Tadeusz Kosciuszko, Poland’s all-American hero

By A.V.

THIS summer, when the battle over honouring Confederate leaders was at its most fierce, the Polish embassy in Washington had an arresting solution. Echoing a local conservative radio host, it suggested renaming a Virginian highway—celebrating Jefferson Davis, president of the Confederacy—after Tadeusz Kosciuszko, a Polish general and statesman. He remains a hero on both sides of the Atlantic, though not nearly as well known in America as he could be, and his spotless Enlightenment values still inspire today.

Kosciuszko was born in 1746, the son of a Polish-Lithuanian noble. He gobbled up liberal ideas from a young age: in his twenties, he travelled to France and was exposed to writers like Rousseau and Voltaire. But Kosciuszko’s strongest jolt towards radicalism happened far from Poland. After the start of the American Revolution, he rushed to help the colonists. A skilled military engineer, he helped defend Saratoga from British attack, and designed the fortress at West Point. These talents soon won American admiration. Kosciuszko became a close friend of Thomas Jefferson, who described him as a “pure son of liberty”.

After success in the New World, Kosciuszko moved to change things back home. He pushed for the emancipation of the Polish peasantry, and protected his country’s new liberal constitution. But Poland’s neighbours had other plans. Austria, Prussia and Russia conspired to partition the country, eventually annexing it completely in 1795. Kosciuszko tried to rally his countrymen into rebellion against Russia, but Poland was doomed. He died, exiled and exhausted, in 1817.

In his will, he ordered his American army pay be spent on freeing black slaves. Gestures like these, twinned with his romantic reputation as a musician, thrilled contemporaries. In 1823, local patriots built a looming monument to Kosciuszko near Krakow. Rajnold Suchodolski, a writer killed fighting the Russians in 1831, composed a song that imagined Kosciuszko looking down at him from heaven. Foreign radicals kept the general close, too. Coleridge and Keats both dedicated sonnets to Kosciuszko, while Lord Byron roared that he embodied the “sound that crashes in the tyrant’s ear”. Thomas Campbell, a Scottish poet, set up a literary association to help the cause of Polish freedom. When he died, dirt from Kosciuszko’s grave was sprinkled on Campbell’s coffin.

This radical legacy has flickered on into modern times. Jozef Pilsudski, Poland’s leader in the 1920s, was explicitly compared to Kosciuszko for his self-sacrificing nationalism. Polish school textbooks still link the two men. Not that Kosciuszko is always remembered so earnestly. Polish enthusiasts have adapted Kosciuszko’s adventures into “Mount and Blade”, a videogame. A recent television sketch showed Kosciuszko cancel a patriotic meeting because a ski club had booked the venue first.

His mixed heritage also keeps Kosciuszko popular outside of Poland. His paternal family were Lithuanian; there is a street named after him in Vilnius. His birthplace, within the borders of modern Belarus, meant he was adopted there too. The memory of his campaign for freedom against Russia was useful for Belarusian nationalists eager to escape Soviet influence in the 1990s. At the same time, his international career ensures that Kosciuszko is still commemorated in the United States. Americans can visit Kosciusko (Mississippi), Kosciuszko County (Indiana) and Kosciuszko Island (in Alaska), or cross the Kosciusko Bridge (connecting Brooklyn and Queens). They can even eat Kosciuszko mustard. The old soldier is honoured across the Pacific, too. When a Polish explorer discovered Australia’s highest peak in 1840, he decided to name it after his famous compatriot. “Although [I was] in a foreign country, I was amongst a free people, who appreciate freedom,” he explained later. “I could not refrain from giving it the name of Mount Kosciuszko.”

This year, the 200th anniversary of his death, has seen a whirlwind of new Kosciuszko celebrations. The Polish government has been especially enthusiastic, declaring 2017 the “Year of Kosciuszko” and encouraging fans to host commemorative parties. Elsewhere, Polish radio recorded a special Kosciuszko drama, while historians have published a barrage of new books on him. Foreigners have also used the chance to reflect on his liberal legacy. In Australia, several organisations have ganged together to offer a cash prize for the best Kosciuszko-themed poem or picture. The mania has even reached a Chicago concert hall, where pieces by Kosciuszko himself are taking pride of place (alongside Chopin, Poland’s national composer).

If his fans are wallowing in Kosciuszko fever, there is still work to do. Poland’s embassy in America recently published a new video on their hero, noting that some Americans still find his name “hard to pronounce.” Fair enough: it hardly slides off American tongues like “Washington” or “Adams”. Hopefully this year’s festivities can help. Either way, it’s a good sign that in America’s splintered politics, the most controversial thing about Tadeusz Kosciuszko is how to say his name. Getting his statue on a few now-vacant plinths might be a good next step.