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«I hugged the trees farewell. I promised to come back»

Refugee from Mykolaiv on everything the war stole from her and temporary asylum in Poland.

Tetiana Bakotska

Mykolaiv, November 2022.
Photograph: Nina Liashonok/UkrInform/Eastern News

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For eight years, I recorded stories from people, whose life had been destroyed by the Russo-Ukrainian war, as I worked as a journalist for the National Public Broadcasting Company in Mykolaiv. Since 2014, when the occupation of Crimea occurred and fighting began in eastern Ukraine, the heroes and heroines of my TV and radio programs, stories, reports, articles and sketches have been the Ukrainian troops, volunteers, internally displaced persons and refugees.

The new chapter of the great war has brought even more death and total ruin into my life. At 39 I became a widow of a fallen soldier, a refugee. I ended up alone in a foreign country with two children (a 6-month-old daughter and an 11 y.o. son), without any relatives, friends, or people I knew. Now I am forced to write my own story as a refugee to document Russian war crimes and record the memories of what I have experienced.

Battles for the South

The first Russian missiles of February 24 2022, fell one and a half kilometres away from my home - on a large military airfield «Kulbakine». Thanks to the intel intercepted by the Main Intelligence Agency of the Ministry of Defence, the 299th brigade had managed to get all the aircraft into the air before the air raid began. After the combined missile and bomb strikes, the airfield was attacked multiple times by convoys of occupational troops. On the evening of February 25, they entered our village, which is 4km away from Mykolaiv, from the direction of Kherson. We could not believe that this was our new reality. But after the rain, the enemy tanks got stuck in the field between my house and the airfield. Six vehicles still managed to infiltrate the military facility. They were met with fire by the service members of the tactical aviation brigade named after Lieutenant General Vasyl Nikiforov, under the command of Colonel Serhiy Samoylov. The National Guard fighters were helping. Facing resistance, the Russians fled. Some of them could not find the way back and hid in the forest strips where we used to gather mushrooms.

On March 4th, they came back. Approximately at noon, a Russian drone flew over the airfield, and Russian airborne combat vehicles drove through the streets of our village once again. About 400 Russians had entered the premises of the airfield. The fighting began. Our infantrymen decided to let them come close, as their resources were limited to small arms. The Russians were 200 metres away from the operations centre. And then, the airfield’s defenders began shelling them with artillery. The Russians retreated.

A year after this battle, the commander of the tactical aviation brigade named after Lieutenant General Vasyl Nikiforov, Serhiy Samoylov, said in an interview that it was a fateful victory. By defending the airfield, our warriors saved Mykolaiv.

Evacuation. I hugged the trees farewell

Evacuation was recommended to all residents of our Shevchenko community, as these grounds had become one of the epicentres of battles for Mykolaiv. People who had to remain there for various reasons lived under constant crossfire. Without water, electricity, gas, or medicine. They would extinguish the fires caused by bombings themselves, feed and tend to local cats and dogs.

Oh, how hard it was to abandon everything that I love… But I did not have a choice. I hugged our trees: cherries, apple and pear trees, plums and apricots, which my husband and I planted in the Spring of 2014 when the war started and he was drafted for the first time. I talked to our house that we built ourselves in 2013: «We love you very much, but we must run away. Sorry. Stand steadily, and until we meet again!». Me and my children left for a village 100km north of Mykolaiv, close to the town of Voznesensk. We drove for 9 hours. The roads were congested with traffic. People were fleeing the Kherson region.

