In the spring of 1940, in the shadow of the Second World War, by decision of the highest authorities of the Soviet Union, nearly 22,000 citizens of the Second Polish Republic - officers of the Polish Army, police officers, officials, clergy and representatives of the intellectual elite - were murdered. Those shot in the back of the head, buried in anonymous pits in Katyn, Kharkiv, Miednoye and Bykivnia, became victims of a crime that had been obscured for decades by a curtain of lies. In the People's Republic of Poland, speaking the truth was punishable by repression - this is why the first monuments and plaques commemorating the Katyn massacre were erected outside Poland.

Not only monuments - a spectrum of remembrance

The Katyn massacre has been commemorated at more than 130 sites around the world. Most of the monuments have forms of clearly historical origin - often, like the Andrzej Pityński Memorial in Jersey City or the "eternal flame" in Baltimore, they attract attention with their grandeur and artistic grandeur. However, the memory of Katyn is perpetuated not only by monuments, of which there are relatively few (13), but also by plaques, of which there are about 40, as well as commemorations in the form of boulders, crosses, so-called Katyn crosses, planting of Oaks of Remembrance, and even stained glass, paintings, bas-reliefs or urns with soil from the death pits. What unites these diverse forms is not so much their shape as their message - a resistance to forgetting and lies, and an expression of remembrance for victims who could not be officially commemorated in their homeland for decades.

Historically, the largest number of memorials have been erected in the United Kingdom and the United States, but after 1990 most appeared in Lithuania and after 2010 in Hungary. There are also individual ones in Argentina, Australia, France, Canada, New Zealand, Ukraine, Russia, Austria, the Czech Republic and South Africa, among others. Monuments and other commemorations were erected despite political pressure. Some were monumental, others symbolic - such as the plaque in the park, the Oak of Remembrance or the cross. All, however, carried the same message: "If I forget them, you, God, forget me", as the quote from Mickiewicz on the Baltimore memorial proclaims. In recent years, there has been a lack of new implementations.

The history of commemorations of the Katyn massacre outside Poland reveals a dynamic and complex process of formation of a transnational collective memory. For about 25 years, these forms were created in changing historical, political and cultural contexts, fulfilling a compensatory function in the absence of commemoration opportunities at home. Their distribution, chronology and form testify to the fact that the memory of Katyn was not only the result of a natural need to mourn, but also an expression of social resistance to censorship, a tool of historical politics and a space for the identity expression of émigré communities.

London and Stockholm: competition for the first voice of truth

In the mid-1970s, something of a rivalry could be observed over who would be the first to erect a Katyn memorial. The first two, the Stockholm memorial and the London memorial, came about thanks to the commitment of émigré circles who took difficult decisions to create a memorial, despite the lack of favour and sometimes even against diplomatic and, in part, social and ecclesiastical resistance.

In Sweden, neutral and independent, the barrier was political caution and a mentality of non-involvement. The Church also refused to participate, hiding behind bylaws and apoliticality. In Britain, Poland's historic ally, there was greater freedom of action, but also immense diplomatic pressure from the USSR, supported by representatives of the Polish People's Republic. Despite this, efforts to build a memorial began in London from 1971. The initiative went a long way - from the first project by Major R. Królikowski, through the establishment of the Katyn Monument Building Committee headed by Lord Barnby, to overcoming numerous legal and political obstacles. Amongst other things, permission to build at St Luke's Church was refused on the grounds of 'concern for the peace of the dead', although this was in fact a blocking action inspired by the Soviet authorities.

Eventually, a site was chosen at Gunnersbury Cemetery, where other prominent Polish émigrés are buried, including General Jozef Haller. The memorial was erected thanks to the determination of the Polish community, fundraising in the UK, USA and Canada, and the support of the British, including writer Louis FitzGibbon, House of Commons MPs Winston S. Churchill (grandson of the British Prime Minister) and Airey Neave. Despite strong diplomatic pressure and even protests from the embassies of the Polish People's Republic and the USSR, the monument was unveiled on 18 September 1976. The ceremony was accompanied by crowds of thousands, numerous delegations and flag posts. The monument, in the form of an obelisk with the inscription "Katyn 1940", an eagle and a wreath of barbed wire, was consecrated by the pastor of the Polish community and exile, Bishop Władysław Rubin, assisted by the émigré heads of the Orthodox Church and the Evangelical Augsburg Church, and the president of the Union of Jewish War Veterans, and then decorated with the Silver Cross of the Order of Virtuti Militari.

