Kazik

On April 10, 2010, a Polish military plane carrying senior state and military officials crashed shortly after entering Russian airspace, where it was headed for the commemoration of the Katyń massacre. The crash killed ninety-six people, including the President of the Republic, Lech Kaczyński. Every year since, lavish ceremonies have been held to mark that tragedy, led by Kaczyński's twin brother, Jarosław.

The surviving Kaczyński is himself a leading figure in Polish politics, as chairman of PiS (Prawo i Sprawiedliwość, i.e. Law and Justice), the country's most powerful party. Firmly right-wing, PiS has been slowly eroding Polish law and attempting to alter the balance of powers that underpins the state's democratic structure (the European Parliament has voiced deep concern over this, threatening severe sanctions).

PiS's takeover of the state, however, doesn't only run through the channels of power: it also involves occupying the media and news outlets, trying to place sympathizers and trusted figures everywhere, in order to win over the public and the electoral support that comes with it.

This brings us to the latest developments at Trójka, the third channel of Polish national radio, which we already discussed in 2016 in an article for this very column, dedicated to the song “Kocham wolność” by Chłopcy z Placu Broni. We refer readers back to that piece to fully understand what this channel means to Poland, but to put it briefly: since the 1970s it has embodied the very concept of culture and freedom, being the only media space where one could discuss topics at odds with the regime's ideology and broadcast foreign music. From then on it more or less survived unscathed through decades and political changes, until 2015, when PiS decided to place it under its direct control.

Even with new directors appointed and skillfully steered from above, one space on the channel resisted the takeover, thanks to the immense prestige of its creator and host, Marek Niedźwiecki. This was the weekly chart show Lp3, dedicated to rock, folk, sung poetry and alternative music in general: Niedźwiecki created it during martial law in 1981-83, to give some breathing room to the young people of that generation. It was such a success that it has never been taken off air since.

On 15 May 2020, even this last free space fell. At the end of the broadcast, Niedźwiecki announces a new track, entering straight in at number 1: “Twój ból jest lepszy niż mój” by Kazik (summing up a colossal figure like Kazik is too heavy a task for an article about a single song: suffice it to say he is the most important Polish rock singer among those who debuted from the second half of the 1980s onward). The track is aired and the chart topped by it is duly archived on the Trójka website. Yet the page turns out to be inaccessible barely an hour later. The reason was immediately clear to everyone: censorship.

Before going on, it's worth clarifying what the song is about. The title means “Your Pain Is Better Than Mine”, and it refers to a news story concerning the Covid-19 lockdown. During that period, all cemeteries in Poland were closed to the public. Unconcerned by this, Jarosław Kaczyński, on 10 April, requested and obtained permission to enter the Warsaw museum in order to commemorate his brother's death.

Kaczyński's abuse of power, in which he sidestepped the law in a downright shameless manner, prompted Kazik to write a protest song about it. The lyrics, whose full translation we provide below, explain the reasons behind its censorship better than any analysis could:

The closed cemeteries are the result of events

from recent weeks, recent events.

I look at the chains, I wipe away my tears,

just like you, just like you.

The gate opens, I can't believe my eyes,

maybe things will turn out differently [after all]?

I run, but your bodyguard shouts “stop” at me,

because your pain is better than mine,

your pain is better than mine.

You're the only one who can ease [your own] pain,

all the others have fallen into misery.

Two limousines, a whole cemetery of your own,

better than mine.

In the streets and in the apartments

the spirit of love is emerging.

Two limousines, a whole cemetery of your own,

bigger than mine.

Four years ago, on the 10th of April,

Maria's daughter ran straight under a car.

Maria won't cross the gate today,

because your grief is better than hers,

your grief is better than hers.

Józef had a father, a wife and a son,

and their time stopped that day.

Józef won't be able to mourn them today,

your grief is better than his,

your grief is better than hers.

I don't like cemeteries at all,

when my mother asks me, I'll go there with her.

I'll put flowers on my father's grave,

your pain is better than mine,

your pain is better than mine.