Tetiana with her children. Evacuation

We were hoping that it would be safer there. But in a few days, Russian military convoys had reached Voznesensk. They began shelling the town with heavy artillery. Bloodshedding battles commenced. A military unit that was just a few kilometres away from where we were then was being hit by missiles. I read the news: the goal of the enemy forces is to capture the Southern Ukrainian nuclear power plant that is just 30km away from Voznesensk. When the Russians captured the largest nuclear power plant in Europe, the Zaporizhia NPP, in early March, I was really scared that the same clashes would commence for our Southern Ukrainian NPP. So I began to look for an opportunity to get closer to the western border with my children. But the bridge to Mykolaiv had already been blown up. It was also not possible to reach Odesa by train since the railway bridge was destroyed as well. I accidentally came across a group of strangers on Facebook who agreed to take us to the evacuation train to Odesa. Going by car was dangerous: the roads were getting bombed and some territories were filled with mines. But we left at noon anyway. We rode into the unknown.

The «Odesa - Lviv» train

Odesa greeted us with a cold sea breeze and rain. We spent 17 hours waiting in line for the evacuation train headed to Lviv. The railway station was overcrowded. I found a small piece of empty space by the wall and we were finally able to sit down on the floor. Men, seeing their wives and children off at the train, sat next to us. Time after time they looked at us and asked us anxiously: «Make your children calm down or move away. You are irritating my kids. How can you even be so careless as to travel with such a small child?».

It came to me that it was unlikely for everyone to fit on the train. No one knew if there would be another train the next day and we did not have any place to stay. It was also impossible to come back. I called the police and explained our situation. A representative of the railway security called me back and said that he could help, as my husband, the father of my children, was among the defenders of the southern front among the Ukrainian Armed forces. He brought us to a group of people who, unlike us, were waiting for the train inside, in a dedicated room at the railway station. When the train arrived, we were told that we could enter one of the first four train cars. But nervous and exhausted people on the platform would not let us through. And once again the railway security representative helped us board the train. Me and my children managed to get in last. The train conductor informed us that we could enter any compartment that had less than six people in it. But everyone who had already got in refused to let us enter and would even push us out: nobody wanted to travel alongside a little baby. We had to leave our baggage behind. We only took a backpack with food and medicine. The saddest thing for me to leave behind was my son’s dobok (taekwondo uniform). But he reassured me: «Don’t worry. We’ve lost so much that my dobok is but a drop in the ocean». Then the train conductor proclaimed that the train would not take off until we were provided with a seat. Close to 2 AM we finally took off to Lviv. There was a Russian-speaking lady with three almost-adult children in our compartment who was travelling by the Red Cross programme to Germany. Her husband was working there and they’d already had free living quarters in Germany. She explained why she initially did not want to let us into the compartment: «The Red Cross promised us a comfortable trip. And we’ve earned it because we are from Mykolaiv. We went through stress».

Ruslan Khoda. Ukraine’s defender on the southern front. Died in battle in the Kherson region on August 4th 2022 at 14:00. This is the last photo of the hero

Lviv volunteers: all for the sake of victory

We reached Lviv in 12 hours. The railway station was as overcrowded as it was in Odesa. I did not know what to do next. I wanted to buy bus tickets to the Polish border. But there were none. I had to contact Ksenia Klym - a journalist, volunteer and the mother of Marko Klym, a Ukrainian soldier. In early March, Marko defended the Mykolaiv region from the Russian occupants, including the Voznesensk town, from which we travelled to Lviv. Ksenia came to the railway station right away and invited us to spend the night at her place, as my children were exhausted by such a long trip.

The following day Christina Brukhal, a volunteer from Lviv, helped us board an evacuation bus to Warsaw. At first, we came to a place where lady Christina and her colleagues had organised a shelter for people wanting to flee to Poland. Christina provided us with warm clothes so we would not get cold at night at the border. Additionally, she gave us diapers, child food and a new backpack. In the evening, when the bus arrived, almost all the volunteers went outside to bid us farewell. It was very touching: in such a short time, strangers in Lviv had bestowed so much love upon us that it was almost as if we had lived together our whole lives. They were with us until the last moment of our being in our Motherland. Everyone cried.

The same evening, Ksenia alongside other Lviv residents went to deliver humanitarian help for the warriors in the Mykolaiv region, where hellish battles were taking place.