However, thanks to the determination and shrewdness of the organisers, the Stockholm memorial was unveiled hastily and without publicity on 16 November 1975 - thus before the planned inauguration of the London monument. Thus, Stockholm was ahead of London, although the monument was erected in a private courtyard and not in a public space. Despite this symbolic 'win', both monuments became pioneering acts of public resistance to the Soviet distortion of history and the beginning of the European struggle for Katyn truth.

In contrast, the first memorial in a fully open public space was erected in Johannesburg, South Africa. Erected in 1981, it consists of two slabs of red granite that form a symbolic cross in the clearance - in accordance with local regulations prohibiting religious symbols, this was not placed directly on the memorial. Soil from Katyn, Warsaw and Jozefów was also deposited here. Additional plaques commemorate South African airmen who supported the Warsaw Uprising.

For the record, it may also be added that plaques were previously created in France, in the Montmorency cemetery near Paris (1965) and in Leicester, England (1966). A commemoration in the form of a boulder was erected in Scotland in 1978, but before that, as early as 1976, a small plaque was placed in Perth with the inscription KATYÑ 1940 in the local cemetery where Polish soldiers were buried. However, it was quickly removed by the local authorities fearing a political scandal.

London memorials are also written about in this article.

Between memory and silence: the art form of the Polish War Cemetery in Bykivnia

On the outskirts of Kyiv, among the silent trees of the Bykiv forest, there is a place that for decades hid the unspoken truth about one of the many chapters of Stalin's crimes. Although the German occupiers discovered the mass graves as early as 1941, Bykivnia never became a symbol like Katyn. For years, the communist authorities of the USSR carefully concealed the scale of the crime, creating a false narrative about the victims of the "fascist occupiers". It was only in the 21st century that it became possible to commemorate the victims buried there with dignity - including the 3435 Poles murdered by the NKVD in 1940. An artistic project by Marek Moderau and Robert Glowacki played a key role in creating this space of remembrance.

Unlike the monuments in Katyn or Kharkiv, the design of the Polish War Cemetery in Bykivnia does not exude drama. As the creator himself, Marek Moderau, emphasises, the project was intended to calm emotions, not enhance them:

"And just as those other commemorations exuded tragedy, ours [...] is somehow calming".

In this sense, the artistic form of the cemetery becomes a meditative landscape, not a shock. It is a memorial that does not shout - rather, it invites reflection and inner focus.

The main element of the space is the Altar Wall, made of light-coloured stone. Its minimalist form and the rawness of the material contrast with, but do not dominate, the natural surroundings. The wall does not have a sacred function in the literal sense, but symbolically encloses the cemetery space, creating a point of contemplation - as if forming a symbolic boundary between the world of the living and the memory of the dead. There is no pathos or grand figures - instead, what impresses is the purity of the form, the light reflecting off the surface of the stone and the rustle of leaves in the nearby forest. It is a space that does not force a response - it leaves room for individual experience.

Moderau's project can be interpreted as a gesture against the brutalisation of memory. The Bykivnia memorial does not tell the story of death through expressive figuration, but through a renunciation of the depiction of death. In doing so, it opposes traditional martyrological iconography - there are no restrained silhouettes, no eagle soaring, no dramatic inscriptions. Instead, there is space, rhythm, harmony. The arrangement is more reminiscent of a park or garden courtyard, a fact noticed by the audience as well:

"[...] I even heard that it is almost a park-like setting".

It is a conscious aesthetic choice - an architecture of memory that fits into the landscape without violating it, but entering into dialogue with it. In contrast to the monumental sculptures, the cemetery at Bykivnia functions as a space of inner peace, of coming to terms with pain and reflecting on history.

