Tuesday, May 07, 2013

Polishness

Our nocturnal cat stretched, meowed, meowed again. A sign that he wants to walk the land. At 4:20 a.m. No matter. It's dark still, but there are slivers of light out over the fields to the east.


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In any case, I need to be up and out of here. The 5 a.m. bus will put me at the Chicago airport at 8:25. From there, slightly less than an hour  on the elevated subway and I'm in downtown Chicago. Finally, a fifty minute brisk saunter should put me on the steps of the Polish Consulate. [A reminder: I am there to confirm that, despite lapses in documentation, I am still a dual: meaning I have not relinquished my Polish citizenship.]

It's a beautiful day to be walking from one end of the city to the next.


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But I can't pause much. I must be on time for my meeting with the Polish Counsel.


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Let me tell you straight away that he and I were not going to get along. Which is saying a lot, because if you are at the mercy of someone, a bureaucrat lo less, you make an effort to get along. At least I do. Kissing up to the men and women of a papered world is, in general, not a bad strategy.

But Mr. Counsel would have none of it. During the hour that we talked, he allowed for no interruptions, explanations or clarifications. He was hell bent on telling me, in as many words as possible, what a total mess I've made of my life.

I have to say that I felt slightly put upon by the process from the get go. I have a Polish passport. It has expired, but it's there. I have a government ID as well. So why, in my quest for a renewal, start from the beginning? Why ask for a birth certificate? Why a twelve page form demanding such essential information as my great grandmother's maiden name? Who is going to check this and for what reason?

Mr. Counsel looks at my forms, my papers. My oh my, this is a very complicated matter! -- he tells me. I smell pleasure in his voice.
Why?
Well now, let's go back in time. You say you married. Do you have a Polish certificate attesting to that?
No! I married an American. Here in Chicago!
And you didn't register this marriage in Poland? -- he asks, amazed.
But...
Let me finish. You did not do it. Well, you must do it. And look at your Polish passport! It's full of inconsistencies! You tell me your last name is Camic. Why is it Camic-Lewandowska in your passport?
I really don't know...
Well, you'll have to explain that down the road.
My Polish passport was issued after my marriage. But okay. I did not register my marriage. Can I now submit my marriage certificate? 
No. It has no information as to why your name appears hyphenated in one place and not that way in another. And besides, you can't submit anything without proper certification.
But this is the original marriage certificate!
He smiles indulgently. You must certify it nonetheless.

Fine, I get that. International treaties. Certifications. Stamps. Signatures. All that. So I'll certify it! 
Not enough. You must then register it in Poland.
I'm not even married anymore!
I see that. You have been negligent in that as well. You must certify, then register your divorce too. Only after you do that can you file papers asking for a verdict as to your citizenship. If they say yes, then you'll be issued a new ID. And then you can apply for a passport. But I don't know how you can explain the incorrect name... He seems genuinely concerned at this point that he can offer no steps for me to follow.
A very complicated case, he summarizes. This is going to take a very, very long time.

I feel a tightness in my throat. It comes to me when someone slaps down my earnestness, my hope for a good outcome.

And then I have a moment of utter clarity: it doesn't matter anymore. My happiness does not depend on this man's support or disapproval. He has no control over the joy I feel when working at the farmette, or when I teach a good class, or when I eat a meal with daughters and their partners, or when I eat breakfast with Ed. I am so incredibly lucky -- none of these things rest on his decision or his smug disapproval of the steps I have taken in my life.

And so I smile, because this realization makes me very, very happy! And I tell him that much as I like being in Chicago on a sunny May day, I do not want to make a habit of making the trip, five, ten or perhaps more times in the next years to secure the proper stamps and signatures. So I'll pursue my Polishness elsewhere, on my own, with the help of my sister, directly in Warsaw.

No you wont! You can't! You do not live in Poland! -- he really wants to squelch any last bubble of hope. We, at the Consulate, we are your representatives! I'm sorry you don't feel happy with the service we are providing.
I don't like inefficiencies, I say, still smiling. I don't need him for a good life! How cool (and lucky) is that! If every American had to make a personal appearance and go through these steps to get a passport renewal, there would not be enough tax dollars in the Treasury to pay for it.

Oh, he tells me, as if in cahoots with all government bureaucrats of the world -- it's coming to that here too! You'll see!
Let's hope not, I tell him and walk out.

