Ambassador Andreev’s interview was very insightful, especially after he shared the important point that Russophobia very rarely manifests itself openly in personal contacts.
"....resist the urge that some feel to behave bigotedly towards Poles.."
In 2008, after I'd lived in Estonia more than a dozen full years, having gone there to learn and teach how Russians might become 'new Europeans', I took advantage of the opportunity to drive to England that summer. Somewhere along the way, already in Poland so no turning back, I clipped a curb or a pothole or something (Loads of stuff like that on the roads there; can't remember what it was.) and began to worry about a tyre: was it still sound; should I ask someone to have a look at it? I'd been driving in Estonia for almost ten years (First got a car there in 2000.) by this stage, so the way things are done — by smaller service centres by the roadside, rather than bigger garages with less accessible mechanics, like in the UK — was familiar, and seemed sensible, to me. The language, and how people considered it in Poland, however, was not.
Language bigotry — the hatred of Russian with the intent of alienating and eradicating it (creation of a 'dangerous other' scapegoat) had become a most fundamental cornerstone of Estonian societal development, perhaps even, arguably, the culture there itself, as I understood it had in other parts of the ex-Soviet Union, e.g. the Ukraine. Likewise, I understood how this phenomena was being exacerbated and manipulated to support the delusion of economic success. (Think, 'Moron McCain' and the possibility of the Ukraine joining NATO'.) Estonia is a lot smaller than the Ukraine, so it was accordingly cheaper and easier for NATO there. Didn't even need to foster an Azov battalion there. (Though there are some of that mentality, which seems most peculiar, even perverse, for Estonians, who are by nature a reserved and contemplative people.) Anyway, living in the (ex-)Soviet Union, as I had (My first wife had very close ties with the Ukraine (Her brother's wife was Ukrainian.), as was my second wife's grandmother, who effectively raised her. ) might be helpful for understanding things, like language and culture, the peoples in various parts of the (ex-)Soviet Union, like Estonia and the Ukraine, had in common, but Poland hadn't been part of the Soviet Union. I wasn't sure how to extrapolate my understanding of the Soviet experience, and it's effect on peoples participating in it, outside of the country to Poland. It was an interesting thing to dwell on, as I worried about a tyre going flat on me in some of the most violent traffic — big, ugly Ukrainian and other such trucks — on an overheated Polish road: bigotry and resentment, the need to find security in scapegoats, and self-esteem in the perception of the self and other in relation to history and the future. Interesting stuff! But a flat tyre would not have been so amusing. I didn't have a spare! (It was in with those new-fangled cans of sealant and a compressor pump, which I'd never used before, at that stage.) Tyres at the side of the road I've changed many, many times but a tin of sealant is not going to fix a hole in a sidewall.
Eventually, I had to grasp the thistle and pull into a garage. When I first arrived in Estonia, no-one had any problem with Russian: everyone was happy to use it and most were delighted when they understood I was English, so their lingua franca really WAS essential. In fact, it made most people feel good. That changed over the years until I eventually realised, some time after Estonia joined NATO in 2004, I was expected to apologise for using Russian. By the time I got to Poland, in 2008, this bigotry had reached fever pitch, with the Moron McCains and Fats Nulands of NATO preparing for a 'Revolution of Dignity' and the 'Heavenly Hundred'. (True, they were still a few years off their climax, at that point, but the smell was in the air.) In Estonia, I already felt it appropriate to accentuate my broken, Piginesque Russian-with-a-NATO-friendly (English) accent whenever I addressed Estonians I didn't know, 'А вы может быть говорите по‑русски?' in a submissive tone. ('...Владеете русским?' бы было через‑чур слишком грамотно!) How the hell do you say that in Polish? I reckoned the best way to do it would be to turn up the volume on the submissive aspect of the intonation. So, I said to the guy, presumably a Pole of apparently about my age, behind the desk in the garage, where I'd finally summoned the courage to pull over, 'А вы может быть говорите по‑русски?' Increasingly over the years, and I understand it hasn't got any better since I left Estonia in 2020, I would be treated to a glance from an upturned nose to help me understand how lowly I was before being condescended to with begrudging acquiescence. It was the Pole's tone and timbre which blew my mind and has stuck with me ever since; he bellowed, 《Ну, конечно же! Мы когда‑то были союзники!》 And he was as genuinely and obviously delighted as I was surprised and relieved. He had a look at the tyre and told me not to worry about it. It was well within the range of what was expendable on the sidewall. He was right. So, all those stories you might hear about the Poles being so eager to make a fast buck as easily as possible from passing strangers, by means foul or fair, aren't necessarily true (despite the presence of old-fashioned female prostitutes hooking truckers by the roadside, as I saw for the first time in my life, somewhere far from anywhere off the E30/A2 or the 92, somewhere between Konin and Łódź).
The point is, bigotry sucks: you never know when someone you were sure would be least likely to extend a hand in mutual aid, even a Pole, does just that, rather than regarding you with disdain. It's a question of mutual respect. В конце концов, мы же все — союзники!
