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Re: Getting over it
开云体育I feel that we children of deportees are much more citizens of the world than the average person.? How many people have come to this group angry at what was done and stated this?? When the children find out the truth, this is understandable.? Also functioning in life and pushing the past to the back of one's mind--I just do not agree that there are no issues at all.? Everyone has or had issues whether admitted or not.? The fact of Poland's geography has nothing to do with it.?
?
Eve Jesionka Jankowicz
USA?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "One who does not respect and appreciate his past is not worthy of the present and does not have a right to a future." Jozef Pilsudski, 20 February 1920 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |
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Re: Comments on Bill Maher yesterday: US "helping" Eastern Europe
开云体育Group:
?
I watched Bill Maher again, and Sullivan did state that the United States gave Eastern Europe its freedom.? In fact, he used Eastern Europe as his primary example.? I feel we in this group know a lot more than most of the world's citizens.? Although my father did not speak about his deportation much, I was raised with full knowledge of Ugly Americanism, of the importance of the United Nations, and allies.??
?
Eve Jankowicz
USA?? |
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How did it feel to be deported to Siberia...? And later to think you found your father in the streets of Guzari...?
开云体育Dear Members of the
Kresy-Siberia Group.
?
Is anyone among this group a book reviewer? Out there ? In
the big, wide world?
The reward for volunteering to do the?review? of
Essence for the Kresy-Siberia Group is?a copy of?the
book,?recently
published?in Wellington, New Zealand.
Essence?is a true story
of a young child who, like so many of the members of your own families, was
forcibly deported?to Siberia and later lived in a Polish orphanage in the
South of the Soviet Union, spent 3 years in Isfahan, Iran (Persia) and was taken
with 733 Polish children to New Zealand. The story does not end
there?however.
The child becomes an
adult?who tries to?reflect back upon past expeiences and?find
answers to?questions about life and its purpose: -what is? the Essence
of life? The
author?tries to draw the reader inside the story, to experience, to
feel.
As Dame Fiona Kidman said?when launching the
book? - "Essence is a very special book to launch, a book?that I know
is going to resonate? through the hearts of everyone who reads it. . . . ..
. Krystine's story in New Zealand is as riveting as the one that has gone
before."?
?
Following are a few excerpts to introduce?to the
book: _
?
"Darkness.
‘Is this what hell is like?’ I ask
myself. ‘Is hell just as hot, smelly and crowded? Is it just as dark? As full of
crying?’?
Time passes. Suddenly, I feel the
train shudder. Is it night? Or daytime? The train begins to move. As it moves,
come the sounds of sobbing. The train picks up speed. It goes faster and
faster.
‘Where are they taking us?’ Someone
asks in the darkness.
Lips move. Words are passed from one
mouth to another.
‘The railway tracks point east,’
someone says.
‘East? There is only one place to the
east. The Soviet Union,’ someone else replies.
And again, comes the silence.
I listen to the silence.
Will there be end to silence?
There is.
A long, painfully long, moan follows.
As if from somewhere deep, I think.
Dragged out. From under the ground. And the sound goes on.
Can someone stop the
sound?
?
Much later, I came to understand the
sound as that of human despair. At this moment, I don’t know what the sound
means however. But my blood freezes. It makes me shake and tremble. The sound
becomes one word. People’s lips make the word. The word comes closer. What is
it? And the word becomes louder. And the word bounces up. And the word bounces
down. Off the roof? Off the ground? It slides with people’s sweat and down
people’s wet faces. It explodes as does glass when broken into tiny, sharp
fragments. Do fragments of the sound lodge in people’s minds? Is it just in my
mind? Or does it really happen?
But what is the word? I am trying to
hear. What is the word that creates so much fear? I try to make out the word.
The word. Yes. The word is. "Si...be...ria."
Do others pick up the word? Or is it
just the me? Do others raise it up? Or do they make it go down? If not, why does
the word bounce, like a ball? Up. Down. Up. Down. "Siberia". "Siberia".
"Siberia." Is it only one word? Or are there many of them? Is it only an echo?
If so, where does the echo come from? And why does the word drag out so, when
leaving people’s mouths? And why does it take so long to make this, only one
sound?
A paralyzing terror of the word
squeezes me and pours over me. This word. This sound. Siberia. What is it?
Mihalinka said it’s where hungry children live. It is also the place where
naughty children go. So, can adults like Mama, be sent to Siberia?
