In Poland, the first words I ever heard thrown my way by a stranger weren’t “Welcome” or “How do you like it here?” They were, “Go back to your country.” Sometimes, it was the word murzyn, a term that carries a sting of history I had to learn the hard way. Those moments cut deep, yet they also revealed something more complicated than simple hostility. They revealed insecurity.
Polish insecurity is not individual—it’s collective. Unlike the narcissism of New York or London, where people shout their personal greatness, Poland’s confidence is group-bound: my country is great, therefore I am great. It’s pride, but it’s also fragility. The country, long seen as Europe’s “little brother,” is still shaking off generations of trauma, occupation, and dismissal by its neighbors. And so, when a foreigner says “Poland is good,” people listen with unusual intensity. It matters.
Over the past year and a half, through more than fifty conversations on Warsaw Confidential, I’ve heard the same theme from immigrants who made Poland their home: admiration and frustration in equal measure. They speak of safety, of respect for family, of streets where one can walk at 2 a.m. without fear. They speak, too, of bureaucracy that strangles initiative, and of a lingering suspicion toward anyone foreign. Together, these voices create a mosaic of Poland as seen not from within, but from those who chose it, often against the odds.
Poland is not the obvious choice. A Fulbright scholar I spoke to could have picked from 160 countries; he chose Warsaw. A Latin American entrepreneur moved here after rejecting London’s crime and suffocating taxes. A Frenchman, Catholic at heart, found Poland’s family-first values closer to home than the secular churn of Paris. Each story carried the same refrain: Poland is not easy, but it is rewarding.
What makes Poland different, many told me, is access. In New York, only a select few shape the skyline. In Warsaw, the city still feels like wet clay, open to anyone with the courage to leave their imprint. There are no velvet ropes in the nightclubs dividing billionaires from the rest; here, wealth and youth sweat on the same dance floor. Warsaw is both Americanized and uniquely Polish—a place where English is spoken freely, yet where Catholic traditions still anchor daily life.
And yet, the insecurity lingers. It shows up in online comment sections, where foreigners praising Poland rack up views and likes, while criticism sparks outrage. Too often, foreigners learn to flatter Poland simply to grow an audience. “I love Poland” becomes a YouTube strategy, not a truth. But the Poles I’ve spoken with respect honesty, even when it stings. They crave recognition, yes—but they crave respect more.
Respect, in Poland, flows both ways. It’s visible in how elders are treated, in the patience demanded by friendships, in the long winter evenings where trust is built slowly. Immigrants learn quickly: Poles may be closed at first, but once you earn their respect, the door opens wide. That lesson is as universal as it is Polish.
I have experienced racism here. I have also experienced extraordinary kindness. Both are real, and both say something important about a country still defining its identity in a globalized world. The question is not whether Poland is welcoming or hostile—it is how Poland, and those who come here, choose to respond. For me, the answer has been to respond with love, to take suspicion and bend it into something lighter.
Poland is not perfect. Its weather is harsh, its bureaucracy harsher. But its safety, its energy, and its sense of becoming outweigh the flaws. This is not a static country; it is a story still being written. For immigrants, that means opportunity. For Poles, it means insecurity and pride intermingled in a way that is both endearing and combustible.
These are not my words alone. They are the voices of dozens who now call Poland home. Together, they tell a story of resilience, contradiction, and hope. And that story matters—not because it flatters Poland, but because it sees Poland for what it is: a nation still learning to see itself.