An elderly Polish newspaper editor has been making headlines in the West over the last month after he became embroiled in a controversial libel case. Seventy one year old Jerzy Urban was fined 6500 US Dollars by a Polish court for 'illegally insulting the Pope'. Urban had penned an article called 'The Walking Sado-Masochist', ridiculing the Pope's 2002 visit to his native Poland, which was marked by the pontiff's increasing frailty.
In the light of the paramount issues of freedom of speech, Mr Urban has been cast as a victim in the Western Press, and his case a rallying cry for knocking Poland into line with European law. Earnest British radio shows have questioned Poland's suitability for joining the EU, whilst Mr Urban himself has vowed to appeal to the highest European courts.
As it stands, most Polish journalists agree that Mr Urban should never have been taken to court. And although the Pope is seen as a saintly figure who helped defeat the communist system, the majority of Poles themselves see the peculiar law which forbids the defamation of leaders of state (the Pope is indeed the head of the autonomous Vatican city) as a dubious hangover from the communist system.
However, there are certain aspects of the case that have tended to slip through the net in Western reports. And whilst these should not have been be allowed to influence issues of freedom of speech, they do cast a rather comical, some might say absurd light on the whole affair. These aspects relate to Mr Urban himself.
Mr Urban has been described as a 'satirist' by numerous Western publications. The tag conjures up the image of a witty old man, scribbling away amusing sketches by candlelight for a loyal group of admiring readers.
In fact, Mr Urban is not new to the limelight. Indeed, his strikingly hairless profile, which bears more than a passing resemblance to Yoda from Star Wars (although a rather more cynical version it can't be denied) has been a familiar fixture on Polish television screens for several decades now.
Mr Urban was indeed one of the great stars of the Communist Party. During the late seventies and early eighties, he was one of the Party's most trusted men, a valiant knight in the campaign for disinformation, a loyal adherent of censorshop in all its forms.
At that time Mr Urban became the official Speaker for the Party, and if you were feeling generous towards the adventurer, you might say that he was the kind of figure who Poles loved to hate. In the wake of the Solidarity inspired strikes and the government's declaration of Martial Law in 1981 (when the tanks rolled in) Urban was famous for his scathing declaration to the Polish people:
'The people can strike as much they want but the government will always be able to feed itself!"
It's a charming line that gives Marie-Antoinette's 'let them eat cake' corker a veritable run for its money.
Indeed, some would say that 'love to hate' was too kindly a reference for Mr. Urban. Two months ago, Jozef Oleksy (another shady ex-Party figure) was compelled to resign his post in parliament after it was revealed that he had lied about his dealings with the pre-1989 State Security Services. A special Polish court ruled that Oleksy had in fact been a paid informer.
Oleksy himself might be described as a man that Poles loved to hate. Yet Mariusz Nowak, a mild-mannered young graphic designer, remarks that the erstwhile informer Oleksy ' is like a saint compared to Urban.'
Like many former communists, Citizen Urban was quick to jettison the Party's alleged anti-capitalist principles when the chips fell.
He founded the newspaper 'Nie' (No) which quickly gained a reputation for muck-raking and sensationalism. At the same time, his wife created a magazine that reveled in the more gory side of true-life crime. The magazine had to be shut down after it was revealed that Mrs Urban had bribed the police for photographs of a homicide.
Meanwhile Citizen Urban was getting rich in formidable style. And this Christmas, one extraordinary incident seemed to confirm his reputation as a man who always manages to come out on top.
Mr. Urban was holidaying in Thailand when the tragic Tsunami struck. He was asleep in his bungalow when the wave broke at 9am. He was smashed through the wall of the bungalow, and the momentum was so powerful that it shunted him several metres down the street. Yet Mr. Urban did not even fall from his bed.
So outlandish is the story that you almost start to like the man. Certainly, the bright Mr. Urban is a master of the witty riposte. When the US imposed sanctions on Poland in the wake of 1981's Martial Law, Citizen Urban responded swiftly by publicly dispatching a shipload of sleeping bags to America for New York's homeless.
This is the 'satirist' that was 'victimized' by the Polish courts. And whilst he should never have been taken to court in the first place, the air of absurdity is not confined to the dubious and moribund defamation law itself. Mr. Urban, the erstwhile enforcer of censorship par excellence, is now seen in the West as a valiant knight in the quest for freedom of speech. He must be relishing every minute of it.
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