But is that where we are going? Are
we going to Siberia? The fear stabs inside me. I touch it. I smell the fear.
It’s like a spider web. It clings. It encircles me. I cannot move my arms or
legs. It holds me tight. I cannot breathe. It’s suffocating me.
?
Not days. Or nights. I can’t tell
them apart. Hours, upon hours, upon hours follow. Long hours of stench, of
terror. And of horrible darkness. And it’s not just my fear. It’s also others’
fear.
Are these hours or minutes? Or are
they seconds only?
And then the world explodes. The
sound of sirens. Crying. Rising. Falling. The sound cuts through my eardrums. It
slides into my brain. My hands cover my ears. To shut out the sound. Sirens are
meant as warning. I know. Warning to take cover. But we have no place to run to.
We have been locked up! I shiver. Sirens wail.
And now come other sounds. Sounds of
plane engines. And still more different sounds. Like thunder!
‘Bombs,’ I hear Mama shouting. ‘These
are bombs exploding!’
We wait. And again more sounds.
‘Machine guns,’ Mama calls. ‘These
are bullets falling!’
‘Like raining on the roof,’ I hear
someone shouting.
And now the train stops. And people
go quiet. There is a sort of laughter. But not a normal laughter. More like
sobbing than laughing.
‘God saved us!’ I hear someone cry
out. ‘These are German planes! These are the Germans coming!’
?
Outside the noise still rages.
Inside, it has grown quiet. Is this what people think? That Russians will let us
out?
‘They will need these trains to take
Russian civilians back to the Soviet Union,’ I hear someone saying. ‘To save
their own people from the German armies.’
‘Russians will not want us now,’
another voice cries out. ‘Russians will let us out.’
Emotions swing from despair to
overwhelming delight. Some, in readiness to get out, begin to check their
luggage.
‘The train has not crossed the
border,’ another person says. ‘We are on Polish soil. We will find our way
home.’
The train does not move. Bombs
continue to fall. But no one opens the door.
Instead, there is the sound of
footsteps. Footsteps run under the train.
‘The soldiers are hiding from the
bullets,’ Mama says but her voice is trembling.
People bang on the door.
‘Open the door!’ They cry. ‘Open the
door! Let us out!’
But no one seems to hear. No one
opens the door. I peer at the door through darkness. The door remains
closed.
?
And the world keeps on exploding. And
again panic rises. Some weep. Some pray. Some moan. It’s dark. It’s hot. I can’t
see even with my eyes open. Now, it’s Mama’s voice shouting, it’s Mama’s voice
rising. I hear her above the din. Now I know she is afraid because her voice is
so loud.
‘Pray Krysia!’ Mama shouts. ‘Pray
that bombs don’t hit the train! Pray, Krysia! That Russians open the
door!’
Pray? In this noise? Now? I can’t
even remember the words! Pray? Mama tells me to pray? I try to remember the
words.
‘Please God. Please let me remember!’
I beg. ‘Hail Mary!’ Yes! ‘Hail Mary! Hail Mary!’ Words come from far away. ‘Hail
Mary!’ Two words tumble out of my past. ‘Hail Mary!’ Are they the words of
prayer? Hail Mary? Yes. Yes. They are. ‘Hail Mary...’ But what comes after that?
Can Mama tell me? Hail Mary! Hail Mary! Hail Mary. Hail Mary.
Hailmaryhailmaryhailmary. Please, God. You must help me. Hail
maryhailmaryhailmary...’
‘Pray, Krysia!’ Mama
shouts.
‘Please God. Please. Hail Mary!’ I
have to keep on repeating the words. We are safe as long as I keep on going, as
long as I keep on saying the words. ‘Hail maryhailmaryhailmary...’ The words are
pouring out. ‘Hailmaryhailmary!’ I can’t stop. If I stop, they will kill us! If
I stop, bombs will hit the train! ‘Hail Mary!’ I have to keep on going. We are
safe. As long as I keep repeating the words.
?
Curled into a tight ball, with my
knees bruising my chin, I lie on the floor trembling and shivering. One minute,
cold sweat drenches my clothes. The next, my skin is like an oven. I am hot. I
am cold. And again, I am hot.
‘Pray, Krysia!’ Mama keeps on
calling.
‘Hail Mary! Hail Mary!’ Words are
gushing out. ‘Hail Mary! Hail Mary!’