Loss

My husband, Ruslan Khoda, went to the recruitment office on the first day. In 5 months, on August 4th 2022, he died in battle during a Russian artillery shelling near Lozove village in the Kherson region.

Ruslan was the Commander of the reconnaissance platoon within the 36th Separate Marine Brigade named after Counter Admiral Mykhailo Bilynskyi (military unit A2802, city of Mykolaiv).

Scouts are always the first ones to go. On July 25th Ruslan turned 37, and in 10 days his two children, Mykhailo (11 years old) and Myroslava (11 months old), became half-orphans.

Ruslan’s body, like many of his comrades who also died there, still has not been returned to his relatives. Russian troops had been constantly bombing the territory now called the Lozova Grave, so there was no burial. If the body is missing, the fallen soldier’s family cannot receive financial support from the government. Only on Christmas of 2023 did our children presents from the Red Cross: Myroslava - a Frozen doll, and Mykhailo - a chocolate bar and a bottle of water.

«Taekwondo Olsztyn» club coach Marcin Chożelevsky and Tetiana and Ruslan’s son. The boy enjoys the sports lessons

In the Autumn of 2022, an unknown woman called me on Viber and said: «My grandson was also there, where the Lozova Grave is now. Every day, my grandson watched through binoculars over Ruslan's body. At the first opportunity, he took him away. He asked me to tell you that Ruslan's body is in the ground. It's untouched by dogs, unpicked by birds. The bodies of all the soldiers who remained there rest in Ukrainian soil, and their souls continue to defend the South.»

In 2014, when the Russo-Ukrainian war started, Ruslan was drafted for the first time. Our son was three years old. Ruslan could flee to Poland like many people he knew did. After all, his mother, two sisters and nephews still live in the suburbs of Moscow. He took this step because for him it was a battle for the opportunity for people to choose their own future, for a chance to live in a fair world. And for him, the war was not over in 2015 when he came home: he was ready to pay the highest price for the victory of Ukraine.

Mykolaiv: a city on an explosive wave

Mykolaiv is called that since the beginning of the full-scale invasion. Russian forces repeatedly stormed the city, regularly shelled it with cruise missiles, cluster munitions, attacked with rocket artillery and targeted it with S-300 surface-to-air missiles. The occupants performed their largest shelling of Mykolaiv on the night of July 31st 2022. It was their most massive attack of the entire war.

The following day, Ruslan called me for the last time. He wanted to say goodbye because he knew that he would not make it alive from that fight: «You will make it. Your task is to raise our children as patriots, as decent people. Everything will be Ukraine!»

Again and again, I thought about what the war had taken from us: Russian missiles destroyed the student dormitory, where 18 years prior he and I met for the first time (during the beginning of the Orange Revolution of 2004); the Pedagogical university where he and I studied for 5 years; one of the facilities where Ruslan used to work; schools and hospitals, a church where we christened our children; a theatre that we would go on holidays… In terms of the scale of destruction and the number of bombings, the Mykolaiv region ranks third after the Donetsk and Luhansk regions.

School in the village of Blagodatne in the Mykolaiv region destroyed by the Russian forces, July 19th 2023. Photo: Nina Liashonok/Ukrinform/ABACAPRESS.COM

Since April 2022, the city has been living without a centralised water supply. The Russians destroyed the water source which Mykolaiv was getting water from. As of July 2023, the overall damages inflicted upon Mykolaiv’s infrastructure due to Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine have been estimated to be over 860 million euros. 159 civilians including 2 children in Mykolaiv and 16 children in the region have lost their lives to the full-scale war waged by Russia.

Life in Poland

In April 2022, I came to Olsztyn with my children - the capital of the Warmińsko-Mazurskie voivodeship. Here my son Mykhailo had the opportunity to continue practicing taekwondo. It is more than just sports for our family. Grigoriy Khozyainov, my son’s and husband’s coach, the head of the Mykolaiv Regional Taekwondo Federation, senior coach for the Ukrainian national cadet team, participated in battles for Mariupol, in the Mykolaiv region and the Kherson region as part of the 36th Separate Marine Brigade named after Counter Admiral Mykhailo Bilynskyi. He was declared MIA (missing in action) on November 7th 2022 during battles on the outskirts of Bakhmut. He was 50 years old.

