In August 1944, in the stuffy basement of a Warsaw tenement building, the sounds of Chopin’s 'Revolutionary Etude’ flow from Jan Ekier’s fingers. The melody, a symbol of Polish rebellion and steadfastness, blends with the roar of exploding mortar shells. This image, full of dramatic contrast, epitomises the fate of the artists in the Warsaw Uprising. They were not passive observers of the city’s destruction; on the contrary, their involvement in the 63-day Uprising was a conscious, organised, and multifaceted form of resistance. They fought on two equally important fronts: physical, on the barricades and in the sewers, and psychological, on makeshift stages and in the insurgent newspapers. This was a defence not only of the city but also of the national identity that the occupiers were trying to wipe out brutally. Their art, in all its forms, served as a powerful tool in preserving our collective memory.
Theatre in the Shadow of the Swastika
With the Germans’ entry into Warsaw in 1939, the vibrant cultural life of the „Paris of the North” came to a standstill. The Nazi occupation strategy assumed not only the physical but also the spiritual destruction of Poles. One of the main tools of this policy was the systematic degradation of high culture. Polish theatres were closed, and in their place was established a network of so-called open theatres, operating under strict German control. Theatres such as the Theatre der Stadt Warschau (opened in the building of the Polish Theatre), the Komedia Theatre, and the Maska Theatre were intended to serve Poles a primitive repertoire – farces, revues, and light comedies, devoid of any patriotic, historical, or philosophical content. The goal was to reduce Polish culture to the level of simple, demoralising entertainment.
The formal instrument of control was a decree by Governor-General Hans Frank, which forced artists to register and obtain a work permit card, the so-called Erlaubniskarte. This was a mechanism not only of surveillance but also of cultural engineering, aimed at selecting artists obedient to the new occupation regime and marginalising those who posed a threat to the German order.
Boycott and the Community’s Response – Artistic Cafés
The response from the Polish theatre community was immediate and unequivocal. In September 1940, the clandestine Association of Polish Stage Artists (ZASP) passed a resolution on a complete boycott of German theatres and film studios. This was an act of collective disobedience of immense moral significance, presenting artists with a dramatic choice: collaboration or loss of livelihood. The vast majority chose the latter, demonstrating the resilience and unwavering spirit of the Polish people.
Paradoxically, the boycott, intended to render actors invisible to the occupiers, made them even more visible and accessible to Polish audiences. Deprived of their stage, the most prominent artists of the Second Polish Republic took up jobs as waiters, cloakroom attendants, and baristas in so-called art cafés. Venues such as „Café Bodo,” „U Aktorek,” „Café Jaracz(1883-1945), wybitny polski aktor; debiutował w 1904 w krak... More,” and „SiM” (Art and Fashion) became a phenomenon of occupied Warsaw. They were not only a means of survival, but above all, oases of Polishness, places for exchanging information, centres of conspiracy, and symbols of cultural indomitable spirit. By serving coffee, the acting elite simultaneously sustained the national spirit. This direct contact with the audience strengthened the bond between artists and society, transforming the stars of the stage into living symbols of resistance.
The Birth of Underground Theatre
Parallel to café life, more formalised structures of underground theatre developed. The concept of a theatre building did not exist in the underground; it was replaced by the term „local”—performances took place in private apartments, under the constant threat of exposure. These clandestine performances were not only a form of protest but also an artistic laboratory, where new forms of expression were sought for the needs of a future, independent theatre.
These activities were coordinated by the Secret Theatre Council, which included such stage giants as Leon Schiller, Stefan Jaracz, and Bohdan Korzeniewski. The council not only planned repertoire and trained young artists but also served as a judicial body, reviewing cases of collaboration by artists who violated the ZASP ban. This was an emanation of the Polish Underground State, which, even in the darkest times, safeguarded the ethos and future of national culture.
A key step in the militarisation of art was the establishment of the Secret Military Theatre in 1943, operating under the auspices of the Bureau of Information and Propaganda (BIP) of the Home Army Headquarters. Its team included Danuta Szaflarska, Tadeusz Fijewski, and Andrzej Łapicki, among others. Their task was to prepare artistic programs to be presented to soldiers on the front lines during a future uprising. The creation of such specialised structures proves that the Polish Underground State was not just a military organisation, but a fully functioning „state in the shadow”, with its own „ministry of culture”, which perceived art as a strategic weapon in the struggle for independence.
Two Fronts of Combat: Word and Arms
The outbreak of the Warsaw Uprising on August 1st, 1944, blurred all boundaries between civilian and military life. For many artists, the 'stage’ receded into the background, replaced by the rifle and the 'Molotov cocktail.’ Their stories refute the stereotype of the artist as a figure’ head in the clouds,’ reluctant and unfit to fight, proving that in the hour of trial, professional identity gave way to soldierly and civic duty. Their courage and determination in the face of such adversity are genuinely inspiring.
