, 101 Danþo Vincent, 262 Davenport Marcia, 59 Davis Miles, 103 Delibes Léo, 115 Demjanovich Miriam Theresia, 263 Dishnica Kristaq, 14 Dmowski Roman, 205, 208, 210 Dubþek Alexander, 61 Dudziak Urszula, 119 Dukas Paul, 105 Edy William, 298 Eggerth Martha, 102, 103 Elko Nicholas, 267 Eörsi László, 83 Erdmans Mary Patrice, 121 Erskin John, 118 Evans Arthur John, 11 FenyĘ Miksa, 156

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Name Index

Fitelberg Gary, 104 Fitelberg Grzegorz, 104 Fitelberg Jerzy, 100, 104, 105, 119 Floqi Kristo, 19 Fodor Gergely, 84 Fójcik Kornel Jan, 40 Folejewski Zbigniew, 40 Folkenflick Cyla, 37 Fontana Julian, 96 France Anatole, 108 Frashëri Abdyl, 10, 11 Frashëri Sami, 10 Fuga Francis (František), 263, 264, 265 Gallen Elvi, 110 Gator George, 298 Gershwin George, 110 Godowsky Leopold, 117 Goebbels Joseph, 104 Goffman Erving, 338 Goldberg Halina, 95 Göncz Árpád, 82 Góral Bolesáaw, 249, 250, 251 Greive Tyrone, 118 Gromyko Andrej, 53 Gruber Katarzyna, 46 Hadik János, 156 Haiman Mieczysáaw, 215 Haller Józef, 208, 224, 294 Hammarskjöld Dag, 70 Henni Johann Martin, 243, 248, 249 Himmler Heinrich, 35 Hird-Pokorny Jan, 60 Hitler Adolf, 6, 57, 99, 104, 105 Hnilica Pavol, 267 Hoffman Eva, 31 Hofmann Józef, 118 Honegger Arthur, 107 Hoover Herbert, 210 Horthy Miklós, 77 Huber Béla, 89 Hynd Henry, 306, 307, 308, 309 Jakubowski A. N., 123 Janta-PoáczyĔski Aleksander, 96, 97, 98

JaroszyĔska-Kirchmann Anna D., 27, 228 Jerabek Vojtech, 60 John Paul II, 112, 269 Jurkoviþ Dušan, 51 Kaczmarek Jan A.P., 119, 120, 122 Kádár János, 70, 71, 72, 78 KaĔski Edward, 97 Kaper Bronisáaw (Bronislau), 100, 102, 103, 105, 111, 112 KapuĞciĔski Jarosáaw, 119, 120 Karaÿjorÿjevic Alexander, 5, 6 Karasz Lajos, 85 Kassern Tadeusz Zygfryd, 107, 108 Kaszuba Aleksander, 42 Kątski Apolinary, 114 Katzer Frederick, 250 Kaufman Samuel Maurice, 199 Kaye Mindy, 102 Kempa Joseph, 249 Képes Árpád, 83 Kiepura Jan, 102, 103 Kiss Lajos, 77 Klenczon Krzysztof, 95 Klimecki Hieronim, 190 Knötgen, Zdenko, 171 Kobal Andrew, 7 Koch Albert, 183 KochaĔski Paweá (Paul), 118 Kondracki Michaá, 107 Konitza Faik, 15, 17, 18, 19, 22 KorboĔska Zofia, 39 KorboĔski Stefan, 39 Korczyk James, 249 Korfanty Wojciech, 208 Korzeniowski Abel, 119 KoĞciuszko Tadeusz (Thaddeus), 103 Koudelka Joseph, 251 Kozák Gyula, 71 Kozáowski Edward, 251 Krafþík Andrej, 265 Krehbiel Henry, 116 Krenek Ernst, 101 Kristan Etbin, 6

