Black People of Poland: Representations & Realities

ii_generalna_czarna_skora_fot_stolarska-32.jpg, default, Black People of Poland: Representations & Realities, Scene from 'Black Skin, White Masks' by Wiktor Bagiński, photo: Monika Stolarska / Teatr im. Jan Kochanowski in Opole, center, #000000

#heritage

From the 18th century to today, we take a look at some of the rich history, meaningful contributions, and unique experiences of Black Poles.

In 1769, Maria Dealire – an aristocrat living in Gdańsk (then Danzig) – had an affair with a butler from Africa. Nine months later she gave birth to a son, Władysław Jabłonowski. Little could be done to hide the fact that this boy was not her husband’s, because young Władek was black. Her husband Konstanty was forgiving – probably because of his own indiscretions – so he accepted the boy as his son.

Jabłonowski the younger faced horrible discrimination for his skin colour, gaining the schoolyard nickname ‘Murzynek’ (‘Little Negro’), but he did not despair. Władysław went on to the École Militaire in Paris and became a brigadier general in the French army. His loyalty remained with the Polish gentry, and he fought in the Kościuszko Uprising in the 1790s. Later he re-joined the French army, commanding Polish troops. While leading his soldiers into battle against the Haitian Revolution that would free African slaves, he died of yellow fever. Some historians have commented on these events with irony – that a black man would be on the ‘wrong’ side, killing his ‘own’ people – but that would be a mistake. Władysław Jabłonowski was a European, a Polish aristocrat, and a Danziger.

Early black Poles

Thumbnail — Portrait of Augustus II the Strong, by a court painter, 1st half of the 18th century, Museum of King Jan III's Palace at Wilanów, photo: Zbigniew Reszka

Africans and people of African descent have been present in the Polish lands since at least a century before Jabłonowski was born. After Polish troops led by King Jan III Sobieski stopped the advance of the Ottoman army outside Vienna in 1683, aristocrats seized booty from the defeated. Amongst the possessions that Ottoman officers brought with them to the front were African slaves. In general, this period coincided with an orientalisation of tastes. Polish elites decorated their homes with Ottoman silverware and carpets, and donned Turkish robes as a sign of their wealth and ostentation. Unfortunately, the possession of black bodies also became a symbol of one’s status and station.

In the 18th century, wealthy elites purchased African people from faraway places as slaves. Despite Poland’s lack of overseas colonies, large landowners mimicked their Western counterparts. One member of the magnate Radziwiłł clan hired an agent to purchase 12 enslaved Africans in London and then bring them back to Biała Podlaska in eastern Poland. Oftentimes, the evidence for the presence of black people in this region of Europe is quite sparse, but in this case we have several confirmations, including a visual one. The mistress of the Radziwiłł house had her portrait painted with one of the slaves, who is portrayed grinning and holding the train of the lady’s dress. Little is known, however, about the further fate of the 12 Africans who lived and worked on the estate.

Joseph Diak – ‘This is my fatherland!’

The exoticisation of black people continued into the 19th and 20th centuries, as is clear from literary representations. Towering figures in Polish literature such as Henryk Sienkiewicz and Julian Tuwim impacted to the image of black people in Poland by reinforcing hurtful and racist stereotypes. Janusz Korczak, best known for his pedagogical work, also wrote children’s books that instilled these ideas from a young age. His book King Maciuś the First includes a plot line where the titular child-king builds relationships with an African kingdom, leading to particularly jarring phrases, such as: ‘Wise, happy and kind child, it’s a shame she’s so black’; and ‘We’ll send them tooth brushes and soap – when they get used to it, maybe they’ll stop being so black’.

For most Polish people, there was little contact with actual black people in the world to correct these stereotypes. The rare encounters with black people that arrived in the Polish lands at that time were as entertainers, actors or musicians. Most often they hailed from the United States, but for promotional purposes, the newspapers published stories about their origins from ‘the depths of Africa’. For the most part, black people did not stay long in Poland.There are, however, a few exceptions. In a 1939 interview for the ‘Exotic Warsaw’ section of Tygodnik Ilustrowany (Illustrated Weekly), a journalist sat down with Joseph Diak from Senegal. He had worked as a servant to a Russian count who came to Warsaw in 1914. Then, in his own words:

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At that time, the war began and he [the Russian count] left me here, and so I stayed forever. I was in the Polish Army in the 1920 [Polish-Bolshevik] war in the 12th squadron of the 1st Airborne Regiment. I married a Polish woman; I work; I’m doing well somehow.