During his lifetime, our coach managed to bring up a World Champion among cadets, Champions of Europe and winners of many international and Ukrainian tournaments. My husband was among the first students of Grigoriy Khozyainov. Ruslan grew up in a large family. His parents often could not afford the training fee. When his coach found out about it, he said that talented kids could study for free under his mentorship. And because of that, later on, Ruslan volunteered as a children’s coach in the Shevchenko community on the outskirts of Mykolaiv. Maybe he found himself in those kids, as it was too expensive and difficult for them to go to the city for training. The last taekwondo training session that my husband conducted ended at 6 PM on Wednesday, February 23 2022, in the village of Shevchenkove, Mykolaiv region, which was among the villages that suffered the most from Russian shellings. Possibly, the building in which Ruslan used to teach taekwondo does not exist anymore.

My husband wanted to serve in the 36th brigade in particular because our coach had been serving there since Autumn of 2022. Grigory Borysovych felt the imminence of the war. He was offered work as a coach in European countries multiple times but he chose a different path: he left to defend the Donetsk frontline.

When Ruslan died, his coach was distressed by the tragedy. Ruslan was like a son to him. To comfort Grigory Borysovych at least somehow, my son promised him that he would take his father’s place and conduct trainings for the children of the Shevchenko community when we came back to Mykolaiv. The coach could not hold back his tears.

In Olsztyn, my son once again has the opportunity to be with his taekwondo family. He has been training free of pay here for over a year now. Coach Marcin Chożelevsky has given him a new dobok. On May 20th 2023, the Kujawsko-Pomorska league tournaments took place in Bydgoszcz. Mykhailo won a golden medal.

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Journalist, editor of the Mykolaiv branch of the National Public Broadcasting Company of Ukraine. Author of TV and radio programs, reports, and articles on military, environmental, cultural, social and European topics. Published in the newspaper of the Ukrainian diaspora in Poland «Our Word», on the nationwide website «Eurointegration Portal» of the Office of the Deputy Prime Minister for European and Euro-Atlantic Integration and the Ukrainian Crisis Media Center. Participates in international training programs for journalists: Deutsche Welle Akademie, Media Neighbourhood (BBC Media Action), Thomson Foundation, and others. Co-organiser of various events and training sessions: educational and cultural projects for refugees in Poland, implemented by Caritas, Federation of NGOs FOSa; «Culture Helps», implemented by Osvita (UA) and Zusa (DE). Co-author of the book «A Heart Devoted to the People» about the history of southern Ukraine. Published articles on military topics in the books «War in Ukraine. Kyiv - Warsaw: Together to Victory» (Poland, 2022) and «Environmental Readings: Preserving for Future Generations» (Ukraine, 2022).

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Nothing survives without words.
Together, we carry voices that must be heard.

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On August 25, the President of Poland announced a veto of the government bill that was meant to regulate protection and support for families fleeing the war. This decision, and the language that accompanied it – promises to make aid for children conditional on their parent’s employment, prolonging the path to citizenship, reigniting historical disputes – is not a matter of mood, but of cold political calculation.

It strikes at Ukrainian refugee women, at their children, at the elderly and the sick; it also strikes at our schools, doctors, and local governments. Instead of certainty, it brings fear; instead of calm, it threatens family separations, secondary migration, and the erosion of trust in the Polish state.

Imagine that you are the ones at war defending your homeland – and a neighboring country treats your wives, mothers, and daughters as hostages of politics.

After the President’s decision, thousands of homes across Poland were filled with shock, bitterness, and a sense of betrayal. Mothers who fled with children and sick parents from cities and villages turned to rubble now ask themselves: where are we supposed to flee next? Women who chose Poland out of love and trust now feel that this love has not been reciprocated.