Józef Szczepański „Ziutek” became the archetypal poet-soldier. A student and talented poet, he became a soldier in the underground resistance of the elite „Parasol” Scout Battalion, and during the Uprising, he took command of one of its assault groups. His work was inextricably intertwined with combat. He wrote his most famous poem, „Michel’s Palace,” which became the battalion’s unofficial anthem, during breaks between repelling German attacks on Wola. Art was a way for him to document and „digest” the atrocities of war. Seriously wounded on September 1st, he died nine days later, becoming a tragic symbol of the Columbus generation.
Another example is Alina Janowska, known by the pseudonyms „Alina” and „Setka.” As a liaison in the „Kiliński” battalion, she held one of the most dangerous positions in the Warsaw Uprising. In a city crisscrossed by front lines and under constant fire, communication between units, and consequently, the lives of her colleagues, depended on her courage and reliability. Her nickname, „Setka,” came from the fact that she was completely reliable. Her duties extended far beyond carrying reports—she organised meals, cleaned quarters, and cared for the wounded. Her steadfastness was no accident – already in 1942, she was arrested and imprisoned in Pawiak Prison for seven months, where, despite brutal interrogations, she betrayed no one.
Future cinema icons Leon Niemczyk and Andrzej Łapicki, among others, also fought in the Uprising, demonstrating the scale of the artistic community’s involvement in armed resistance.
Ammunition of the Spirit
Parallel to the armed struggle, a battle for morale raged. Its „general headquarters” was the Bureau of Information and Propaganda (BIP) of the Home Army. The BIP’s mission was to inform the population, counter German propaganda, and sustain the will to fight among soldiers and civilians. In this psychological warfare, artists proved to be an invaluable weapon. Their fame and talent became „ammunition of the spirit.”
BIP organised mobile „theatrical brigades” that reached the most unlikely places with performances: crowded basements, field hospitals, and outposts on the front lines. The most active artist was Mieczysław Fogg, who gave 104 concerts during the 63 days of the Uprising. His calm, warm voice, echoing through the ruins, was a symbol of normalcy and hope for survival for the residents of Warsaw.
One such brigade, led by Leon Schiller, included Irena Kwiatkowska. In her memoirs, she described a harrowing performance for the wounded after the explosion of a German mine transporter on Kilińskiego Street – she recited poems for the dying, trying to alleviate their suffering through words. This was what „heartwarming” meant in practice.
Danuta Szaflarska and her husband, pianist Jan Ekier, gave concerts during which buildings shook from the explosions. A famous anecdote has become of how, during one performance, a sniper’s bullet whistled past Ekier’s ear. The pianist didn’t stop playing. Artistic activity, therefore, was not an escape from the war, but a conscious and courageous element of it. It was a carefully considered military strategy, in which the artists’ fame served as a force multiplier, and their performances as a form of psychological support, as important as the supply of ammunition.
Visual propaganda also played a key role in this war for minds and hearts. The walls of the ruined Warsaw became the most extensive art gallery in Poland. Posters and leaflets posted by the Public Information Bulletin (BIP) and other underground organisations formed a system of visual communication with residents. Iconic posters, such as „To Arms! In the Ranks of the Home Army,” mobilised for combat, while others, such as those with the slogan „A Chatterbox – a Home Army soldier is not a gossip,” served as a disciplinary and warning device.
In the heat of the Uprising, identities blurred. Józef Szczepański continued to be a poet when he took up arms – his poetry became war poetry. Alina Janowska utilised the inherent qualities of actors – memory, composure, and courage – in her role as a liaison. The Uprising created a new, hybrid type of hero: the artist-insurgent, whose creative and martial virtues fused into a single, inseparable act of patriotic duty.
Portraits in the Uprising Frame:
Danuta Szaflarska („Młynarzówna”) – Mother and Courier
Danuta Szaflarska’s fate during the Warsaw Uprising is a story of dramatic tension between duty and maternal love. Before the war, she was a rising star of the theatre in Vilnius. In occupied Warsaw, refusing to work in the theatre, in the open, she became involved with the underground Front Theatre of the BIP AK. The outbreak of the Uprising found her with her one-year-old daughter, her mother, and her husband, pianist Jan Ekier, in an apartment on Polna Street. Her everyday life during the Uprising was torn apart(fr. a part), inaczej: monolog lub zwrot na stronie; wypowie... More. As a liaison officer, nicknamed „Młynarzówna,” she carried dispatches and participated in concerts organised by the BIP for insurgents and civilians. At the same time, as a mother, she had to protect her child in the city’s basements, which were crumbling before her eyes. Her story embodies the fate of thousands of women who had to balance the roles of soldier and caregiver during the Uprising.