What gives this project an extra dimension is its late execution and political context. In 1988, a monument was erected there with an inscription proclaiming that the victims had died "at the hands of the fascist occupiers". It was not until regime change and subsequent archaeological research that a memorial reserve could be created where the art form could speak the truth without shouting. Moderau and Glowacki were not looking for a spectacle, but for a symbolic closure - a place where the victims can finally "rest" not only physically, but also symbolically, and where visitors can experience the aesthetics of mourning without echoing suffering.

The Bykivnia memorial is an interesting example of the modern art of remembrance, which, while abandoning the literal, gains strength through silence. In an age overloaded with visual and emotional stimuli, this project proposes a completely different approach: empathy through simplicity.
It is a memorial not so much to death as to duration and presence - subtle, reflective, dignified. And perhaps it is in this unadorned form that its greatest power lies.

For more on memorials related to the Katyn massacre, including a list of those murdered, see the article in the Polonica catalogue:

Polish War Cemetery of the Victims of the Katyn Massacre in Bykivnia

Expression of pain: Jersey City and the sculpture of martyrdom

In Doylestown, Pennsylvania, on the grounds of the Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa, Andrzej Pityński realised in 1988 the Avenger (Avenger) Monument - a kneeling hussar with a sword. The site combines the religious and the national sacred, gaining the dimension of a national shrine of remembrance for the Polish American community. Although the memorial mainly commemorates Polish soldiers, its central plaque with a quote from the Madden Commission Report (the US Congressional Commission of Inquiry into the Katyn Massacre) also makes it a strong Katyn monument.

On the Hudson River waterfront, overlooking New York's Manhattan, stands a monument that is hard to miss. Its creator is also Andrzej Pityński. It is the artist's most controversial and at the same time recognisable work. It consists of a bronze cast figure of a Polish officer with his mouth gagged, his hands tied and his body pierced through with a Soviet rifle bayonet. The monument, more than ten metres high, stands on a granite pedestal in which earth from the Katyn Forest has been placed It is an aesthetic of shock - a figure in agony, frozen in a dramatic gesture of death, almost theatrical.

"I think my composition has something of the crucifixion of Christ," Pityński said. - "It is not only a symbol of the Katyn massacre, but of a Poland reborn [...]. The result of the shameful pact between two criminals - Hitler and Stalin [...]".

The initiative to erect the commemoration was largely grassroots: it was born out of the need to commemorate loved ones and comrades-in-arms, out of a desire to restore the truth about the crime. In 1986, the Polish community in New Jersey began formal efforts to create a memorial dedicated to the Katyn massacre. Thousands of Polish refugees had settled in Jersey City and more broadly in the State of New Jersey after World War II. In 1991, after several years of preparation and fundraising, the monument was unveiled on Exchange Place - an important transportation and symbolic square. The work, although set in the reality of one of the greatest crimes of the 20th century, went beyond the framework of a mere war memorial from the start. As a symbol of betrayal and a silent crime, Katyn became a metaphor for the fate of Poland in the 20th century - betrayed, humiliated, wounded. And the monument itself, by visually expressing the moment of death, appeals not only to specific victims, but to the whole nation, to the collective memory, trauma and identity of Poles in exile. It has become the world's most recognisable commemoration of the Katyn massacre.

Pityński's sculpture, was quickly appreciated by both the local community and guests from Poland - it was visited by presidents, diplomats and participants in anniversary celebrations. With time, the monument also gained an additional dimension - a plaque was placed on the pedestal dedicated to the victims of the attacks of 11 September 2001, whose drama was played out against the background of the burning WTC towers seen from Jersey City. The Jersey City memorial does more than just commemorate - it indicts, it shouts, it evokes memory through pain and horror. It is political and public - set in the centre of the metropolis, visible, evoking reactions.

From the very beginning, the monument aroused emotions. For some, it was an example of 'macabre realism', for others, a model of courage in showing trauma. Some felt that such a literal, brutal form did not fit into the public space of a large city, where families with children walk around. Others argued that it is precisely the drastic nature of the depiction that reminds us of the horror of war and crime - and that its purpose is not to 'beautify', but to remember.

