Under White-and-Red Skies: Warsaw’s Independence Day March and the Many Faces of Patriotism
On a chill November morning, Warsaw unfurled its flags like a city remembering itself. White-and-red banners drooped and then billowed along the wide boulevards as thousands wound through the capital — young families, grey-haired veterans, hooded teenagers, politicians in pressed coats. The air tasted faintly of smoke from flares and the sugar-sweetness of street vendors’ fried pastries. It felt like a national anniversary, yes—but also like a crossroads, where competing visions of Poland chose to show themselves in public.
A familiar ritual, remade each year
For many Poles, 11 November is the day the map of Europe regained a shape that had been erased for 123 years. In 1918, after partitions by Austria-Hungary, the German Empire and Imperial Russia finally ended, Poland returned to the world stage. That history hung over the march like a long shadow: wreaths laid for Marshal Józef Piłsudski in the capital, conversations about grandparents’ stories, the names of lost towns whispered on the tram home.
But history here is not a single voice. This year’s march — attended by a broad spectrum of nationalist groups and leading figures from the political right — came with its usual mix of solemn commemoration and political theater. Organizers estimated the procession drew thousands; municipal sources reported that, alongside the main march, around 20,000 people took part in a 10 km community run that threaded through the city, and smaller civic events unfolded across Poland.
People on the march: faces, flags, and friction
“I come every year,” said Ewa, 58, who ran a small bakery near Krakowskie Przedmieście. She wrapped a red scarf tighter around her neck. “For me it’s family. It’s memories. But I also want to be careful—I don’t agree with all the banners. Still, the flag is ours.”
The march included prominent public figures on both sides of the political divide. Karol Nawrocki, the newly inaugurated president who won office last year with the backing of many nationalist voters, walked the route holding a large flag and surrounded by supporters and security detail. Jarosław Kaczyński, the veteran leader of the Law and Justice (PiS) party, also took part with senior colleagues. Opposite them, a smaller anti-fascist gathering waved pro-immigration placards and Palestinian flags, offering a counterpoint in a nearby square.
“Freedom means something different to different people,” observed Piotr Kowalski, a Warsaw-based political analyst. “For some, it’s sovereignty and cultural preservation. For others, it’s an open society with protections for minorities. Those tensions come into focus on this day.”
Theatre of the streets: fireworks, flares and a tight security net
City officials had prohibited fireworks for this year’s march; memories of clashes and property damage in some prior years kept the ban in place. Still, pockets of demonstrators set alight flares that painted the faces of the marchers crimson and orange. Smoke threaded through the columns of people, giving the procession a cinematic quality that unnerved some and thrilled others.
A heavy police presence was visible across central Warsaw: mounted units, riot squads in dark gear, and plainclothes officers moving through crowds. Inspector Anna Nowak, a police spokesperson, told reporters that “several thousand officers” were deployed and that, despite the scale of the demonstration, “the event concluded without major security incidents.”
“We prepared for the worst and hoped for the best,” Nowak said. “Coordination with local authorities, clear routes, and restrictions on pyrotechnics helped keep the day largely peaceful.”
Visitors, controversy, and the global gaze
The march attracted figures beyond Poland’s borders. British activist Tommy Robinson, a polarizing name in Europe’s nationalist scene, showed up at the invitation of Dominik Tarczyński, a Member of the European Parliament affiliated with PiS. His presence sparked debate: for some it confirmed the march’s transnational connections to the wider European far-right; for others it was a provocation that Poland should not have entertained.
“We invited guests to have conversations about national identity,” Tarczyński said. “This is about values that many Europeans share.”
Not everyone agreed. A student, Mateusz, 22, who joined the anti-fascist counter-march, said, “These kind of invitations give legitimization to people who traffic in hatred. Independence should be about protecting people—not excluding them.”
Local color: smells, conversations, and small acts of remembrance
Beyond the politics were the human details that make a city’s anniversary feel lived-in. Old friends met on tram stops and clasped hands; sellers of zapiekanki (Polish open-faced baguette pizzas) shouted orders; a brass band played a slow polonaise that made several elderly women stop and wipe their eyes. In cafes, TV screens looped archival footage from 1918 and the late 20th century, while younger patrons argued about Poland’s future in hushed voices over coffee.
“My grandfather fought in the resistance,” said Ania, 34, who works in cultural heritage. “He used to tell us: independence is not just a day, it’s a responsibility. I think a lot of people feel that, even if we disagree on what it looks like.”
Context and consequences: why this day still matters
Poland’s Independence Day is more than a parade. It is a mirror that reflects how a nation remembers its past and imagines its future. Across Europe and beyond, democracies are wrestling with questions about migration, national identity, economic anxiety, and the role of history in politics. Poland’s debate is a powerful example: a country with deep historical wounds and contemporary geopolitical concerns navigating how to express patriotism responsibly.
Analysts note that nationalist movements in Europe have been buoyed by economic uncertainty, cultural anxieties, and the rise of social media — trends that are global in scope. “What happens in Warsaw resonates elsewhere,” said Dr. Magdalena Rutkowska, a scholar of European politics. “It’s part of a broader conversation about sovereignty, community, and rights.”
What should we ask ourselves?
Standing at the edge of the march, watching flags ripple and hearing the distant drum of the band, I found myself asking: how does a nation honor its past without allowing that past to become a cudgel for exclusion? Can patriotic ceremony coexist with a pluralistic society? And what responsibility do political leaders have when they choose which voices to amplify?
These are not questions with easy answers. They are, however, the questions a democracy must keep asking.
Closing thoughts
When the last banners were folded and the flares had gone cold, Warsaw returned to its everyday rhythms. Trams hummed, dogs were walked, and conversations about the day bounced through late-night cafés. The march was a snapshot of Poland in motion: fiercely rooted in history, bruised by contemporary divides, yet populated by people who care deeply about their country’s direction.
Whether you watched from afar or stood in the crowd, the scene invites reflection: what does independence truly mean, and who gets to define it? The answer Warsaw gave this year was plural—and not entirely settled. The debate, like the city itself, will keep moving.
