Warsaw, November 12, 2025 – Tens of thousands of Poles flooded the streets of Warsaw on Tuesday, November 11, for the annual Independence March, a cornerstone of the nation's patriotic calendar that commemorates the 107th anniversary of regaining sovereignty after 123 years of partitions by Russia, Prussia, and Austria-Hungary. The event, which drew an estimated 100,000 participants according to police figures—though organizers claimed up to 300,000—unfolded under a blanket of white-and-red flags, fervent chants, and a visible undercurrent of political friction between the pro-EU government and nationalist opposition. This year's procession, themed "One Nation, Strong Poland," highlighted not just historical pride but also contemporary debates over migration, EU influence, and national identity, serving as a barometer for Poland's deepening societal divides.
The day began with solemn official ceremonies at Pilsudski Square, where a promotion event for newly appointed generals and admirals was met with boos from segments of the crowd. Interior Minister Marcin Kierwinski and Defense Minister Wladyslaw Kosiniak-Kamysz, key figures in Prime Minister Donald Tusk's centrist coalition, faced jeers that underscored the rift between the government and right-wing supporters. Kosiniak-Kamysz addressed the hecklers directly in his speech, urging unity: "Shouting and whistling did not bring freedom... Today we stand together, even though we have different views. Poland is our common, sacred denominator." The minister's words echoed broader calls for reconciliation on a day meant to celebrate shared heritage, yet they fell on a divided audience, with many in the crowd waving banners critical of the government's EU alignment.
Security was markedly heightened, with thousands of police officers deployed across the capital. For the first time in recent years, the Masovian Voivode's office imposed a strict ban on pyrotechnics, including the flares and firecrackers that have long defined the march's dramatic visual spectacle—columns of red smoke billowing like national fervor made manifest. Opposition politicians from the Law and Justice (PiS) party decried the measure as overreach. Nationalist organizer Robert Bakiewicz, head of the National Movement, accused authorities of "searches and political intimidation," warning that such tactics would only galvanize participants. Sławomir Mentzen, leader of the far-right Confederation party, amplified the criticism in a video message, mocking the ban as an attempt to dim Poland's patriotic flame: "The crowds at the Independence March are showing their devotion to the Fatherland. We are proud to be Poles and will always defend our nation against foreign powers!" Despite the restrictions, some flares were ignited, casting an ethereal glow over the procession and drawing cheers from the throng.
By early afternoon, the massive crowd converged at Dmowski Roundabout—named for Roman Dmowski, the interwar nationalist leader whose ideology continues to inspire the event's core organizers—before setting off on a miles-long route toward the National Stadium. Families in matching red-and-white scarves mingled with football ultras in club jerseys, Catholic traditionalists clutching rosaries, and contingents from neo-fascist groups like the National Rebirth of Poland (NOP) and All-Polish Youth. International far-right visitors from Hungary, Italy, Spain, and even the United States joined what has become a de facto pilgrimage for European nationalists, forming a "Nationalistic Column" adorned with slogans like "White Europe of Brotherly Nations." Banners proliferated with anti-immigration messages—"Stop Immigration, It's Time for Deportations!" and "The Polish People Are Dying Out!"—reflecting anxieties over EU migrant quotas and demographic decline. One prominent placard from the Confederation of the Polish Crown read: "Let’s Regain Our Independence," a nod to perceived threats from Brussels.
President Karol Nawrocki, elected earlier this year with PiS backing, made his inaugural appearance at the march, marching arm-in-arm with supporters while hoisting a large Polish flag. In a pre-march statement, Nawrocki framed the day as a bulwark against external erosion of sovereignty: "Some politicians are ready to surrender Polish freedom piece by piece to foreign institutions and tribunals. The president will not allow Poland to become the peacock and parrot of nations, mindlessly repeating what comes from the West." His predecessor, Andrzej Duda, had largely avoided the event during his tenure, attending only in 2018 for the centenary celebrations co-organized by the PiS government. Nawrocki's participation signaled a shift, energizing the crowd and drawing praise from PiS leader Jarosław Kaczyński, who joined alongside former Prime Minister Mateusz Morawiecki. Kaczyński later told Radio Wnet: "This march gives hope for change," alluding to the opposition's push against Tusk's administration.
In stark contrast, Tusk and his coalition shunned the march, opting for alternative commemorations. The prime minister, speaking from his hometown of Gdańsk, posted on X: "No one has a monopoly on patriotism. No one has the right to raise their voice against another Pole on this day." He emphasized diversity as "a source of our strength," a subtle rebuke to the march's exclusionary rhetoric. Tusk's absence was mocked by nationalists, who accused him of fleeing Warsaw's patriotic fervor; one viral post quipped that he had "ordered rain from hell" to dampen the event, though skies remained clear. Meanwhile, a counter-demonstration—an anti-fascist march in another Warsaw district—drew thousands with pro-immigration signs and Palestinian flags, highlighting the polarized responses to the holiday.
The march's evolution mirrors Poland's turbulent post-communist journey. Once a modest state observance reinstated in 1989 after communist suppression, it transformed in the late 2000s into a magnet for right-wing mobilization. Founded in 2009 by far-right groups like the National Radical Camp (ONR), it has grown exponentially, peaking at 150,000 in 2021 under the slogan "Independence Is Not for Sale." Yet it has also been a flashpoint: 2017's "Pure Blood, Sober Mind" banners sparked global outrage for their racial undertones, while 2020 saw marchers torch a rainbow flag-displaying balcony, fueling Poland's LGBTQ+ rights debates. Warsaw's liberal mayor, Rafał Trzaskowski, has repeatedly sought to ban it, citing public safety, but courts have upheld it as a legitimate assembly.
This year's event passed largely peacefully, with no major incidents reported despite the pyrotechnics ban and drone prohibitions. Community alternatives abounded: a 20,000-strong 10km "Independence Run" wove through the capital, while concerts and family gatherings emphasized inclusive patriotism. Gazeta Polska Clubs, a pro-PiS network, rallied members to their dedicated section, framing participation as a bulwark against "foreign influences."
As Poland navigates its post-2023 realignment under Tusk's coalition—marked by thawed EU relations and increased Ukraine aid amid Russia's ongoing war—the march endures as a litmus test. It reveals a nation grappling with its past glories and present insecurities: pride in 1918's rebirth clashes with fears of cultural dilution, while calls for "strong Poland" mask debates over openness versus isolation. Critics decry its radical fringes, yet for participants, it's unadulterated reverence—a ritual where history's echoes drown out modernity's discord.
In Gdańsk, Tusk's event drew crowds for wreath-layings and speeches on democratic resilience, but Warsaw's streets remained the emotional epicenter. As one marcher told Reuters, "This isn't just a walk; it's a promise to our ancestors—and our children—that Poland endures." With Europe's far-right ascendant and geopolitical shadows lengthening, the 2025 Independence March affirmed: Poland's story of defiance is far from over.
