Story
Monika Adler is 43 years old, but family and friends only refer to her as "Paloma." That's because she has two names. The first one is Polish, given by her mother at birth to be officially recorded in documents. The second one is Romani, as is customary in her community, where everyone has a name in accordance with tradition that’s used at home and among close ones. "Paloma" was chosen by her grandmother in the early 80s when the girl was born - this name was unknown in Poland, and there was no possibility of recording it in the registry. At least that's what Paloma's mother used to say. Even though it’s not in her documents, it is closer to her than the one on her ID.
She was born in Legnica and is from the "Austrians," as they say in her community. She also has German roots on her grandfather’s side. However, she doesn't live in her family home but in Przemyśl. Why? She moved for love. She was 20 when her future husband first appeared in her town. Before that, his aunt had visited Paloma's family, befriended her mother, and returned saying that there was such a young and beautiful girl, and she didn't have a husband yet. That's how they met, and she had never seen him before; he proposed. She could plan the wedding. Today, Paloma thinks that girls marry later. She has three daughters, aged 20, 18, and 15, and none of them even considers starting a family.
Education? Paloma finished eight years of primary school and is not ashamed of it. On the contrary, she believes it was a lot back then. She knew girls who completed even fewer grades and were married by the age of fourteen. Paloma's daughters belong to a different generation. They are still studying, one in England, and the other will join her soon, concentrating mainly on their own growth and development. They chose to live abroad, thinking they would have better prospects there than in Poland.
Paloma doesn't hide that her daughters have experienced discrimination and racism. More than once, she had to go to school, intervene, take them out of classes, and speak to the parents of boys and girls who bullied them at school. Sometimes Paloma had to go to her daughters' school literally every week. It was a difficult experience for the whole family, causing a sense of helplessness. Paloma remembers a conversation with the mother of her daughter's friend, who pulled her hair and verbally abused her. This mother was shocked that her son could do such a thing; she couldn't explain his behaviour.
The girls stood out at school with their appearance. They had dark, long hair, dark eyes, and a darker complexion than other children, and it wasn't a very multicultural institution. In addition to Paloma's daughters, their cousins also attended the school, and they mostly stuck together in their group.
It was a difficult time, but the family wasn't particularly surprised by the bullying. Legnica in the nineties, when Paloma was growing up, wasn't an ideal place to live. On the streets, men with shaved heads were looking for someone who stood out in appearance or spoke a different language. It was easy to encounter their aggression. Paloma remembers being afraid to go out sometimes. She even recalls a situation when they attacked an apartment where a Roma family lived, completely destroying it. She admits today that she and her husband still experience discrimination in their town They have a particular problem with one neighbour, the same one for years, who happens to live next door. He has never told Paloma or her husband where his prejudices come from or if they did something wrong. He curses them, sometimes, just for the sake of it. Once he even physically attacked the couple.
Maybe it's about the shared balcony? Perhaps he can't stand that the Roma family hangs laundry next to his clothes. Sometimes police assistance was necessary because the threat from the man seemed quite real. Once, when Paloma was hanging laundry in the attic, trying to avoid the argument about the balcony and not annoy him with her presence, he came upstairs after her. And again, the same pattern: insults first, then a call to the police. Even today, when her husband is not at home, she tries not to go out alone, just in case she meets him on the staircase.
She has no idea why he's like that. Her husband has been living in this building for 40 years; his parents lived there before, and they don't want to move. It's not about escaping. However lately, the idea of maybe moving towns has been on their minds. Moving into the unknown, finding peace.
Paloma remembers when she got married. She knew that according to tradition, she would take care of the home and raise children, and that's what she wanted. Unfortunately, when she was ready to go to work after raising her daughters for the first few years of their lives, she wouldn’t receive a single job offer for several years, despite registering with the employment office.
Today, both Paloma and her husband work supporting refugees. Almost from the first day, they went to the train station, initially perhaps out of curiosity. Paloma assumed that among those arriving in Poland, there would probably be Roma, and she wondered if she could help them at the start. And she had more work than she had thought; together with Dawid they did everything they could: shopping, sandwiches, meals, bringing cans of food, and water. Some Roma families consisted of a mother and ten children; the babies on their hands were perhaps only a few weeks old. Paloma commuted between the store, the kitchen, and the station for hours, always feeling that she could be doing more. She also started crowdfunding online, hoping for help from neighbours. So far, she’d paid for everything she could herself, not waiting for anyone to reimburse her. Money didn't matter then. Besides, she didn't receive any payment for her work either. From whom? What she did was coming from her heart.
It was just sad for her to see that refugees of Roma origin were treated differently by volunteers at the border than Ukrainians. She even thinks it wasn't bad intentions. Poles simply don't know Roma and are maybe a little afraid of them, and Romani people, in turn, can be mistrustful, especially at the beginning. Paloma was the first to approach them, talk to them, and gain their trust. Even in conversations with her, it took them some time to open up.
Near her home, just a few minutes' walk away, there’s a military hospital. She went there to help the wounded. Sometimes she helped someone find an apartment or a job, extra food, or anything else that was needed. So, the initial desire to support people escaping the war has become a full-time job for her. One could say she's a volunteer by profession.
Paloma emphasizes that she was born in Poland and is of Romani origin. What does that mean to her? It's a collection of principles, rights, and traditions that she would like to pass on to her daughters. Above all, respect for elders, for father and mother. She would like the girls to know how to behave in every situation and help their parents when they are at work: tidy up or cook lunch by themselves. In her community, family ties are definitely a priority.
In her opinion, Poles are not familiar with Romani culture. However, paradoxically, the war brought them closer. Paloma herself sees that she now has more friends among Poles than ever before. Many of these people are closer acquaintances, people she can always count on. One could say that a gateway to getting to know people who are not always like us has opened in Przemyśl. It turns out that what makes us different can promote mutual interest, and many things can be learned from each other.
Today, when Paloma thinks about what she does, she is proud of herself. Helping has become her goal; each newly found housing or job for a Romani family is a reason for her joy, just like the first one was. Since she knows Przemyśl quite well, she knows which areas are best for the Roma, and what would be good for their families and children. She gives them only what she would take for herself. Some stay in Przemyśl, get a job here, raise children, and start to help others, just like Paloma once helped them.
She doesn't know the exact numbers and doesn't keep a record of whom she helped, but she assumes it's hundreds of people. There were days when even 70 people arrived daily, and it wasn't clear what to do with them. What’s the greatest satisfaction? The fact that now Paloma's daughter is also involved in helping others. That's her pride.
The views and conclusions expressed in the text represent the author's opinions and do not necessarily reflect the official position of the Heinrich Böll Foundation.