"....resist the urge that some feel to behave bigotedly towards Poles.."
In 2008, after I'd lived in Estonia more than a dozen full years, having gone there to learn and teach how Russians might become 'new Europeans', I took advantage of the opportunity to drive to England that summer. Somewhere along the way, already in Poland so no turning back, I clipped a curb or a pothole or something (Loads of stuff like that on the roads there; can't remember what it was.) and began to worry about a tyre: was it still sound; should I ask someone to have a look at it? I'd been driving in Estonia for almost ten years (First got a car there in 2000.) by this stage, so the way things are done — by smaller service centres by the roadside, rather than bigger garages with less accessible mechanics, like in the UK — was familiar, and seemed sensible, to me. The language, and how people considered it in Poland, however, was not.
Language bigotry — the hatred of Russian with the intent of alienating and eradicating it (creation of a 'dangerous other' scapegoat) had become a most fundamental cornerstone of Estonian societal development, perhaps even, arguably, the culture there itself, as I understood it had in other parts of the ex-Soviet Union, e.g. the Ukraine. Likewise, I understood how this phenomena was being exacerbated and manipulated to support the delusion of economic success. (Think, 'Moron McCain' and the possibility of the Ukraine joining NATO'.) Estonia is a lot smaller than the Ukraine, so it was accordingly cheaper and easier for NATO there. Didn't even need to foster an Azov battalion there. (Though there are some of that mentality, which seems most peculiar, even perverse, for Estonians, who are by nature a reserved and contemplative people.) Anyway, living in the (ex-)Soviet Union, as I had (My first wife had very close ties with the Ukraine (Her brother's wife was Ukrainian.), as was my second wife's grandmother, who effectively raised her. ) might be helpful for understanding things, like language and culture, the peoples in various parts of the (ex-)Soviet Union, like Estonia and the Ukraine, had in common, but Poland hadn't been part of the Soviet Union. I wasn't sure how to extrapolate my understanding of the Soviet experience, and it's effect on peoples participating in it, outside of the country to Poland. It was an interesting thing to dwell on, as I worried about a tyre going flat on me in some of the most violent traffic — big, ugly Ukrainian and other such trucks — on an overheated Polish road: bigotry and resentment, the need to find security in scapegoats, and self-esteem in the perception of the self and other in relation to history and the future. Interesting stuff! But a flat tyre would not have been so amusing. I didn't have a spare! (It was in with those new-fangled cans of sealant and a compressor pump, which I'd never used before, at that stage.) Tyres at the side of the road I've changed many, many times but a tin of sealant is not going to fix a hole in a sidewall.
Eventually, I had to grasp the thistle and pull into a garage. When I first arrived in Estonia, no-one had any problem with Russian: everyone was happy to use it and most were delighted when they understood I was English, so their lingua franca really WAS essential. In fact, it made most people feel good. That changed over the years until I eventually realised, some time after Estonia joined NATO in 2004, I was expected to apologise for using Russian. By the time I got to Poland, in 2008, this bigotry had reached fever pitch, with the Moron McCains and Fats Nulands of NATO preparing for a 'Revolution of Dignity' and the 'Heavenly Hundred'. (True, they were still a few years off their climax, at that point, but the smell was in the air.) In Estonia, I already felt it appropriate to accentuate my broken, Piginesque Russian-with-a-NATO-friendly (English) accent whenever I addressed Estonians I didn't know, 'А вы может быть говорите по‑русски?' in a submissive tone. ('...Владеете русским?' бы было через‑чур слишком грамотно!) How the hell do you say that in Polish? I reckoned the best way to do it would be to turn up the volume on the submissive aspect of the intonation. So, I said to the guy, presumably a Pole of apparently about my age, behind the desk in the garage, where I'd finally summoned the courage to pull over, 'А вы может быть говорите по‑русски?' Increasingly over the years, and I understand it hasn't got any better since I left Estonia in 2020, I would be treated to a glance from an upturned nose to help me understand how lowly I was before being condescended to with begrudging acquiescence. It was the Pole's tone and timbre which blew my mind and has stuck with me ever since; he bellowed, 《Ну, конечно же! Мы когда‑то были союзники!》 And he was as genuinely and obviously delighted as I was surprised and relieved. He had a look at the tyre and told me not to worry about it. It was well within the range of what was expendable on the sidewall. He was right. So, all those stories you might hear about the Poles being so eager to make a fast buck as easily as possible from passing strangers, by means foul or fair, aren't necessarily true (despite the presence of old-fashioned female prostitutes hooking truckers by the roadside, as I saw for the first time in my life, somewhere far from anywhere off the E30/A2 or the 92, somewhere between Konin and Łódź).
The point is, bigotry sucks: you never know when someone you were sure would be least likely to extend a hand in mutual aid, even a Pole, does just that, rather than regarding you with disdain. It's a question of mutual respect. В конце концов, мы же все — союзники!
Thanks for sharing that, McDodd! It's heartwarming to hear how well that Pole treated you!