Their death-mask portraits are ugly, sad and wrong as murder is all those things and yet even in death the “42”offer us their perpetual sacrifice, forsaking the aesthetic of a pretty picture in favour of a reminder of what life was like when cowards and tyrants roamed the earth. “Remember…” they seem to say. As a nation, you’ve had a long and bloody road to freedom, so many lives destroyed by loss, betrayal, and butchery, not least the nine miners in Wujek whose bullet-torn clothes hang from the museum’s ceiling. Simple overalls, they are suspended in mid-air as ghosts, as if the spirits of those hardened men are restless. Perhaps they who paid so dearly for Poland’s freedom are horrified that this generation has sold it so cheaply to a mob of undeserving blackguards?
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