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The polish Model

June 16th, 2001

When President Bush landed here yesterday, he found himself in a completely different city from the one his father visited as president in 1989. Back then, Warsaw was still run by communist bureaucrats. Read on »


I am still normal

March 19th, 2001

Four years ago, I saw a great deal of Tony Blair. At that time, I was a political columnist for a British newspaper, and he was the Leader of the Opposition. As a result I saw him in public, in private, in the House of Commons, in newspaper offices; I saw him shaking hands, kissing babies, making speeches, chatting to admirers. Read on »


The battle for the Holocaust legacy

July 16th, 2000

In the travelling over the past fifteen years or so, I reckon I have visited several dozen memorials to Hitler’s destruction of the Jews. I have been to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem; to the Polish museums and memorials commemorating Auschwitz, Treblinka, and the Warsaw ghetto; to uncounted monuments and plaques, wrecked synagogues and wrecked Jewish cemeteries in other parts of Eastern Europe, Germany and the former Soviet Union, all testifying to the terrifying absence of a nation which once was a major part of European culture. Read on »


Spurning Bush

June 16th, 2000

As I write this, thousands of ardent young people are boarding trains and buses, heading towards Spain, towards Sweden, towards just about every place that President George W. Bush might possibly appear in public on his first state visit to Europe. Read on »


Secret agent man

April 10th, 2000

Over the past few days and weeks, much has been made of the “mystery” of Vladimir Putin, the man who now runs Russia. Yet in some ways, we know far more about him than we ever knew about the very private Boris Yeltsin. Read on »


Ethnic Cleansing, Russian Style

December 20th, 1999

The Chechen wars of the 1990s were not the first time Moscow targeted the Chechens. First there were ’sneaky Orientals’. Then there were “miserly Jews”. Now, thanks to the power of the international media to transmit ideas across borders, another ethnic stereotype has entered the English language. Read on »


Playing at Survival in Warsaw

May 14th, 1999

An interview with Wladyslaw Szpilman, musician, writer, and survivor.

He lives in a neat, narrow house with a small, well-kept garden. Inside his sitting room there are shelves of old books, a Biedermeier secretaire, a polished parquet floor. Black and white photographs of old friends stand in rows on the piano; prints and framed mementoes hang from the white walls. At first glance, everything about Wladyslaw Szpilman speaks of a certain kind of Central European comfort, of a pleasantly uneventful, bourgeois life. Read on »


I Was Booked on Flight 103

December 20th, 1998

A meditation on Lockerbie, accidents, and fear of flying.

I cannot remember a time when I did not fly on airplanes, and for years and years, I flew without anxiety. Later, after the Lockerbie crash, when I developed serious fear of flying not the odd tremor during turbulence, but the real thing - this previous experience with airplanes helped me to keep it concealed. Read on »


The Three Lives of Helena Brus

December 6th, 1998

A Polish Communist, resident in Britain, was accused of Stalinist-era war crimes. Her extradition became a matter for British justice.

To the citizens of safe, happy countries which have never known war and occupation, the lives of ordinary people in less safe, less happy countries can seem extraordinary indeed. Here, for example, are three scenes, three moments in the life of a Polish woman, born in 1919. Read on »


A Dearth of Feeling

October 11th, 1996

This essay was also reproduced in the anthology The Future of The European Past, ed. Roger Kimball and Hilton Kramer, Ivan R. Dee, Chicago, 1997.

An essay about the absence of memory of communist crimes.

Venice has the Piazza San Marco, Paris has the Eiffel Tower, and now Prague has the Charles Bridge: wide and pedestrianised, blackened with age - and suffused with the spirit of capitalism. There are buskers and hustlers along the bridge, and, every fifteen feet or so, someone is selling very much what one would expect to find for sale in such a postcard-perfect spot. Read on »


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