Irena Kwiatkowska („Katarzyna”) – From the Polish Red Cross to the Barricade
Irena Kwiatkowska’s biography is a portrait of extraordinary fortitude and practicality. Her commitment to public service began in September 1939, when she volunteered for the Polish Red Cross. During the occupation, she worked at the Central Welfare Council, cooking soups for those in need. The Uprising was a natural continuation of this attitude. Assigned to the „Barry” unit of the State Security Corps in the Old Town, she served as a liaison for the commander, codenamed „Katarzyna.” She also joined Leon Schiller’s „theatrical brigade,” bringing words of comfort to the wounded and exhausted defenders. Her stories from those days, though few, paint a picture of everyday heroism – running with reports under sniper fire or escaping at the last minute from a building occupied by the Germans. Her fortitude was also revealed after the capitulation, when she managed to escape from a column of civilians being driven from the capital, posing as a peasant with a hoe, and survive the following months in hiding.
Alina Janowska („Setka”) – Voice of diary.
Alina Janowska’s story has gained a new, incredibly personal dimension thanks to the discovery years later of a diary she kept during the first days of the Uprising. Her notes are an invaluable testimony that elevates history from grand narratives to intimate, human experience. Her words paint a picture of the everyday life of a liaison officer: fear, exhaustion, but also the immense responsibility for the tasks entrusted to her and the lives of her colleagues. Janowska recalled her initial hope for a quick victory and help from the Red Army, followed by a painful clash with reality and the realisation that they were left alone. „That’s when I realised it was a complete sham,” she wrote bitterly. Her courage was demonstrated in acts that became legendary, such as her daring action of carrying a pot of hot porridge to the starving defenders of the PAST building under constant fire. The extreme conditions of the Uprising didn’t create her character, but instead enhanced it. Her courage, steadfastness, and sense of duty, evident even during her arrest in 1942, found their final confirmation in the heat of battle.
Contrasting Fates – Fogg and Szpilman
To fully understand the spectrum of the artists’ experiences, it is necessary to compare the fates of two of the most famous musicians of the Warsaw Uprising. Mieczysław Fogg was an active participant in the cultural life of the Uprising, a „bard of the uprising,” who served the struggling capital with his talent. Władysław Szpilman, an outstanding pianist and composer of Jewish descent, survived the Uprising as a „Robinson of Warsaw” – hiding in the ruins of the destroyed city. His story is a tale of a lonely struggle for survival, of art that allows one to retain humanity in inhuman conditions. The juxtaposition of these two biographies shows that there was no single, monolithic „uprising experience.” Heroism took many forms: from active combat and service to a desperate will to live.
The Curtain Falls on the Ruins
The surrender of the Uprising on October 2nd, 1944, did not mean the end of the ordeal. For the surviving artists, as for hundreds of thousands of Warsaw residents, another act of tragedy began – an exodus(gr. eksodos = wyjście), pieśń chóru zamykająca antyczn... More from the dead city. Danuta Szaflarska, along with her young daughter and mother, passed through the Dulag 121 transit camp in Pruszków, from where she arrived in Kraków. Irena Kwiatkowska, after a daring escape from a column of civilians, hid in the countryside, experiencing threats from both the Germans and the approaching Red Army. Alina Janowska, having left the city, reached her parents in Tworki. These individual stories contribute to a collective picture of complete dispersion, loss of home, and uncertainty about the future.
Stigma and Memory
The experience of the Uprising had an indelible impact on the lives and work of those who survived. It became a central point in their biographies and public identities. However, their reactions to the trauma varied. Some, like Alina Janowska, eagerly shared their memories, feeling a mission to bear witness. Others, like Zdzisław Maklakiewicz, spoke reluctantly, harbouring a pain that could not be fully expressed.
A direct attempt to artistically process the experiences of the occupation and the Uprising was the first Polish post-war film, „Forbidden Songs” (1946). The leading female role was played by Danuta Szaflarska, who, for millions of Poles, became the face of the generation that survived. The film, though simplified and censored, played a crucial role in building postwar collective memory.
Today, the stories of the insurgent artists constitute one of the pillars of the narrative about the 1944 uprising. Their memoirs, diaries, and biographies are preserved in the Oral History Archive of the Warsaw Uprising Museum, compiled in books such as Agnieszka Cubała’s „Artists of ’44,” and serve as inspiration for subsequent generations of artists who pay tribute to their predecessors every August 1st.
The ultimate legacy of the artists of fighting Warsaw is more than a collection of heroic anecdotes. It is proof that culture is not a luxury for peacetime, but a fundamental element of national identity, essential for survival. By refusing to remain silent, by defending the Polish word and Polish music in the shadow of gas chambers and on the barricades, they achieved a victory that no military defeat could take away from them. The artists of the Warsaw Uprising fought an extraordinary war – a battle for territory and, at the same time, a struggle for souls. In their hands, talent became „spiritual ammunition,” and the stage, even the most makeshift one in a basement or hospital, was transformed into a redoubt of Polishness. They proved that in times of ultimate trial, culture is not an adjunct to life, but the condition for its survival.
Konrad Szczebiot