A child is not a lifeless entry in a statute, and the aid granted to that child cannot be used as leverage against their mother. Solidarity is not seasonal, it is not a trend. If it is true in March, it must also be true in August. Memory is not a cudgel. A state that, instead of healing the wounds of history, reaches for easy symbols does not build community. A state cannot be a street theater. A serious state chooses responsibility, not political spectacle: procedures, clear communication, protection of the most vulnerable.

We, Polish women – mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, and grandmothers – say it plainly: no one has the right to impose conditions, in our name, on women fleeing war. We will not accept the pain and suffering of people in need of our support being turned into fuel for political disputes. We will not allow the destruction of the trust on which community stands. This is a matter of national interest and of our common conscience. It is bridges – not walls – that turn neighbors into allies, and it is predictable and just law, together with the language of respect, that strengthens Poland’s security more than populist shouting from the podium.

Europe – and therefore we as well – has committed to continuity of protection for civilians fleeing aggression. It is our duty to keep that word. This means one thing: to confirm publicly, clearly, and without ambiguity that the families who trusted Poland will not wake up tomorrow in a legal vacuum; that no child will be punished because their parent does not have employment; that the language of power will not divide people into “ours” and “others.” For a child and their single mother, the law must be a shield, not a tool of coercion into loyalty and obedience. Politics must be service, not spectacle.

We call on you, who make the law and represent the Republic, to restore certainty of protection and to reject words that stigmatize instead of protect. Let the law serve people, not political games. Let Poland remain a home where a mother does not have to ask: “Where to now?” – because the answer will always be: “Stay in a country that keeps its word.”

This is not a dispute over legal technicalities. It is a question of the face of the Republic. Will it be a state of the word that is kept – or a state of words thrown to the wind? Will we stand on the side of mothers and children – or on the side of fear?

Signed:
Polish women – mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, grandmothers.

As of today, the letter has been endorsed by over two thousand women from across Poland — among them three former First Ladies of the Republic of Poland, Nobel Prize laureate Olga Tokarczuk, and internationally acclaimed filmmaker Agnieszka Holland. Their voices stand alongside those of hundreds of other women — mothers, daughters, sisters, grandmothers — who have chosen to sign as a gesture of solidarity and moral responsibility.

The full list of signatories is available at the link below:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/135yP6XadgyRJmECLyIaxQTHcOyjOVy9Y4mgFP9klzIM/edit?tab=t.0

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Letter of protest of Polish women to the Prime Minister, the Sejm, the Senate and the President of the Republic of Poland

Sestry

Melania Krych: What is this Zryw [eng. Surge]  all about?

Julia Wojciechowska: We’re the generation that, at the time of the government transition in 2015, was still in our teens. Our coming of age was marked by constant political debate — at home, at school, on the streets. And it was a debate that neither included us nor spoke to us. But times have changed.

Agnieszka Gryz: Do you know the playbook for apathy? When the key political events unfold right under your nose, shaping your tomorrow, and yet you can neither cast a vote nor even raise your voice. Zryw didn’t begin the day we registered the Foundation — it began, piece by piece, within each of us, years ago.

JW: And yes, now we run a Foundation. We’re not selling a cat in a bag: we are political, but we are not partisan. We want to build the next generation of state leaders. We’ve just finished recruitment for our first zryw, a four-day public leadership retreat in the Tatra mountains.  

Why public servants? Don’t we have enough of those?

JW: The bench is short and not very attractive. We have experts, and we have politicians. The experts have spent the last eight years climbing corporate ladders or building Euro-careers in Brussels; they have families to support. And suddenly they’re supposed to destabilize their lives to take a ministry job for a quarter of the salary?
Meanwhile, there are plenty of young people who can and want to step in but no one is inviting them. And what’s more, when they knock on the door themselves, no one cares to open it.