East Central Europe in Exile Volume 1: Transatlantic Migrations Kristofer Koli (Christopher Nicholas), 13 Kristoforidhi Konstantin, 10 Kruszka Michael, 244, 250, 251 Kruszka Wacáaw, 250, 251 Kuncewicz, Adam, 168 Kurek Adam, 97 Kuzniewski Anthony, 250 Kvapilova Anna, 60 àabuĔski Feliks, 100, 105, 106, 107 àabuĔski Wiktor, 100, 105, 106, 107 Lachowicz Teofil, 96 Lacko Michael, 259, 263, 268 Lakos János, 152 Lane Elleanor C., 60 Lausche Frank J., 59 Lee Schuyler Louisa, 194 Lehman Herbert V., 59 Lenin Vladimir I., 6 LeszczyĔski, Aleksander, 169 Lévi-Strauss Claude, 184, 186 Lewandowska Maria, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 31, 32 Lewandowski Stanisáaw, 25 Lewis Brackett, 57, 58 Lie Trygve, 53 Liszt Franz, 98 Lorenz Adolf, 197 Lubelska Wanda, 44 Lubelski Andrzej, 44 Lucznikowska Theresa Agnes, 195 Lutosáawski Witold, 105, 117 Maciejewski Roman, 104, 108, 110, 111, 114 Maciejewski Wojciech, 111 Makowicz Adam, 119 Maliszewski Witold, 105 Markievitch Igor, 104 Marquez Gabriel Garcia, 235 Martin James, 288 Masaryk Jan, 53 Masaryk Tomáš G., 55, 62 Massenet Jules, 115 Matejko Jan, 244 Meeker Henry D., 197

347

Menem Carlos, 311, 319, 321 Mérei Ferenc, 82 Messmer Sebastian, 248, 250, 251 Mikoáajczyk Stanisáaw, 308 Mikuli Karol, 99 Minya Ludvik (Lajos), 262 Mitropoulos Dimitri, 101 Mládek Jan, 50, 54, 55 Máynarski Emil, 109 Monkiewicz Bolesáaw J., 227 Mostwin Danuta, 23 Müller Otto, 76 Mussolini Benito, 4, 6, 18 Nemes Sándor, 74 Nightingale Florence, 193 Nixon Richard M., 72 Noli Fan S., 14, 15, 16, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22 Noskowski Zygmunt, 117 Novák Károly, 84 Oblak Pedro, 8 Olszewski Kazimierz, 249 Orbán Nándor, 74 Orlik-Rückemann Kazimierz Jerzy, 42 Orlik-Rückemann Wilhelm, 42 Orzeszkowa Eliza, 25 Ostrowska Tomasz, 221 Osuský Štefan, 51 Ozihel Harding, 115 Paderewski Ignacy Jan, 99, 101, 107, 115, 116, 117, 119, 204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 213 Page Denna, 14 Panarity Qerim M., 18 Papánek Ján, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63 Papánková Betka, 50, 57 Paprocki, Adam, 168 Park Robert, 241 Parodi Alexandre, 53 Pasha Ali, 11 Pashley H., 304 Pataky Tibor Sámuel, 76 Peci Sotir, 14

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Name Index

Peéry RezsĘ, 79 Pescinski Luke, 248 Pettifer James, 10 Piásudski Józef, 203, 204, 205, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 216 Pius XII, 266 Plinius Marius, 169 Politzer Alfred, 60 Procházka Adolf, 55 Prus Bolesáaw, 25 PtaszyĔska Marta, 119, 122 Pula James, 94 Pulaski Casimir, 217 Pychowski Jan N., 97, 98 Qemal Imail, 12 RaczyĔski Edward, 298 Rajna Tibor, 85 RapaczyĔska Wanda, 46 Rathaus Karol, 100, 101, 102, 104, 105, 119 Rehor Miles W., 55, 57, 58 Rimsky-Korsakov Nikolai, 105 Rode Alojz, 8 Rodowicz Jan, 249 RodziĔski Artur, 101, 104, 119 Roman Stephen B., 257, 266, 268 Roosevelt Eleanor, 59 Roosevelt Franklin Delano, 5 Rožman Gregorij, 7 Rubinstein Arthur, 95 Rudawski Michaá, 44 Rummel, Julian, 169 Rusnák Michael, 258, 261, 262, 264, 265, 267, 268, 269 Ruttenau Maxmillian, 197 Ryterband Roman, 108, 111, 112, 113, 114 Sandusky John, 217 Sarmiento Domingo Faustino, 312, 313 Schiff Jacob, 198 Schneider Walter, 181, 182 Schoenberg Arnold, 101 Schreker Franz, 100, 104, 119 Schubert Linda, 109