What a beautiful day we've been given today,

to remember everyone who's gone.

Staying on the other side, tears are shed,

just like for you,

just like for you.

Although Kazik never mentions the politician by name, there's no doubt about who is the target of the attack. This time, however, the audience didn't stay silent: protest exploded immediately on social media, with Trójka's Facebook page flooded with thousands of angry posts, while the song shot up on YouTube, racking up nearly six million views in a week.

The day after the incriminating episode of Lp3, Trójka's director, Tomasz Kowalczewski, released a statement admitting he had the chart removed, claiming it had been manipulated by the host. According to him, based on the votes received from listeners, Kazik hadn't actually placed first, but only fourth.

Faced with such a surreal accusation, NiedŻwiecki announced his resignation in protest. His co-host, Piotr Baron, showed him full support, declaring: "I won't host Lp3 again until an apology is made to Marek NiedŻwiecki and to all of us for the lies that have been thrown at us."

On May 17th, Bartosz Gil, the compiler of the chart, announced he had been suspended from Trójka for refusing to sign a statement in which Kowalczewski made him admit to manipulating the count.

Reactions from artists are also starting to pour in. Dawid Podsiadło, the most famous Polish singer of recent years, officially asked Trójka to stop airing his songs until censorship has left the building. Tomasz Organek, another major name in the local rock scene, did the same. The duo Fisz Emade, made up of the Waglewski brothers, even released an instant song about the affair, titled "Mój kraj znika" ("My Country Is Disappearing").

In the days that follow, other radio hosts resign one after another (nine of them within a week), which on 19 May prompts Kowalczewski to call a bizarre press conference in which he attempts to prove his own theories by fabricating data out of thin air. It will do little good, because that same day Piotr Metz, curator of the station's music selection, appears on a television show and shows viewers a phone message sent to him by Kowalczewski, ordering him to pull the song from the playlist.

Metz will also state that "until now, [Trójka's] music department had remained free from political pressure. The news bulletins and talk shows haven't been so lucky. In recent years Trójka has promoted a single ideology, a single political outlook and a very simplistic narrative, which runs counter to everything this radio station has always stood for", and that "the communist regime had more respect for Trójka's freedom of speech than the current government does".

At that point the game is up, to the extent that even the minister of culture, Piotr Gliński (PiS), while trying to cast the song in a negative light, was forced to admit Kowalczewski's abuse of power, writing on Twitter: "Sometimes artists say foolish things, even outrageous ones. But it's even more outrageous to remove a song simply because it expresses the wrong opinion".

A few days of silence follow, during which the protests keep raging online, and finally, on 25 May, Kowalczewski resigns. Trójka's new director, announced that same day, is Jakub Strzyczkowski, who immediately gets to work bringing back the exiles (both those who left voluntarily and those who didn't). At that point the station's audience settles down: Strzyczkowski is a well-established name in Polish radio, known for his fairness and seriousness, and worthy of trust for the future (although in a situation like this one should never let one's guard down).

In the end, Kazik's song not only exposed Kaczyński's hypocrisy to Poland, but also freed Trójka from the worst director it has ever had, and sparked a furious public debate about the way PiS runs the country's radio and TV networks: its voters won't change their minds because of this, but at least the issue has been put on the table and is no longer taboo. In a world where music seems to matter less and less, it's heartening to see what it can still achieve, with the right song released at the right moment.

Through all of this, no one really discussed the song's musical content, which was pushed into the background given the sheer complexity of the affair surrounding it. Backed by his friend Wojtek Jabłoński (multi-instrumentalist and producer) and by prog keyboardist Konrad Wantrych (on accordion here), Kazik put together a little village-band march, influenced by old Warsaw folk music. The arrangement is minimal: besides the accordion, there's a bass drum, a cymbal and a tuba. A winning idea, since it creates a grotesque contrast between the comical, sly gait of the instrumental backing and the anger mixed with grief expressed in the lyrics, further highlighting its message of protest.