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When asked if he would ever go back to Senegal, Diak was nearly offended at the question:

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I would feel foreign there, I am at home here. I’ve been living in Poland for so long after all, almost my whole life! I am a Polish citizen; I fought for Poland; I feel myself to be Polish; this is my fatherland!

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Diak was perhaps the only person of colour to fight for Poland’s independence after the First World War, and his identity was clearly caught up in his status as a veteran and citizen of the Second Republic.

During the interview, Diak was asked if many people of African descent lived in Poland, to which he replied that they could basically be counted on one hand. He even mentioned a few by name, but he did not mention August Browne, a Nigerian man who spent much of his life in Poland and was perhaps the only black person to fight in the Warsaw Uprising.

Few people had ever heard of August Agboola Browne, a Nigerian-born jazz musician, until a Polish historian made a major discovery in the archives. Amongst the records of Warsaw Uprising veterans was a name and photograph that caught the researcher’s eye. Hiding behind the beautiful cursive writing was the story of an extraordinary man.

August Agboola Browne – musician & Warsaw Uprising fighter

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The ceremony of unveiling a commemorative plaque dedicated to the only black Warsaw Insurgent, August Agboola Browne, photo: Adam Stepien / Agencja Wyborcza

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August Agboola Browne was born in Lagos in 1895, and as a young man, he set sail for Europe with a merchant ship. He landed first in England and then joined a touring theatre group. He ended up in Poland and decided to stay, settling in Kraków and marrying a Polish woman. Later on he moved to Warsaw where Browne made a name for himself as a jazz percussionist, playing in the city’s most celebrated clubs. When the war began in 1939, though already 44 years old, Browne fought in defence of Warsaw. Throughout the war, Browne made his way by collecting and selling electronic parts. It’s unclear if he had been working with the Polish underground resistance long, but in 1944 he joined the fight against all odds to retake the city from its Nazi German occupiers.

The Warsaw Uprising lasted for 63 days, with men and women of all ages participating in the fight. Many were killed or wounded as the German army firebombed the city, destroying around 85% of the city’s buildings in the process. When the Polish Home Army surrendered in October 1944, thousands of soldiers were taken prisoner as part of an arrangement. Browne managed to survive, and was never captured either.

After the war, Browne stayed on in Warsaw, continuing his preferred profession as a musician. In 1949, he filled out that fateful form to join a veterans’ association that made his exploits known again. By the 1950s, however, he decided to leave Poland under the communist regime, emigrating to London with his wife.

Black students & settlers

Browne was certainly not the last person of African descent to put down deep roots in Poland. Starting in the late 1960s, mutual co-operation grew between communist countries and sub-Saharan African nations that had newly gained their independence from colonial rule. In 1968 for example, over 500 students from 23 different countries came to study in cities across Poland.
As part of these engagements, African students could study in Polish universities free of charge. For the most part, students did not choose Poland as a destination, but their home countries decided where they would be sent. Most stayed for the normal six-year course that included a year of Polish language instruction (often taking place in Łódź), and then a five-year master’s degree. Some, however, never left. Desire Rasolomampionona said in an interview:

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In my case, the stay was extended somewhat for various reasons. Above all because I started a family here: I got married, had kids, now we have five.

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The 1980s in particular saw a huge rise in the number of African students coming to Poland. And despite the trials and tribulations of that time – ration cards, long lines for food and other products, political turbulence – a proportion of those coming to study established themselves. Their children in turn are part of the fabric of Polish society today.

Wiktor Bagiński – football star & artist

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Scene from the play 'Black Skin, White Masks' by Wiktor Bagiński, photo: Monika Stolarska / Jan Kochanowski Theatre in Opole

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Recently there are more voices in Polish culture providing a perspective that recognises the presence of black people in Poland. Wiktor Bagiński, a former football star and current rising theatre creator, has produced several productions dealing with his own issues of identity. In one piece entitled Black Skin, White Masks, actors play out a scene in which white Poles ask him questions about Africa as if he were an expert on the subject, based solely on his skin colour.

Bagiński recounted in an interview that people often press him on his origins, as if he could not possibly be from Poland – but he was born and raised in Dzierżoniów in Lower Silesia. He has said that he feels himself to be completely Polish, but the people around him see him as black first. Bagiński’s work is yet another reminder of the complexity and heterogeneity of a seemingly white Polish society. As Bagiński explores his own trials on the stage, he asks his audience: ‘What does it mean to be Polish?’

Written by Zachary Mazur, Jun 2021

Language English