Schumann Robert, 113 Schüssler Martin, 101 Sessions Roger, 101 Shelley Percy B., 114 Shotwell James T., 59 Siemiradzki Tomasz, 209 Sikorski Kazimierz, 110 Sikorski Wáadysáaw, 203, 212, 213, 214 Silvey Ted F., 60 Skanderbeg George Kastrioti, 9, 11, 16 Skąpski Adam, 294 Slávik Juraj, 50, 54, 55, 56 Snyder Timothy, 26 Sobolewski Edward (Johann Friedrich Eduard), 113, 114 Soós Sándor, 89 Sorbán Gyula, 78, 89 Spátay János, 89 SroczyĔski Tadeusz, 108 St. John Mary, 193 Stalin Joseph, 5, 108 Stankiewicz Mamert, 171, 173 Statkowski Roman, 107, 109 Stefaniak Franciszek, 40 Štefánik Milan R., 51 Stojowski Zygmunt (Sigismond), 115, 116, 117 Stokowski Leopold, 101, 119 Stravinsky Igor F., 105 Šturm Rudolf, 57, 58 Suchacev Igor, 262, 263, 264 Suchý Jozef E., 257 Sulimirski Tadeusz, 294 Széll JenĘ, 82 Széll Kálmán, 143 SzĘnyi Zsuzsa, 76 SzopiĔski Dominik, 249 Szumowski-Adamowski Antoinette, 115 Szymanowski Karol, 105, 107, 117, 118, 119 Tansman Alexander, 106, 107, 111 Tchaikovsky Peter I., 117 Thomas Adrian, 106

East Central Europe in Exile Volume 1: Transatlantic Migrations Thompson Dorothy, 59 Tilton Benjamin, 197 Tiso Jozef, 264 Tisserant Eugene, 266 Tito Josip Broz, 5, 7, 73, 343 Tkotz Ronald, 187 Tomko Jozef, 269 Tomlinson George, 309 Tonelli Sándor, 141, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156 Tóth László, 153 Truman Harry S., 29 Tutsek Gusztáv, 84 Tvarožek Tomáš, 51 Urbaniak Michaá, 119 Valuchek Andrew, 57, 58 Van Beuren John, 192 Vars (Wars) Henry, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112 Vasa Pashko, 10 Venizelos Eleftherios, 20 Vickers Miranda, 10 Vreto Jani, 10 Wald Lillian, 198

349

Walker Cook Martha, 98 Walter Bruno, 101 Ward Samuel Augustus, 98 Waters Mary, 230 Weber von Carl Maria, 113 Wenda Tadeusz, 157 Wieczorek Marlena, 111 Wied, William of, 12 Wierzbicki James, 106 Wilson Woodrow, 16, 20 Witos Wincenty, 208 Zaborowska Magdalena, 31 Zachariasiewicz Wáadysáaw, 40, 41 Zajac John, 231 Zajaczkowski Anton G., 199 Zalai Emil, 81 Zarzycki Ferdynand, 169 ĩebrowski Marek, 119 ĩeleĔski Wáadysáaw, 115, 117 Zeman Ján, 268 ZieliĔski Jarosáaw, 98, 99 Zogu Ahmet (Zog), 12, 18 Zuboff Maximilian (Mackiewicz), 97 ĩuáawski Jerzy, 108