Polish Grannies vs. the far-right: Europe's unlikely democracy defenders
Every Thursday Krystyna Piotrowska, in her puffy parka, has gathered with a handful of other activists near the Charles de Gaulle statue at a busy intersection in central Warsaw. There, until recently, the demonstrators – most of them grandmothers, or in her case a great-grandmother – have handed out leaflets and hoisted placards to protest against a poisonous kind of patriotism that they see afflicting modern Poland. Their signs have been made of plastic foam so they are easy to carry. Their slogans: “Stop Hate Speech,” “Nationalism is not Patriotism,” “Stop Neofascists.”
The disparate crew of retired professionals, some in tennis shoes, all impassioned, has been confronting authorities and nationalist demonstrators for more than a year. While the protesters have stopped amid the coronavirus outbreak, they vow to take up their curbside activism again once the lockdown here ends.
Being grandmothers, the protesters say, decreases their chances of being manhandled by police on the streets as has been the fate of other groups standing in the way of nationalist marches. But their activism is not without risk. Far-right youths have hurled abuse and even flammable projectiles at the intrepid demonstrators.
“Young people have this freedom and they think that by definition they deserve it,” says Ms. Piotrowska. “Unfortunately, freedom is not given once and for all. You have to take care of it and fight for it, just like love.”
The Polish Grannies, as the protesters are called, symbolize a grassroots movement across parts of Europe that is trying to blunt the most extreme versions of far-right nationalism. Often led by women, these groups are fighting for gender-specific causes such as reproductive