How long have I been praying? ‘Hail
Mary!’ How long? Many days? Or hours? How long?
Now. Suddenly. There is silence. . .
. . . . "
?
?
" Words passed from lips to lips.
News travelled like fire. It spread from labour camps to prisons, from steppes
to forests, from salt mines to coal mines.
‘We are free. The political agreement
was signed!’ the message said.
‘Go south!’ said the message.
Even the children in the Soviet
orphanages heard the message.
‘You are free! Go
south!’
Those who were quite alone. And those
who had others with them. They heard. And left. The older took their younger
brothers and sisters by the hand. Whether on their own or with others, they
left.
From Archangelsk, Vorkuta, from the
Ural Mountains. To the south they went. From Irkutsk, Kolyma, Novosibirsk,
Krasnoyarsk and Northern Asia. Southwards, they directed their
steps.
The agreement opened prison gates. It
swung open doors.
‘Go south!’
‘Go south!’
The exodus began.
Having never accepted that exile was
their final fate, the people were ready. Those who heard the message, left.
Hundreds of thousands left their place of exile. On horse drawn wagons. On foot.
By train. On trucks. On rafts. They crossed open steppes. They forged deep
rivers. They found their way over mountains, through forests and sands. All were
hungry. Most were ill and covered with sores and rags. Many flocked to the
railway stations. On the way, they tried to rest. In the streets. The open
fields. The station buildings.
But even trains did not guarantee a
safe journey. Leaving the train during the stopovers, in search of food, was
itself fraught with danger. The train would often leave the station without a
prior warning. Family members would be left behind, never again to be found.
Frequently, the trains would be stopped, shunted to a side rail and left for
days or even weeks before another engine would take them further.
Many did not get inside the wagons,
even when the trains arrived. Their feet tied with rags, people walked thousands
of kilometres. They stopped in towns and villages. Homeless, they tramped.
Hungry, they foraged.
The agreement signed by Stalin and
General Sikorski meant that the Poles were free to go and form the Polish Army.
Our enemy, the Soviet Union, had turned into an ally. The Polish Army would help
the Soviet Union in their war against Germany.
The agreement gave people the freedom
to leave, but it did not bring the promise of the guarantee of their survival.
Often, it became even more difficult to go on living. No longer did people have
a roof over their heads. There was no food, or shelter. There were no
medicines.
So South was where the people went.
South was where the Polish Army was being formed. South was where the Polish
Embassy and Polish Welfare Agencies were being established. South became the
promised land where there was to be no illness, no misery, no death from
starvation. People hoped.
But the south did not have the means
to cope with all the exiles. Weakened by slave labour and starvation, the people
in their hundreds and thousands were succumbing to various epidemics. In the
north, there was ice, snow and extreme hunger. The south meant malaria, typhoid,
dysentery, scarlet fever and many previously unknown diseases.
And even when the people finally did
get to the south: Tashkent, Bukhara, Ashabad, Kermene, Guzari, the Soviet
authorities were ready and waiting. Unaware of what awaited them, the people
were distributed to the nearby Collective farms. But the locals could not
accommodate, feed or employ the unexpected arrivals. Land was barren. The food
was scarce. They could barely keep themselves alive. Newcomers, starved and ill,
were handed a spade and told to live by their own means, build their own clay
huts.
Without medications, the people died
like flies; standing in the streets, waiting in queues for assistance, or just
sitting in gutters. The frequent passing of the tarpaulin-covered wagons which
carried bodies for burial was the poignant reminder that freedom did not,
necessarily, bring salvation.
?
And the Polish Army? Army meant men
and women tottering on their feet, sunken eyed, hollow cheeked, emaciated
skeleton-like apparitions. Yet, those very men and women were formed into ranks
and made to train for battle.
‘You must survive!’ they were ordered
by General Anders himself, the uniform hanging loosely on his own, gaunt body.
‘You must survive!’ came the command.
‘You must survive for your own sakes as well as for the sake of
Poland.’
And the bent, swaying bodies
straightened, eyes filled with hope. Lips formed the words of the military
songs.
?
And families? Many men did not learn
about their families having been deported to the Soviet Union until they were
let out of the labour camps and the prisons. Women and children did not know the
whereabouts of their sons, husbands and fathers. Were they dead? Or alive? Were
they still in Poland? Or had they been deported to some far away place in the
Soviet Union?
