The worst thing that a nation must say:
I am sorry that you had been born here.
You could have had more luck and be born in a better country. Many did and they will live. Their proud nations will become a background of individual people's histories. I mean this is the function of a state: to ensure safety and then – if possible – create prosperity. To be a place where one can live, strive to self-improvement, make his own plans and achieve his own dreams. We like to say that in such a country everything works like it's supposed to.
But it is not always like this.
Sometimes the history of a nation comes to the fore like an awakened beast, without having a care for units, making them nothing, dust, cannon fodder. It selfishly forfeits your only chance for earthly life in its own war. Sacrifices to it your dreams. Your plans. All the courses you could take in the future. Powder of your bones. Your blood. To the last drop. And finally the memory of you, when following your death you'll become a symbol, encouraging the others to make the same sacrifice.
I did it too – moreover, I continue to do so. I cannot just give up prolonging my life at your expense. At expense of millions like you, each of which was probably worth more than me. Those who remain alive will always carry the weight of pain, which tips the scales in direction "it wasn't worth it". I know, but I can't resist. Everything must step aside, make space for my history and me.
- Pick up this rifle or I will shoot you for desertion!
- Leave your family and come to the forest with us. We need more people.
- In the name of Polish Underground State I sentence you to death for betraying your country.
I gave you nothing but disappointment and pain. I wasn't even able to provide you the basic conditions of living. And despite this I still dare to reach out to you with my trembling hands, asking – demanding! – a sacriface of your young life. It's the last one, I promise myself. The last on the pile of dead.
But there are always next after them.
There is no bigger humiliation for a country than not fulfilling their most important function. I walk with my head down so I don't have to look into anybody's eyes. I don't even know what I'm afraid to see the most – hate? Pity? Or maybe love? Especially at the sight of the last one I feel like bursting into tears and falling at the feet of an old woman at the well – a malnourished child in the corner of a room – a man at the execution wall – and begging:
- Forgive me. Forgive me for not being a place that you deserved.
Someone with a last glimmer of life in his eyes anwsered me once:
- Thank you. You gave sense to my life.
But most of them stays quiet, in pain.