From an aesthetic point of view, the sculpture represents monumental hyperrealism with elements of expressionism. In an era where art often leans towards minimalism, subtlety and abstraction, Pityński relies on pathos, drama and literalism. This can be seen as an 'anti-modern' aesthetic - a tribute to a form that was meant to shock, awaken the conscience and force reflection.

Contemporary critics refer to it as 'macabre realism' - crude, leaving no room for interpretation. Its form is anachronistic - the sculpture does not 'converse' with contemporary visual language, but instead reverts to 19th-century codes of monumentalism. On the other hand - it is this form that makes the sculpture recognisable, powerful, and unmistakable from any other monument. In the light of research on collective memory and the politics of remembrance, the Katyn Monument in Jersey City becomes not only an artistic artefact, but a textual sign of collective identity - a monument not only to the victims, but also to the Polish community, to the emigration, to a nation that tells the world about its own suffering. To quote the artist's statement:

"It is a symbol not only of the death of a young officer, but also of the annihilation of the young Polish generation. The result of a shameful pact between two criminals - Hitler and Stalin, an alliance of two ideologies - fascism and communism."

Such an ideological orientation can be seen as too one-sided, too heavily laden with national pathos. The monument leaves no room for ambiguity - it speaks unequivocally and loudly. For some, this is its strength. For others, a limitation.

The discussion about the monument has also moved to the internet. On the Reddit platform, in a local thread dedicated to Jersey City, the contributions emerging show that the monument is an object that resonates strongly in social space - not only as a work of art, but also as a carrier of historical memory and a symbol of civic values. Many contributions express respect for the expressive form of the sculpture and its message. As one user wrote:

"It is a moving, raw work of art that adds a unique character to the Jersey City waterfront".

The educational significance of the monument was also highlighted:

"Many people don't realise that the USSR committed crimes against Poland during the Second World War - it wasn't just the Nazis."

There were voices of admiration for the bold symbolism:

"The graphic and brutal form of the monument reminds us that war is not only a story of great battles, but also of human suffering".

For some commentators, the monument was also an element that enriched the aesthetics and meaning of the urban space:

"The area would be duller without this monument - I'm glad it stayed where it belongs".

Several users pointed out that the art does not necessarily relate directly to the place where it stands:

"People say the monument doesn't belong in Jersey City - but the art doesn't have to relate to the place. It doesn't make sense."

Against the backdrop of the controversy surrounding plans to move the statue, there were emotional statements:

"I was furious when Fulop wanted to remove it - probably at the behest of the developers. It was a shame."

There was also no shortage of more reflective voices:

"As a descendant of Polish immigrants, I think that this monument is a reminder of how terrible the war is - and that we must not forget".

Finally - among those of Polish descent - pride and attachment prevailed:

"I am a Pole born in Jersey City. I love this memorial. It is beautiful, although tragic. If it should be moved, only to a dignified and visible place."

In 2018, a dispute erupted into an international diplomatic conflict. The mayor of Jersey City, Steven Fulop, announced a plan to transform Exchange Place into a modern waterfront park, which involved temporarily removing the memorial and relocating it elsewhere. The decision was met with fierce opposition from the Polish community, who saw it as an attempt to erase memory and disregard heritage.

Protests quickly escalated, with the Polish ambassador intervening and Polish politicians accusing Jersey City authorities of disrespecting the victims of communist crimes. Fulop responded just as harshly, accusing one Polish senator of anti-Semitism, further inflaming the situation. Protests from the Polish community and diplomatic interventions turned the memorial into a symbol of the fight for the right to historical memory.

Commemorations in New Jersey, Detroit and American Czestochowa are not the only American realisations. In Baltimore, the tallest Katyn memorial in the USA - also chiseled by Pityński - was erected in 2000, reaching 20 metres in height. The sculptural vision of fire and suffering inscribes the victims of Katyn into the universal context of the nation's struggle for freedom and truth. Smaller but lasting memorials have also played a role in the cultivation of memory: such as the memorial in Seattle (Washington) by Wiktor Szostała with Katyn soil, the obelisk at Sacred Heart cemetery in New Britain (Connecticut), or the sculpture by Marian Owczarski in Orchard Lake (Michigan) by the Polish seminary.