Yet, there were moments when a ray of
sunshine pierced the gloom of this human misery. By pure chance, some came
across someone they knew from their town or village. Some, also by chance, came
across a member of their own family. Most often it was the children who
recognized their lost parents.
?
?Guzari. A street like all the
other streets. Dull and gray. A young boy, seven or eight years old, walks down
the street, his clothes caked with mud, his feet bare. Having buried his mother
and having left an orphanage in Siberia he has no place to go to. He is on his
own. Alone.
A man passes by. The boy looks up at
the man’s face, as he has looked up at so many faces already. He does not expect
anything from looking up. Now, it’s just a habit. And he is tired of looking at
people’s feet. So many feet go past him.
The man’s face is gaunt and thin from
hunger. A face without any hope in it. Like all the other faces the boy has
encountered. A face without life. But when the boy looks up, the boy stops and
stares.
The man keeps walking, his eyes on
the ground. Unlike the boy, he has stopped looking at people’s faces. A long
time ago.
Now the boy follows the man. He
passes the man and turns around. He looks at the man’s face again. This time he
looks at the face more keenly. It’s not a passing-by look any more. The look is
alert, careful. The man keeps walking. The boy hesitates and, as the man has
just passed him again, the boy hurries. When he reaches the man, the boy grabs
the sleeve of the man’s jacket. He tugs at it.
The man stops. He looks at the boy
blankly. A shadow of annoyance crosses the man’s face. The man sees the boy’s
lips move but does not hear the words.
Child, what do you want from me? the
man’s eyes say.
‘I have nothing to give you,’ the man
says loudly.
The boy shakes his head. His lips
move. Whispered words. But the man is not interested. The man turns. Again, he
starts to walk away. But the boy does not let go. His words come out louder.
Puzzled but still exasperated, the
man now tries to listen to what the boy is saying. The boy’s lips move
again.
‘Tata?’ one word comes
out.
‘Is that you, Tata?’ more words
follow.
The boy’s lips tremble. . . . . . ."
?
"Mama’s priority became to find Tata.
There were so many questions that needed answers. Was he ill? Was he dead or
alive? Was he in Poland or had he, like us, been deported to the Soviet Union?
Did the news of the agreement reach him? And if so, was he travelling towards
the south? Was he walking the streets like so many others? In rags? Homeless?
Hungry?
Or has he joined the Polish
Army?
Mama needed to know. The only way to
find out was to go out and look for Tata. The question was, how could she find
Tata?
?
It’s cold, gray and wet. Streets are
covered with slush. Mama leaves early mornings and returns at night. Her face is
pale, her eyes are dull with exhaustion. I can feel a bleak hopelessness about
her. Not only because she could not find Tata that day but also because of what
she saw.
Mama brings back stories. Stories of
homeless people. Of men, women and children standing and shuffling in the
streets. Of people lying in the gutters and dying with no one able to help them.
Mama peering down at faces full of misery and pain. Mama searching and hoping,
and at the same time afraid of what, of whom, she may find. Mama also checking
lists of patients in the hospitals. And Mama looking up the names of those who
visited the recently set up clinics. Mama talking to people in the welfare
agencies. Mama stopping strangers in the streets and asking, ‘Have you heard of,
have you seen my husband, Stanislaw?’
And always, Mama hearing the same
answer, ‘I haven’t.’
And in turn, Mama being asked similar
questions by others, ‘Have you heard of Jozef, my husband? Jadzia, my wife?
Franek and Kasia, my children?’
Names. So many names being exchanged.
And always a glimmer of hope, immediately extinguished by a look of
despair.
And Mama writing notes: ‘Mrs.
Krystyna Pancewicz from Poland, Sokolka, looking for Stanislaw, her husband,
most probably deported to some part of the Soviet Union.’
Mama pinning her notes on the huge
notice boards, already covered with other small, now grubby, weather stained,
pieces of paper. All waiting for, all desperately demanding an answer to the one
and always the same question and message they carried.
And Mama visiting the Polish Army
camps. Slush, smelly slush, and tents standing in mud. People dressed in rags.
Their feet also in rags, wet and caked with mud. Mama checking lists of the
enlisted soldiers. Many names, long, unending lines of names. Mama’s eyes
getting very tired. Still, Mama’s eyes start at the top of the lists of names
and go down. Mama’s eyes not finding the name she is looking for.
