The story a nation tells itself is crucially important to its people’s sense of national identity. It serves also as a way of establishing and maintaining a shared set of values. Primordialism is the dogmatic belief that one’s national origins are defined by skin colour, blood and a spiritual belonging, but if you don’t subscribe to that idea (and there are plenty of reasons not to), the opposing position is that nations, as we understand them today, are a relatively recent phenomenon. Despite often recalling a history of significant events, upheavals and triumphs that go way back to pre-modern times, having a strong sense of nationhood only took root a few hundred years ago and has since become the predominant ideology of how territory is governed and organised.
Nation-building is a defining characteristic of the modern period. In the Western world, it became galvanised during the Age of Enlightenment. The decline of the church and the growth of capitalism and urbanisation all contributed to this but ultimately, it was the state as a centrally governed, political entity that encompassed the idea of a nation who had the right to exist and protect its borders. This gained traction around the world as modernity expanded, the legacies of colonialism leaving blueprints on what a nation ought to look and function like. In effect, it presupposes a nation as a geographical boundary inhabited by a homogenous looking people who speak in a common language and, usually, follow the same religion.
In Michał Sita’s History of Poland Vol.2, the photographer takes as his focus The Eagle and the Cross, an articulation of Poland’s national history through the staging of a reenactment. Sita places himself as an actor-participant in the public spectacle which since 2017, has taken place every year in Murowana Goślina in Western Poland. For a time, it was a state-subsidised initiative run by an organisation which was inspired by the famous Puy de Fou amusement park in France. Reenactments stage theatrical performances of historical events, where mostly volunteer actors, dressed in full period costume, play out culturally significant stories to a public audience. Often, these performances are narrated over loudspeaker audio, explaining the action and highlighting the story’s significance. Usually, there is something to learn beyond plain historical facts, with Puy de Fou it was about representing certain counter-narratives to the liberalism that emerged from the French Revolution, privileging stories associated with Catholicism and nobility alongside tales of how the nation’s people collectively overcame foes in various theatres of conflict. With The Eagle and the Cross, it was about reinforcing the significance of existing, sometimes only fundamentally understood popular stories of Polish national culture, in an effort to bolster national pride and a set of values that defined the character of the nation’s struggles and victories.
The popular imaginary of the nation’s story isn’t normally subject to contestation or critique. It is considered sacrosanct and is upheld at all levels of society as the truth behind the nation’s very existence. However, although the stories or myths are unlikely to change much, they are always subject to the spin of the storyteller. This is what perhaps initially attracted Sita to reenactments of Polish history, curious to know how the national story was evolving in the political climate of the time, particularly as recently, Poland had been under a right-wing government. Like many other parts of the world, there has been a reinforcing of nationalism due to the effects of globalisation and ideological conflicts. In Europe there has been an additional growing dissatisfaction of the EU and a general antipathy towards immigration. Nationalism provides, in hugely powerful and mobilising ways, a strong binding force, an identity outside of regional and other differences. One could argue that in the age of globalising flows of people, communication and communities, nationalism provides the last bastion of a reliable sense of secular belonging and security.
As a photographer, Sita uses the tools of image-making to explore his enquiry and like any photographic project, it is research and engagement that aids commitment to its subject matter. Initially adopting an observational approach (as seen in History of Poland Vol.1), something he maintains in this latest publication, what really marks this iteration is his becoming the subject of his enquiry by placing himself in the role of a volunteering participant. Sita negotiates access with the organisers to document the reenactment using a camera he wears around his neck that makes a periodic exposure. This frees him from his role as photographer and “objective” observer and allows him to concentrate on his job as actor, something we learn requires constant focus and occupies considerable roles and costume changes. It is within the milieu of participation that the nature of the project transforms from being positioned within a politics to one reflecting social relations in respect of a politics.
Sita organises his book around a variety of perspectives, never once taking a moral position on his subject. Documentary was typically always at the service of a kind of middle class liberalism and the political posturing of the author. In History of Poland Vol.2, short interview statements made by the participants are presented alongside Sita’s photographs. The statements relay thoughts surrounding the production, practical considerations married with artistic license helping underscore significant aspects of the story being told, shifting representation but effectively in an effort to underline the message. Then there are the automated images sequenced by Sita as a fly-on-the-wall documentation of what his changing character role witnesses. The book also elaborates on the historical significance of scenes as footnotes to help the reader keep abreast of the unfolding scenarios. All this followed by concluding essays; the organisers statement and Sita’s own rumination on the project.
What becomes apparent in the project is the relationship between those who participate in the reenactment and the life of the story itself. There is a sense of both commitment to articulating The Eagle and The Cross faithfully and honestly and an ambivalence towards any real political agency while being part of it. The organisers essentially oversea the production and although it must closely retain its fidelity to historical knowledge, what is presented and how, is at the service of the political agenda and so it may lean upon certain interpretations which are put forth. The actors will assist but will have to ultimately submit to the agenda. On the surface, this poses deep concerns on how and what knowledge is passed on to the audience but in fact is no different to how history is always relayed. It is always subject to a selection and articulation process which eventually folds into a common consciousness. The point being here that history is never completely written in stone and will be written and rewritten with the ebbs and flows of political change.
As entertainment, there is always the question of how much of the spectacle is absorbed and how much is forgotten as quickly as it is experienced. Even though the organisers are at pains to deploy a political message, like Puy de Fou, the bigger the spectacle the more it falls into the realms of being a kind of Disneyland pandering to a docile consumer who unquestioningly absorbs a diluted account of the past as myth, in effect, just reinforcing their already basic understanding. Nevertheless, is this still a form of (b)latent ideological brainwashing? As nationalism across the world continues to rise, these kinds of political events help boost fervour by aligning with the rhetoric of the political Right and those hyper-visible political commentators who peddle strong ideas around maintaining a pure national identity and halting the flow of unwanted migrants. This kind of national pride is an ugly, divisive way to turn humans against each other, often to divert attention from the failings of the state itself. Therefore, there are both pacifying and normalising factors at play.
What is implied in Sita’s project reflects a shift in approach to how the ‘Left’ could respond to rampant nationalist fervour, effectively calming the rhetoric of xenophobia into something less divisive. Sita takes a positionless enquiry into Polish nationalism, in which he immerses himself into the mix of what outwardly appears as a far Right, ideologically charged environment. What he actually discovers is the proximity he has to the other people involved and a sense of what the shared history means in practical and very personal terms. There is no political, Left versus Right antagonism here but an effort to understand a common experience through a shared history. In opposition to the far Right, the Left needs to re-connect with the people the Right typically targets. If we all identify that beyond the realities of life there are actors who seek to control our thinking and turn us against each other, we might come to realise that our common space is actually rather serene and mutually inhabitable without us having to choose sides.