Katyn Monument in Jersey City in our catalogue of Polish monuments.

Memory versus development - local and symbolic conflict

The conflict that erupted in Jersey City was not only about the monument. It was also an expression of opposition to the process of gentrification of Jersey City - the displacement of former, working-class and immigrant communities by investors and new residents. The Katyn Monument became a symbol not only of Polish historical memory, but also of local identity and belonging.

In 2022, emotions resurfaced when new development plans for the square were announced, which, according to the Committee for the Protection of the Katyn Monument, restricted access to the monument and violated its integrity. Lawsuits were filed and the Polish community split between those in favour of a court battle and those in favour of negotiation with the city authorities. Eventually, after months of talks, a compromise was reached: the monument remained in place and its surroundings were upgraded to take into account the demands of the Polish community.

The Katyn Monument in Jersey City, although it speaks of a Polish tragedy, is not exclusively about Polish issues. It is a memorial to the Polish American community - those who found refuge in the US after the war and sought to pass on the memory of what had been passed over in silence. Therefore, the dispute over its location and form revolves not only around aesthetic or urban planning issues, but also around fundamental questions: what is collective memory? Who has the right to shape it? Can the development of urban space be at the expense of history? In the 21st century, in an era of disputes about the past, the politics of remembrance and national identity, the Katyn Monument in Jersey City becomes a point of reference - a place that unites and divides, reminds and forces us to ask difficult questions.

Two contexts, two needs - Bykovnia and Jersey City

The forms of the Bykovnia and Jersey City memorials are linked to the context of their creation. In Jersey City - a city of émigrés where the Polish community played an important social and political role - the memorial needed to speak out, to assert the truth in public space, not only in Poland, but in America. It was a gesture of resistance to the silence of the West about Katyn, and its expression is part of the logic of the traumatic identity of Poles in exile.

At Bykivnia - a previously hypocritical, hidden place - the need was the opposite: not an outcry, but closure. The cemetery designed by Moderau and Glowacki was to allow the victims to rest in peace and the families to find a place of dignified remembrance. An aesthetic of absence that says more than any symbolic gesture.

Contemporary reflection on collective memory often oscillates between iconographic literalism and abstract minimalism. The Jersey City memorial and the Bykovnia cemetery epitomise both. In one, narrative sculpture dominates, telling the story of suffering through the gesture of the body. In the other, the architecture of the space, in which suffering is implicit, suggested, almost voiceless. Both works reflect different stages of mourning and remembrance: a cry of pain, a gesture of accusation and a gesture of reconciliation. And although they stand in different places, they speak of the same tragedy - not only of the Katyn massacre, but of the never-ending struggle for the right to truth and remembrance.

The Pityński monument and the Moderau and Głowacki cemeteries are not only historical memorials, but also aesthetic testaments. They speak of how we can (and should) speak of violence and suffering. One through drama and monumentalism, the other through focus. Their coexistence demonstrates that the truth about the past requires multiple languages, and that memory requires both those who shout and those who remain silent. In an age of disputes over the politics of history, the form of memory becomes as important as its content. For it is how we speak of the victims that reveals who we are as a community.

Hungarian copycats

Commemorations beyond national borders often take a variety of - sometimes surprising - forms. Such examples include Hungary, where at the beginning of the second decade of the 21st century, on the initiative of local and international political circles, two memorials dedicated to the victims of Katyn were erected. In 2010, a memorial in Tatabányi, a town in northern Hungary, was unveiled in the form of a wooden kopijnik - a sculpture inspired by ancient Slavic and Hungarian memorial poles. While the form was legible as a sign of remembrance, its generality meant that the monument lost the unambiguity of its message. Instead of references to a specific event, such as the 1940 Katyn massacre, we got a symbolic sign of remembrance that could just as well have referred to any other tragedy.