I look at Mama coming home at night
and it not being necessary for me to ask about what has happened. Not words,
just the sadness around her drooping lips and echoing in her eyes. And Mama’s
haggard face tells me the outcome of her journey.
?
Mama goes out every day. Searching.
And so, yet another day. And yet another note with his name and her name
on the notice board. And again, this note becomes like all her other
notes and all the other people’s notes, desperately expectant and
prayerful.
But one day, a man, worn, ragged and
haggard comes up to the board, looks at the note, reads the note and runs after
Mama.
‘Pardon me Madam for intrusion, but
are you the Madam Judge from Sokolka?’
As soon as Mama entered our room that
night, I knew that Mama had a different story to tell us.
‘A man told me that Tata is in the
army camp. A few kilometers from Guzari,’ she said, breathless from excitement.
?
Mama went to the camp the very
next day. But Tata was not there. The man had made a mistake. . . . . .
."
?
"‘October 1944. The American troop carrier was
transporting a special cargo from Bombay to Wellington. Kiwi soldiers were
coming home from the battlefields in the Middle East and Europe. Also on board
were 100 adult civilians, predominantly women, and 733 children. Not ordinary
children but victims of war, taken from their homes and forcibly deported to
Siberia. Many remembered the terrible cold, hunger and darkness inside the
cattle wagons. Many suffered nightmares from seeing their parents, brothers and
sisters dying of illness and starvation. Many remembered being separated, lost
or being placed in Soviet orphanages. But some did not remember anything at all.
They were too little or too traumatized when it all happened.?The passage
on the American troop carrier was a perilous journey. At any time, the ship
could be torpedoed by a Japanese submarine. There were sounds of guns firing and
of sirens warning of danger. The journey would have been distressing for the
children if it was not for the Kiwi soldiers who gave them their love and
attention. They spent time with the children and entertained them. The ship
resounded with the children’s songs and
laughter...’???????????????????????
As I spoke, I saw in my mind the vast ocean and
I felt the intense heat and the constant sense of danger. I remembered Kiwi
soldiers sharing with us their allocation of fruit juice and ice-cream, teaching
us our first words of English and the Maori war-like dance, called
"haka".??????????????????????????????????????????????????????
?
Then I looked at the people in front of me. I
was addressing the Hamilton Rotary Club pre-Christmas meeting in 1980.
Rotarians, Rotarians’ wives and Dame Te Atairangikahu, ?the Maori Queen,
were
present.?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
?I saw a man at the back of the
room raise his arm. He stood up and then walked towards me. As he neared, the
man stretched out his arms and embraced me.
?‘I was one of the Kiwi soldiers
on the American ship transporting the children,’ he
whispered.?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
There was total silence. Through my
own tears, I saw tears in the eyes of my audience. . . . . . ."
?
And the rest of the book?
Life in Isfahan.
Life in New Zealand.
1966 - Iranian secondary schools?teach
history about the Polish children, who lived in Isfahan
and two?small children of Polish origin but born in NZ, lay flowers at the
tombs of the first Polish kings in the golden chapel of the Poznan
cathedral.
Is life only?roses in New
Zealand?
How far does one need to go to find?the
answer to what is the essence of life? India?
?
The book can speak for itself.
?
Krystine Tomaszyk
?
PS.
The book can?be ordered?($NZ25 plus postage)
from:
Dunmore Press,
PO Box 5115, Palmerston North, NZ.
ph: 05 358 7169,
fax: 06 357 9242,
email: books
@dunmore.co.nz. ?
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Re: Dziadek did you have a gun?
开云体育In a message dated 11/5/2004 3:33:50 AM Eastern Standard Time, annekaczanowski@... writes:
Heniu, Thank you for posting your poem. It is just what others said,"Well done" and the foggy glasses are the best prove of it. I am a luckey dad, since my boys did not asked that question, so I am sort of saved by the bell.
Dezio Lachocki, Wayne, NJ , USA.