AG: Right now, the most reliable “pipeline” into public service is through party youth wings. Those are often comprised of people who, from a very young age, have been focused solely on securing a particular seat. And once they’re in it, they don’t want to leave. What would their alternative be? And while not all youth wings are the same, the young people we’ve met often had neither vision nor their own ideas, only the party line that raised them.

That’s not the kind of public service we want Zryw to represent. Our diagnosis isn’t about a lack of knowledge or experience. What’s missing are people willing to make decisions and take responsibility for them; to risk and bear the consequences. State leaders, not mouthpieces of the party. I still remember being deeply struck by the words of Bartłomiej Sienkiewicz, then a minister. Asked about the stability of his profession, he replied that his coat always hung on the back of his chair: “I am a public servant and a politician, and I must always be ready… at any moment. If I have to leave, I take my coat and I go.” We want to fear neither stepping in nor out.

Who applied to the first Zryw? Who did you select?

AG: The range was incredible. From doctors and engineers to political science students and civil servants. We received applications from 149 towns across all 16 Polish regions, plus 12 cities abroad. The final group is eclectic in the best way: a trainee fighter jet pilot, a former health expert abroad, aspiring local government leader.

“Zryw” during introductory conversations. Photo: private archive

JW: But only 35% of applications came from women. However, among those invited for interviews, women made up half,  because the candidates who did apply, were incredibly strong. That’s a slightly higher ratio than the proportion of women in our parliament. It shows that the imbalance of opportunities starts much earlier.

This won’t fix itself, but our group speaks for itself: neither Zryw nor Poland has a shortage of capable, ambitious women.

Right, I’ll tell you an anecdote. We recently received a lengthy comment on a blog post ["Our Favorite Elections: Who's Joining the September Zryw?" - Ed.], in which we mentioned the deficit of female applicants. Someone criticized us for “making up inequality,” since recruitment was open to everyone, they argued. “Anyone could click the link.” They claimed that bringing up such stats could discourage young men from public service because nowadays, any and all gender differences are painted as discrimination.

And how did you take that comment?

AG: Honestly, I was glad! Someone took the time to write out their thoughts. Polemic is a valuable legacy of Polish public life, and it’s an honor to partake in and to foster it. Of course, I disagreed with the arguments themselves, because discrimination and systemic inequality are not the same thing.

JW: In a nutshell, discrimination means unequal treatment or neglect. It would apply if one group had been treated preferentially. Then you could say the others were discriminated against. But we had no preferences. What we did consider were the ground realities of Poland’s education system and cultural patterns that shape what people feel is possible for them. And in Poland, that burden falls especially on young women, who are often brought up according to a different set of values. As girls, we’re taught to be polite, to obey. Boys will be boys: they get a pass to mess around, to take risks. And that carries over into adult life, including our careers.

AG: Equality doesn’t always mean equal opportunity. Leveling the playing field requires special attention to the needs shaped by years of conforming to social and cultural norms. And often, forms of exclusion that aren’t necessarily written into law but affect people’s lives nonetheless. Going forward, we pledge to ensure that women not only get access, but also an actual encouragement to apply.

JW: Many of us in Zryw studied abroad, which makes the contrast all the more striking. I was in England, where class divides are the bigger issue. But after returning to Poland, I’ve spoken with countless young women who face a powerful mental barrier—they doubt their own abilities and potential. And yet, so often, they have far greater knowledge and social awareness than many of the men I meet who are already part of the state apparatus.

As a Foundation, we can’t overlook this—when we see inequality, we take it into account.

How did Zryw come about?

AG: It all started with sleeping on mattresses. The year was 2023, a parliamentary election year — time to rise to the challenge. A dozen or so of us came together to build a campaign for Parliament from scratch. We barely knew each other. For several months, our candidate’s apartment turned into a kind of “transfer station”: it began with five people, by the end, there were fifteen, and many more passed through along the way. That group of fifteen became the core on which we built Zryw. Because we discovered something important — not only could we survive living on top of each other in one small flat, but we could actually make things happen together.

