Where Poles and Russians Meet, Ideals and Profits Clash
|
Version 0 of 1. SOPOT, Poland — Jan Hermanowicz was not expecting quite this level of reaction when he put a sign on his bucolic beach-side restaurant saying he refused to serve Russians. “I decided to protest because Russia entered Crimea,” the shaggy-haired proprietor explained over a Coca-Cola as he gazed across a furl of dunes and the gray Baltic Sea. “I must say, I am very surprised by all the attention I got.” Other business owners begged him to remove the sign, fearing he would drive away their own Russian customers. A Russian prosecutor threatened him with legal action. Politicians tried fervently to assure Russian visitors that they remained quite welcome. For more than a year, since the Ukraine conflict erupted, European nations have been having an argument among themselves that measures ideals against profits. Some, eager to dissuade President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia from further aggression in Ukraine, argue that the current slate of Western sanctions is a weak tea of halfhearted gestures, intended as much to safeguard Western business interests as to support Kiev. Others fear that alienating Russia will only harm their own country’s economy and argue that maintaining ties is the best way to lure Moscow back into the Western fold. Mr. Hermanowicz’s sign is an example of how that very argument is being played out here, along Poland’s 125-mile border with the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad. A treaty signed by Polish and Russian officials in Moscow in 2011, and put in place in mid-2012, created a “short border” program that made it significantly easier for residents living nearby to cross from one side to the other. Even the recent tensions between the two nations — borne out by heated exchanges between the capitals, growing Polish anxiety about Mr. Putin’s intentions and rising Russian anger over sanctions — have failed to dampen enthusiasm in either country for the hugely profitable and popular program. “In my opinion, the West needs to continue its hard line towards Putin, and NATO needs to keep its ability to react,” said Pawel Adamowicz, the mayor of Gdansk. “We need to make Russians think twice before acting. But at the same time, we need to maintain these relations with ordinary Russians, to distinguish between the people and the regime.” Mr. Hermanowicz, 54, has a different view. He at first refused to remove the sign he had taped to the window of Piaskownica, his beach bar and restaurant. Partly in response, a local business group began granting “Russian Friendly” certificates to shops and restaurants that made a special effort to welcome Russians. Fifty of them have been awarded. “For many business owners, it is more about the money than it is about the idea,” he said. “They live by the cult of money.” Comments, both hostile and supportive, flooded local websites. A few times, he said, Russian customers who were denied service reacted with anger, and twice he had to call the police. So finally Mr. Hermanowicz took down the sheet of paper. But he refuses to remove a large banner that he designed himself showing a glowering Mr. Putin, a pistol in each hand, above a red-hued globe and a pair of goose-stepping soldiers with the legend, “We Come in Peace — To Rule Your World.” Russian customers, who used to make up about 7 percent of his clientele, got the message. Under the “short border” program, Russians in the enclave of Kaliningrad — surrounded by Poland on the south and Lithuania on the east, with a population of about 950,000 — who previously needed visas to cross into Poland can apply for permits to visit those parts of Poland nearest the border. And hundreds of thousands have done just that — 1.2 million in 2013 and 1.7 million last year. “There was some distance between the two countries at the beginning,” said Andrzej Sakson, a sociologist at the Western Institute in Poznan who has studied the border region. “We are talking about Poland and Russia, after all. But both sides were determined to make some money together and quickly managed to shorten the distance between them.” Great crowds of Russian shoppers began appearing in stores as far west as Gdansk. Malls, medical clinics, beauticians and lawyers found themselves with new customers and were forced to hire Russian-speaking staff to deal with them. Advertisements in Cyrillic script sprouted on Polish highways. Russians found themselves within easy reach of discount food and clothing stores offering goods that were either unavailable or much more expensive in Kaliningrad. A popular pop tune in Kaliningrad playfully sings the praises of Lidl and Biedronka, two discount chain stores just across the Polish line. And thousands of Poles signed up for the permits after discovering that gasoline could be had at almost a third of the price in Kaliningrad. “Even Russian vodka is cheaper in Poland,” Mr. Sakson said. “Meanwhile, Poles traveled en masse for cheap gas. So both sides are happy.” If anything, political and business leaders from both countries are focusing their worries on a recent drop in cross-border traffic — nearly 31 percent in the first three months of the year compared with the same period last year. This, they stress, was caused by a steep drop in the ruble’s exchange rate, and a dip in the number of working-class Russians making the trip, and not growing antipathy between residents of the two countries. “Russians are the most sought-after customers,” said Mr. Adamowicz, the Gdansk mayor. “They spend a lot of money. They tip well. When they go back home, they leave a lot of money here.” Officials from the Russian side are also upbeat, though some notice that Poles have become a little less public about their support for the cross-border program. “I have never heard a single word from my Polish colleagues critical of the program,” said Alexander Karachevtsev, the Russian consul general in Gdansk. “I would say that perhaps some local authorities may not be so enthusiastic about the program at the moment, but they are still very interested in keeping the program going.” But there have been a handful of incidents speaking to a higher level of tension. The recent construction of six Polish watchtowers along the Kaliningrad border drew national media attention. The watchtowers were seen as a fresh sign of anxiety between the two nations — despite the towers’ having been in the works since 2004, part of a long-term project to shore up all of the European Union’s external borders from a wave of illegal immigrants, including a new border wall in Bulgaria. “It has got nothing to do with the political situation and tensions with Russia,” said Miroslawa Aleksandrowicz, a spokesman for the Polish Border Guards. “The reaction, though, is definitely a reflection of the tension.” At least one alcohol-fueled fistfight over politics erupted recently in Gdansk, Mr. Adamowicz said. A brick was tossed through the window of a car with Russian plates on a nearby highway. Monika Trzcinska, the mayor of Braniewo, a small town near the border that has profited keenly from the Russian commerce, said there had been an incident involving a Russian customer at a discount store, who was told he could not pay in rubles and replied, “Soon, you will all be using rubles.” This led a Polish customer to step forward and punch him. The Pole was fined, she said. The border program is worthwhile, Mr. Adamowicz said, if only because it brings together ordinary Poles and Russians who may otherwise have never encountered one another. “Obviously, we try not to mention the war in Ukraine or Putin’s politics,” he said. The same goes in dealing with business colleagues across the border, said Marcin Lukasiewicz, manager of the Galeria Baltycka, one of the largest shopping malls in Gdansk. “We say they are misinformed, they say we are misinformed,” Mr. Lukasiewicz said. “Better just to avoid the subjects and stick to business.” |