Diplomacy Looking Back in Poland

In Poland, President Nawrocki has just created (29 October 2025) the position of “ambassador for historical diplomacy” who will deal with foreign-policy issues relating to history. The person appointed is Dr. hab. Grzegorz Berendt, a well-known historian: worked in the IPN (Institute of National Remembrance), has held roles in museums (e.g., Museum of the Second World War in Gdańsk). He was Nawrocki’s PhD supervisor when Nawrocki studied history at the University of Gdańsk.

According to the president’s office, Berendt’s focus “will be on historical topics important to the state, its politics, and diplomacy from a historical perspective”. He will not receive a salary for this role; it’s described as a “social function”. Moreover, his role is not part of the regular diplomatic corps (i.e., he’s not a typical foreign service diplomat). He reports directly to the president, not the foreign ministry.

Nawrocki, head of the Polish "Insitute of National Memory" [IPN] has emphasized historical policy (“history diplomacy”) in his presidency. By creating this role, Nawrocki is signaling that history itself (past narratives, memory) is a central axis of his foreign policy. It’s not just about diplomacy in the usual sense but about shaping how the past is acknowledged, debated, and acknowledged on the international stage.

There are coincerns about the legitimacy of this position, precisely what 'powers' this advisor (I guess he is) will have, especially because Berendt is personally connected to Nawrocki, there’s a risk that this role will be seen as less about objective historical work and more about “political history.” That could undermine its credibility internationally or among independent historians. It has not been clarified what resources he will have, will there be a team? Will this office be supported logistically? If it’s just symbolic, impact may be limited — but if backed with resources, it could be more potent.

A striking feature of Poland’s current political class, and often its electorate, is the tendency to look backward at past grievances rather than forward toward cooperation in meeting the challenges of today and tomorrow. In contemporary Polish politics, it feels at times that appeals to historical legitimacy often take the place of a coherent vision for the future. This backward orientation is sustained by several deep-rooted historical and cultural factors that make it especially difficult for Poland to move beyond past injustices and focus on the challenges of the present.

Poland’s national identity has long been constructed around themes of loss and resilience. For over a century (1795–1918), the country did not exist as a state; it was partitioned by Russia, Prussia, and Austria. Its survival depended on memory and myth. History functioned as a substitute for statehood, and remembering became a moral duty. Attempts to dominate Poland by erasing or reshaping its identity in that period, and then renewed and continued during the Nazi occupation (1939–45) and then the subsequent period of Sovietisation (1949–1989) reinforced the conviction that “if we forget, we disappear.” In this sense, remembrance became an act of political self-defence rather than mere nostalgia.

Poland’s modern history has also made it difficult to overcome a persistent sense of geopolitical insecurity. The country’s borders and sovereignty have rarely felt permanently secure. Its geography, positioned between Germany and Russia, ensures that historical experience continually intrudes upon the present, for example, Russia’s invasions of Ukraine in 2014 and 2022 and continued occupation of parts of the country have reawakened collective memories of Soviet domination within living memory. For many political leaders, invoking the past serves to keep the population alert and unified against potential external threats.

The political right, notably PiS and its allies, has been particularly adept at using history to mobilize patriotism, defend “national dignity”, and portray itself as the guardian of truth against Western or liberal “distortion”. The current project of “historical diplomacy” is of course an expression of justifiable resentment about past injustices suffered by the Polish people and state, and the fact that the world in effect washed their hands of the Polish issue at Yalta, and then a mere nod at massive atrocities through a highly selective showtrial (Nov 1946- 1 Oct 1946) at Nuremberg that went nowhere to punishing German and Soviet war criminals. It is therefore a reflection of a continuing hunger for acknowledgment. Many Western Europeans today possess only a fragmentary understanding of what occurred in this region during the “missing” half-century from 1939 to 1989. The constant rehearsal of historical grievances is, in this sense, an attempt to make the world listen.

While the cultivation of historical memory has served important functions, it can also be taken too far. When remembrance becomes selective or centred exclusively on victimhood, it risks turning history into a moral enclosure rather than a field of understanding. A narrative that dwells only on loss and injustice overlooks many dimensions of what Poland has been and might yet become. A history written solely in black neglects the complexity and richness of the past, its creativity, diversity, and moments of cooperation, achievement, and generosity. The danger lies in mistaking suffering for the whole of national experience, and in defining identity primarily through what was endured rather than through what was, despite everything, created or contributed.

Poland need not erase its past, but it would be useful to learn to reframe it. A mature historical culture recognises the coexistence of pain and accomplishment, trauma and resilience. It acknowledges both the wrongs committed against Poles and those committed by them, seeing these not as contradictions but as parts of a shared human story. This means broadening the frame of remembrance to include not only the wrongs suffered but also the responsibilities borne, including difficult episodes such as Jedwabne or anti-Ukrainian violence. Only by embracing this fuller perspective can Poland move from defensive remembrance toward reflective understanding. In doing so, history becomes not an instrument of grievance but a source of dialogue, empathy, and renewal — a means of understanding rather than accusation. True balance is achieved when memory informs identity without imprisoning it, when “never again” signifies not “never forgive” but “never repeat”.

Numerous Polish intellectuals, writers, and historians have long advocated this forward-looking balance, among them Adam Michnik, Olga Tokarczuk, and Paweł Machcewicz. They remind us that Polish culture also contains a humanist and cosmopolitan strand, one capable of empathy, irony, and reinvention. Yet politically, such voices remain less powerful than those who can transform pain into votes.