Much greater artistic and symbolic ambitions accompanied the monument in Budapest, unveiled in 2011. The sculpture stood in the City Park (Városliget) and is characterised by its modern, abstract form. The monument is inspired by the so-called 'forest crime' - a juxtaposition of geometry and expression: the black, piled-up slabs are meant to evoke a cleft, a wound or a breach in the landscape. It is a form that suggests rather than tells, leaving the viewer with interpretative freedom.

In its modernity, the Budapest memorial contrasts with the classical figurativeness of many Katyn commemorations, but it too is not without political contexts. The plaques and official speeches at its unveiling were not limited to remembering the victims of 1940 - the Smolensk catastrophe of 2010 and the commemoration of the presidential couple Lech and Maria Kaczynski were equally emphasised. In this way, Katyn became a symbol of the repeated 'suffering of the nation's elite' and the memorial a site of not only historical, but also contemporary memory, linked to current politics and its mythology.

The juxtaposition of Katyn and Smolensk is not accidental - it is part of a broader current of political and historical narrative. In Hungary, where the political closeness of part of the elite to the Polish conservative camp was evident, this message was readily taken up. As a result, some of the Hungarian commemorations - apart from their formal dimension - became, in a way, a resonator of Polish historical politics, transferring internal disputes and narratives into the international space.

In several other places in Hungary - including Segedin, Miskolc, Pécs and Nyíregyháza - smaller commemorations appeared in the form of plaques, crosses or memorial stones. There, too, a connection was often made between Katyn and the Smolensk catastrophe. Sometimes monuments were founded on the initiative of local governments or Hungarian political circles. The Katyn commemorations in Hungary are ambiguous. On the one hand, they are evidence of solidarity and sensitivity to the suffering of another nation - and there is no doubt that some of the local initiators were motivated by genuine compassion and a desire to preserve the memory. On the other hand, many of these forms bear the stigma of political exploitation of history - through gestures and symbols that move the Katyn narrative into the realm of current disputes and identity declarations. As a result, the question of the limits of commemoration - and its instrumentalisation - remains topical. Can a memorial be a place of remembrance if it also becomes a tool of political communication? Doesn't a historical crime deserve an autonomous reflection, independent of contemporary ideological needs? The case of Hungary shows how delicate is the balance between homage and narrative. And how much - also beyond Poland's borders - Katyn remains a symbol not only of history, but of the way we want to talk about it today.

Australian memorials - between tradition and modernity

In the antipodes, remembrance of Katyn has taken both traditional and innovative forms. In Melbourne, a monumental bronze cross designed by Tadeusz Tomaszewski, erected on the initiative of the local Polish community in 1980, contains a triptych with an image of Our Lady of Kozielsk. In Adelaide, on the other hand, Jozef Stanislaw Ostoja-Kotkowski created one of the most original Katyn memorials in the world: a modern composition of a forest of steel masts and hussar wings, which combines national symbolism with the universal language of art close to abstraction.

Since 1976, Katyn memorials have been erected around the world almost continuously. In fact, a memorial has been unveiled every year. Of course, until 1990, this was the case in countries outside the communist bloc and with a strong Polish community, such as the USA, France, Great Britain, Australia, South Africa, and from 1990 onwards, monuments began to appear in countries that had until recently been Soviet republics - Lithuania and then Ukraine - as well as in Russia. In subsequent years, monuments appeared in Hungary, where, despite the small Polish community, there are an exceptionally large number of them.

At the same time, we can observe certain waves of interest in the erection of Katyn monuments. The first one takes place between 1976 and 1977, when about 7 plaques and monuments are being erected. This is undoubtedly directly due to the paving of the way by the London memorial, which resonated with the Polish community. However, the context was wider and Why did interest in Katyn memorials increase in the 1970s? The 1970s saw a marked revival of initiatives to commemorate the Katyn massacre. Although the events had taken place three decades earlier, it was in this decade that the need for a permanent, symbolic form of remembrance of one of the greatest crimes of the 20th century matured in Polish political émigré circles. The increase in the number of Katyn monuments and plaques, as well as their increasingly bold placement in the public space of Western countries, was not accidental - it had its deep political, social and emotional causes.