JW: It all started through word of mouth. In ’23 we were acting on our own initiative, and the news spread: to friends, and then to friends of friends. Take me and Aga, for example. We only knew each other from afar, and only virtually. Back during Covid, we happened to organize student conferences at the same time. Every now and then, we’d catch a glimpse of each other on Zoom or on social media. Then the parliamentary election came.

AG: That’s right. I asked if I could join the campaign; I texted Julia on Instagram, I had seen her repost something relating to our candidate. The timing was right, the whole thing was only getting started. After the successful election campaign, we wanted to harness that energy and channel it toward something. We realized there was no point in waiting for a window of opportunity, and we had to open it ourselves. That’s why we created Zryw: to capture that national surge of energy, give it shape, and direct it where it’s needed most.

From left to right: Agnieszka Gryz, Alicja Dryja, Alicja Kępka, Agnieszka Homańska. Photo: private archive

So, where is it needed most?

JW: Over the past two years, we’ve seen how much absurdity and inertia you run into when working in ministries. Take salaries, for example—some of them, quite frankly, make it impossible to live in the capital. 3,200 zł net? That’s an extreme case, but a real one. And many people in Zryw know this firsthand. They came back from abroad, wanting to work for the state, and were willing to accept those conditions because they had a vision. Some managed to endure, while others left—whether due to financial strain or a lack of room to grow.

AG: We believe that a qualitative generational shift in Poland’s public service is possible from within. For systemic change to take hold, you need to sow it in many places at once—because, in the end, the state needs capable people in both offices and the legislative process. But it’s also about showing that there are people worth making that change for.

We don’t want to open a showroom where all you can do is admire a luxury car from the outside. Zryw should be a garage, a place where you can actually get under the hood of your own car. We’ll give you the workshop, the tools, and access to great mechanics. And then it’s time to hit the road—with our support and community alongside you.

Who do you work with?

JW: Last year, we were the only organization from Poland accepted into the accelerator run by the Apolitical Foundation, which supports what they call political entrepreneurs. And despite the name, it’s not about businesspeople, but rather about those who create new models of civic and political engagement.

We’re also supported by, among others, the EFC Foundation, founded in memory of Roman Czernecki — a social innovator and educator. At Zryw, we believe that democracy requires not only institutions, but above all people: competent, empathetic and ready to act. In this sense, our mission and projects align deeply with EFC’s vision of building a strong democratic community.

AG: Among our allies is also the Mentors4Starters Foundation. From them, we’re learning how to build meaningful mentor–mentee relationships that truly benefit both sides. Maria Belka and Zofia Kłudka bring a wealth of practical knowledge and an equal willingness to share it with us.

How do you imagine the future of Zryw?

JW: Our mission is to find capable, driven people, encourage them either to stay in Poland or to come back, and equip them with the tools and knowledge they need to be effective in public service.

AG: While our zrywy [eng. surges]—the lowercase ones, meaning our short multi-day gatherings—are largely aimed at students who study in Poland and see their future here, we also see ourselves as a kind of “repatriation hub.” When you go abroad for your studies, you find countless networks and support systems that help you adapt to a new place. We believe Poland needs a similar network, but for those considering a return.

JW: Exactly. A Pole abroad is rarely alone. But a Pole returning after studies is a different story. For a long time, such a decision carried the stigma of disappointment or even failure. Nonsense! Poland is beautiful, innovative, and above all, it’s home. This is where we feel purpose, and this is where we see our future. And we want the privilege we had—finding each other in 2023, and being able to start working together—to be available to many more people. Because in the end, you need both something and someone to come back to. The flight home is just one plane ticket, but the decision to board it isn’t so simple. We want to show, in very concrete terms, that the return is worth it, and that it opens up incredible opportunities.

20
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Zryw - A New Poland

Melania Krych

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