At the clerk's booth I do get a "certified" photo copy of my American passport. I need that to initiate the Polishness process on my own, in Warsaw.
That'll be $40 please, smiles the rather pleasant (for a change) Polish clerk.

So they sucked some money out of me after all, but they didn't slap me down and throw me to the wolves. Not yet anyway. Stay tuned.


My little girl, the one who lives and works in Chicago breaks away from her job to eat lunch with me.


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It's been a while since I've had the great pleasure of a Chicago meal with her. 


I manage, too, to squeeze in a trip to the office where people certify various Illinois documents (my marriage certificate came from Illinois). I just want to see if perhaps I am too harsh in finding fault with the consular office that charged me $40 for the passport certification.

How much? I ask, as I pick up the certificate, admiring the gold seal that has now been added.
$2.
Huh.

The bus ride back to Madison is smooth, pleasurable, in the way that a return ride often is.  It doesn't matter that I have accomplished little at the Consulate. It matters that when I alight here, at the farmette, I am so damn happy to be home. The light is mellow, the colors are soft. How good is that!


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12 comments:

  1. Grrr! It is wonderful that you stayed with your happiness through all that, and you had a lunch with a daughter. That's always a treat. It is glorious now this very week that I chose to return. Lucky me!! ox

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  2. I offer you these words:
    "ILLEGITIMI NON CARBORUNDUM"
    which is pseudo latin for
    "Don't let the bastards grind you down".

    I refer the pseudo latin version as it rolls off the tongue so smoothly, but if you want a correct Latin translation you would use the following:
    -- “Noli sinere malos te vexare”
    (literal translation)
    or
    -- “Noli sinere te ab improbis opprimi“
    (meaning: “Don't stand being oppressed by the bastards”)

    I love your photo of your beautiful yellow home. The light is gorgeous — it caresses the house, trees and your flowers in a lovely soft glow. Perfection.

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  3. Ai yai yai!

    Those open faced sandwiches (with shrimp??) seem almost danish. Different bread though.

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  4. Now THIS is a joyous post. Thanks.

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  5. Isn't bureaucracy amazing? What about apostille stamps? Don't they want that too, so they can delay more and someone makes more money? It is so wonderful that you could just circumvent the consul. I bet it will be easier in Poland.

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  6. Oh my its like the Polish passport version of Bleak House. I'm so happy that you walked out on that idiot. I would not say this except that you had such a nice end to your day, but thank you for my laugh for the day. Maybe when you get your Polishness back you can stop in and tell the little "by-the-book" person all about it.

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  7. I love Nancy's comment and the joy you found in your day. I'm also glad you weren't going to let the bureaucrat steal your happiness. Go Nina! I am wondering whether your conversation was all in Polish.

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  8. Thank you, each and every one. And yes, Barbara, I need apostille stamps. I'd never heard of them before and Mr Counsel smirked at that -- 'and you say you're a lawyer?' - he virtually chortled. I'm not sure I'll be more successful in Poland. My sister says yes, but I think we have ourselves a struggle and at the very least -- a time drain.
    Still, you can only mind if you really want badly what they hold in their little desk drawers. Fortunately, I do not want it *that* badly.
    And yes, Sara, we spoke Polish. I wanted to test his English, but he would have added that to the list of things I'm doing wrong!
    Anyway, lovely comments!

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  9. Thanks for sharing the nightmare of dual citizenship....it is certainly no fun for you, but I find it interesting. Question - why did he insist you use the Chicago office, stating it is your representative, when at this point he doesn't consider you a Polish Citizen. So glad you treated him to a firm stance and a smile. So nice you could have lunch with your daughter, and return to an amazing garden!!!!

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  10. Melinda -- I don't think he considers me a non-Pole. He thinks of me as a Pole with flaws and he (if I can understand his thought process) wants me to beg for forgiveness. Ironically, it would be equally difficult for me to *renounce* my Polishness. I'm trapped between two statuses!

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  11. Awesome, Nina. Apparently your deferential was in the shop that day. Love it. Interesting peripheral on the fees.

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  12. I experienced things like this so many times in Poland. Renewing my work visa was always a similar nightmare. Getting married in Poland -- since I had no document similar validating my stan cywilny -- involved literally months of such nonsense. Then there was the time I rode my bike over to Slovakia and discovered upon returning that a Polish border guard can cause a whole lot of heartache in a very short period of time.

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