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Re: Red Cross list of Polish Refugees - Problem Viewing
--- In Kresy-Siberia@..., "ghelon" <george@h...> wrote:
on small pic, get the next one, but when I click to get the largestLeft- hand corner.I also had this problem and my dad would really like to see the list can you let me know what I need to do to correct this? Thanks! GD |
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Re: Getting over it
rich widerynski
Dear Lech,
toggle quoted message
Show quoted text
Perhaps our way of "getting over it" is by having a magnificent forum like the KS group to discuss, vent and explore issues that bother us. Rich Widerynski -----Original Message-----
From: Lech Lesiak <lech_lesiak@...> Sent: Nov 6, 2004 12:55 PM To: Kresy-Siberia@... Subject: [Kresy-Siberia] Getting over it --- Zbigniew Bob Styrna <styrna@...> wrote: After the WWII ended in 1945, the rest of the freeEnd quote We get over it by accepting that Poland was caught between two large neighbors who used it to beat up on each other. An accident of geography. Some of us seem to have gotten over it and moved on with our lives more easily than others. One interesting example of this is my SIL's aunt by marriage whom I recently met for the first time in Toronto. She was deported to Siberia at age 12 and suffered the usual privations before ending up in the Polish community in India. I had a lengthy conversation with her about her experiences and was amazed that she had no bitterness. She is a history buff and understands the conditions in central Europe over the centuries. She is an interesting contrast to my SIL's mother who despises Russians and Ukrainians to this day. I must admit that I'm quite fascinated by the angst of some members of this discussion group, in particular that of those who were born outside of Poland. Czesc, Leszek Edmonton Alberta Kanada ______________________________________________________________________ Post your free ad now! * KRESY-SIBERIA GROUP = RESEARCH REMEMBRANCE RECOGNITION "Dedicated to researching, remembering and recognising the Polish citizens deported, enslaved and killed by the Soviet Union during World War Two." * Discussion site : Gallery (photos, documents) : Film and info : * To SUBSCRIBE to the discussion group, send an e-mail saying who you are and describing your interest in the group to: Kresy-Siberia-owner@... * Yahoo! Groups Links |
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Re: Polscy Chlopcy
Krystyna
Thank you Haniu your poem brought me to tears, but this was a good cry....
Tomorrow I will read it to my seniors and I am sure I will be looking at weepy faces.
many blessings on your head
Krystyna Styrna-Ejnesman
?
?
Anne Kaczanowski wrote:
Blessings
Krystyna
?
?
?
?
Do you Yahoo!? Check out the new Yahoo! Front Page. |
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Cildren's Questions
Hi Group,
Since we are on the subject of questions asked by children, I can remember one conversation with my son (at that time I think he was about 5). When I was telling him about many friends who were killed in action he asked me if they knew how to fight Germans. I told him that of course, they were good soldiers, who knew how to fight and yet they were killed. "Were you a good soldier, Daddy?" -he asked me. "Yes, I think, I was a good soldier" - I responded. "So, how come you were not killed?" he asked me... Romuald |
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Getting over it
Lech Lesiak
--- Zbigniew Bob Styrna <styrna@...> wrote:
After the WWII ended in 1945, the rest of the freeEnd quote We get over it by accepting that Poland was caught between two large neighbors who used it to beat up on each other. An accident of geography. Some of us seem to have gotten over it and moved on with our lives more easily than others. One interesting example of this is my SIL's aunt by marriage whom I recently met for the first time in Toronto. She was deported to Siberia at age 12 and suffered the usual privations before ending up in the Polish community in India. I had a lengthy conversation with her about her experiences and was amazed that she had no bitterness. She is a history buff and understands the conditions in central Europe over the centuries. She is an interesting contrast to my SIL's mother who despises Russians and Ukrainians to this day. I must admit that I'm quite fascinated by the angst of some members of this discussion group, in particular that of those who were born outside of Poland. Czesc, Leszek Edmonton Alberta Kanada ______________________________________________________________________ Post your free ad now! |
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Re: Comments on Bill Maher yesterday: US "helping" Eastern Europe
Hi Eve,
toggle quoted message
Show quoted text
Great job Eve! Could not be said any better. Romuald ----- Original Message -----
From: Eve5J@... Date: Saturday, November 6, 2004 11:28 am Subject: [Kresy-Siberia] Comments on Bill Maher yesterday: US "helping" Eastern Europe Dear Group: |
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Re: Comments on Bill Maher yesterday: US "helping" Eastern Europe
开云体育Hi Zbyszek -
The subject of Bill Maher's last show of the season was, of course, the?US presidential election.? Bill Maher is a?comedic political satirist?with a probing mind.? Besides doing a couple of skits, he has guests on the show from?the now considered bad (by the Religious Right) "Hollywood" as well as politics, military, etc.? It's a very lively discussion, and yesterday's show was the liveliest I have ever seen, besides bringing?much needed?comic relief after the election and other events now facing the USA and?the world.? Sometimes it does tend to be a little on the risque side.? Yesterday's show was fine other than a couple of epithets, one from a former Republican Senator.
