My grandfather is one of my heroes. I have mentioned this before in a past blog post, and I am sure it will come up again at some point because it is rather important to me and to who I am. Like I said in my last update, I am incredibly busy right now with non-blog related issues (I would insert a clever simile or metaphor to illustrate how busy I am, but truth be told I cannot think of an appropriate one that makes sense), so please excuse the lack of global depth in this post.
Stanisław Dobosiewicz was my grandfather. During WWII, he was sent to the camps. He survived, and continued to be a great man until he passed away in 2007. Amnesty International posted a contest on twitter to win a pair of tickets to their upcoming Fringe comedy show, Stand Up for Freedom. The contest – post an “if you could tell someone anything” tweet. My entry? “I’d tell my grandpa ‘Thank you for being strong, surviving the Nazi camps, and being my hero.’” I already have a ticket to the show, but I tweeted because it really means a lot to me to say that.
With all the rioting that has been going on in England and the police reactions – which I have had a hard time not blogging about, but dissertation matters – it constantly has me thinking about my grandfather. We live in a free society with laws that are (usually) justly enforced. Police are necessary, and I think they generally do a good job. Some people disagree with me, and while I respect their opinions, I cannot help but think back to my grandmother showing me the picture she has of my grandfather the day he left for the camps. For me, extreme policing is not a far-away issue that only impacts oppressed nations I have no connection to. I have seen it, I have seen what it can do. I knew my grandfather. I saw the lasting effects of the camps. The Nazis may have been long gone from Poland, but they were always haunting him. And that, my dear readers, is extreme policing.