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To me it seems that the worst type of Ugly Americanism, among other things, has reared its?head in?my country.? I cannot believe I just wrote those words about Hollywood above.??Is this the USA, my country?? I'll answer my own question:? No, it is NOT!?
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Anyway back to Bill Maher, the subject turned to Iraq, of course, and this was when the comments were made about Eastern?Europe by Sullivan.??Thanks Zbyszek, I do know that the USA helped Poland?with food and Radio Free Europe, etc., but this was not the type of aid this guy was talking about.? He definitely wasn't talking about?weapons either.?I could tell he wasn't in the "know," so?I had to try to set him straight.??I feel it?was more in?line with the?USA giving Eastern Europe freedom!? Funny, isn't it??
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The week before Gen. Wesley Clark was on.? He is a man to be admired, but?made the analogy of the same old?infamous Nazi propaganda?of the Polish?cavalry taking on the German tanks again.? I meant to write him with the correction, but with this past week's events, I haven't?done so yet.? I will though!?
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I couldn't possibly include everything that was done to Poland during and after the war with all?details, but I felt that my letter provided him?food for thought.? ?I agree with you?100 percent.? It is impossible to get over the hell that Poland endured.? Americans, I am sorry to say, are ignorant on the whole, and they are showing their true colors recently.? We in this group?know firsthand that war is hell and the world?should try as hard as possible to insure that history does not repeat itself.? Hopefully that will not occur now.
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Best regards,
Eve?
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Eve, |
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Re: Dziadek did you have a gun?
Anne Kaczanowski
I loved your husband's story from his dad.? This the kind of stuff I was hoping to hear. My dad was actually quite small in the army, and when I mentioned this to someone, they said " Don't knock?his size...because a smaller target is harder to hit. Krys Dobrzanski wrote:
Do you Yahoo!? Check out the new Yahoo! Front Page. |
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Re: Dziadek did you have a gun?
Anne Kaczanowski
I really have no idea how to go about getting this published..but would appreciate advice from anyone who could help me with some ideas. Liz/Ian Halko-Carrington wrote:
Do you Yahoo!? Check out the new Yahoo! Front Page. |
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Re: Dziadek did you have a gun?
Krys Dobrzanski
开云体育Droga Haniu, I share Liz's sentiments precisely,
you have a great and unique talent and this should be more widely accessible. I
have certainly emailed it to as many people as I can, both with Polish links and
without, all of whom will appreciate it I'm sure.
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I thought that you might be interested in my
husband's response to your beautiful and moving poem. Firstly, he emerged with
his eyes brimming with tears and then proceeded to tell me his own
childhood?experience of asking this same "question" of his late
father,?who was in the AK.
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"Father, if you were fighting in the War how come
that you are alive....!?"
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"Son, I just flexed my muscles and the bullets
bounced off me!"
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A truly modest response to an horrific and painful
time.
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With kindest regards,
Krys Ipswich, England ?
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poland is rising from the dark days.
stevesob58
i would just like to say me and my wife have just spent a week in
krakow,and poland is rising from the ashes.as an anglo pole i was always proud of my polish roots,but i didn,t think it was possible to feel any prouder,but i do.the people of poland deserve credit for getting there act together,to say poland as only been free since 1989.poland as come a long way in a very short time.long may it continue. |
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Re: Comments on Bill Maher yesterday: US "helping" Eastern Europe
Krys Dobrzanski
开云体育Well done Eve! There is so much blatant rubbish being peddled all over the
western world that it eventually becomes?" fact" (not!) which is spread by
word of mouth, educational establishments, media etc and possibly even in some
academic texts also. What you are doing in re educating the masses, is
highly commendable and perhaps through the Kresy Siberia links, members who
are?spreading the 'word' are also making a small dent in this almost
impenetrable shield of misinformation and blatant fairy tales.
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I?had occasion to speak at length to a man who is doing some building
work in our home and he had absolutely no idea that Poland was treated so
brutally during WWII. He had no knowledge whatsoever about the division
of?Poland between Hitler and Stalin or the mass deportation of Polish
citizens into Siberia and slave labour in Germany. This is from a
British-educated man who has a wide general knowledge and interest in politics
and historical events, but is totally ignorant of Poland's true plight...I am
sure that he is not unique in this matter and there seems to be a large void in
this particular nation's education, as well as the belief that Churchill was
Poland's saviour!! He certainly has another perspective on matters now and
luckily is very interested and moved by my mother's Siberian deportation
story...and, he is spreading this knowledge.?
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Keep up the good work Eve, we all need to take example from your
unremitting energy and enthusiasm!??
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With kindest regards,
Krys Ipswich, England ?
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(No subject)
Zbigniew Bob Styrna
开云体育Eve, I did not hear this person’s show. But I enjoyed your summary of the events.? As usual, you are right on,….. except for one tiny part.? J "…..helping Eastern Europe….", is quite correct.? He meant USA shipping millions of tons of weapons to Russia with which Russia then fought Germans but also destroyed and oppressed Poland with them and occupied Poland for 60 years.? During the post WWII 60 years, till 1989, Russia kept Poland in the “dark ages” and pillaged all it’s resources and kept all Poles world-wide in constant paranoia. After the WWII ended in 1945, the rest of the free world like France, Spain, England, Denmark, etc, and even the villains of the war like west Germany and Italy, prospered, while Poland was locked up in hell for generations. How do the Polish people and their children get over that ? Regards Zbyszek Dear Group: ? Below is an email I sent to Andrew Sullivan, a normally right-wing blogger who was a guest on the HBO show "Real Time With Bill Maher" yesterday.? Try to watch this week's Bill Maher if you can. ? Pozdrawiam, Eve Jankowicz USA ----- Andrew: ? I wanted to let you know that you were incorrect and?entirely out of line regarding the United States coming to the aid of?Eastern Europe.? As you know?Nazi Germany's invasion of Poland began World War II in 1939.? Simultaneously Poland was invaded by the USSR on her long Eastern borders.??Not one single country came to Poland's aid to?help its citizens fight off this dual slaughter, and Poland was almost annihilated.??Then began the long war years of oppression, deportation to Siberia of millions of its Eastern citizens, incarceration, starvation, enslavement, and wholesale murder of Poland by both the USSR and Germany.? When the entire city of?Warsaw rose against the Nazis, the Russian army?(at that time our allies) watched as the city was destroyed, starved, and?murdered.? Again the world watched and did nothing, giving the?Russian army a free pass to do what it would, which in this case was nothing. ? During the war Poland served and gave valiantly to the war effort as both an ally and for its own freedom.? This?service was without parallel.??Men and women served bravely on many fronts:? in Poland's own Underground Army, with the Polish Forces Under British Command in Europe and elsewhere, and with the Soviet Army fighting the Nazis from the East.??This is just the tip of the iceberg regarding what Polish citizens did for the war effort and how they suffered.? ? And what was Poland's?reward?? 1).??Its?soldiers were prevented from participating in the Victory Parade in London because Stalin would?not allow this.? Roosevelt and Churchill capitulated to his demands, and?this was just one of the many times that this occurred.? 2).? Its Eastern?borderlands were given to and made part of?the USSR, and,?3).? Poland, with the rest of Eastern Europe, was promptly HANDED OVER in its entirety to the USSR.? Poland just emerged from the USSR's yoke?in?1989. ? This was a total betrayal by the allies, of which this country was a leading member.? Eastern Europe, and particularly Poland,?were the recipients of and received the brunt of the war as far as destruction of society and actual warfare.? All of Eastern Europe?was served as one of the?sacrificial lambs?of World War II.? ? I suggest before you shoot your mouth off,?know your subject matter.? The United States was complicit in allowing these events?to occur.? Our "helping Eastern Europe" would be laughable if it wasn't so disgusting an opposite reality.?? ? Eve Jankowicz |
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Dziadek did you have a gun?
开云体育Dear Hania, I was so very moved by your poem that even as I write this I still have chills and am fighting back tears thinking of all those men and women who fought so bravely and still continue to fight. This poem needs to be published for everyone to read especially as we near Remembrance Day. Our ancestors are not the only ones who do not tell their children and grandchildren what it was like to fight for their country. Does anyone know – if Hania agrees - how we can get this poem out to the world? Can we send it to newspaper editors? How would you feel about that Hania? ? Liz Halko Toronto, Ontario |