Firstly, there was the rise of a generation of witnesses - officers, families of victims, former prisoners of Soviet gulags - who refused to allow the truth about Katyn to be completely erased by Soviet propaganda. After two decades of post-war silence, dominated by hypocrisy and silence, these circles felt that the time had come to restore the rightful place of memory in public debate. It was therefore both a communal and a personal gesture - a last chance for testimony to be passed on in a lasting form.

Secondly, the growth of international interest in the Katyn issue played a significant role. The famous book "Katyn. A Crime Without Parallel' by Louis FitzGibbon (1971), documentary broadcasts on BBC2, parliamentary debates in the House of Lords - all these brought the subject of Katyn back into Western public opinion. Politicians, intellectuals and journalists began to take an interest in the case not only as a historical issue, but also as a point of reference in assessing the Soviet regime.

Thirdly, the political climate changed. Although Western countries formally did not want to worsen relations with the USSR, anti-communist sentiment was growing stronger and societies - particularly in Britain or the United States - approached the fate of the peoples of Central and Eastern Europe with greater understanding. For them, the Katyn massacre was becoming a symbol of betrayal, silence and suffering - as well as a tool to remind them of the realities of the Soviet system.

The approaching anniversaries were also not without significance. 1970 marked the 30th anniversary of the crime. There was a growing conviction among the émigré elite that time does not work in favour of memory - and that it was necessary to act before the last direct witnesses and defenders of the truth passed away. Hence the initiatives to build monuments in London, Stockholm and Johannesburg, as well as numerous plaques in France, Canada or the USA.

Finally - paradoxically - Soviet actions also had an impact. Attempts to block monument initiatives by the embassies of the USSR and the Polish People's Republic (e.g. in London) only strengthened the determination of the émigré circles. Every refusal, every pressure, every attempt to ridicule the initiative - as in the case of the British episcopate hiding behind 'concern for the peace of the dead' - was perceived as proof of the power of the lie and at the same time as motivation for further action.

The 1970s thus became a time of symbolic breakthrough - a time when émigré Poland began to speak with its own voice on the international stage, demanding truth, remembrance and justice. In this context, the Katyn memorials were not just a form of mourning. They were a political manifesto and a moral indictment - a cry for truth that preceded by decades the USSR's official admission of the crime in 1990.

In 1980, a significant number of monuments, plaques and crosses were unveiled in various parts of the world - from North America and Western Europe to Australia and South America - dedicated to the memory of Polish officers murdered by the Soviet NKVD in 1940. This heightened interest in the Katyn theme was no accident. It resulted from the accumulation of many historical, social and political factors.

Firstly, 1980 brought the symbolic 40th anniversary of the crime. There was a growing conviction in émigré circles, especially among the generation of war participants, that this was probably the last moment for them - as direct witnesses - to leave permanent traces of memory. The need to build material forms of commemoration naturally arose: monuments, plaques, crosses, memorial boulders. These were not only to recall the fate of thousands of victims, but also to appeal to new generations - in a world that was increasingly forgetting the history of Central and Eastern Europe.

Secondly, the increase in the number of monuments was a reaction to the USSR's intensifying propaganda offensive. The Soviets - with the support of the authorities of the Polish People's Republic - consistently upheld the lying version blaming the Germans for the Katyn massacre. The USSR continued to take a number of diplomatic and informational measures to counteract international initiatives recalling the truth about Katyn. In response, émigré circles in London, Chicago, Montreal, Johannesburg, Brisbane or Buenos Aires mobilised to express resistance to this policy of hypocrisy. The monuments became an instrument not only of remembrance but also of protest and testimony - an expression of freedom against enslavement.

Thirdly, 1980 was also a time of social awakening in Poland. The strikes at the Gdansk shipyard, the birth of Solidarity, the first victories of the independent workers' movement - all this reverberated among the Polish people. A sense of a common struggle emerged: those who had been fighting abroad for decades for the truth about Katyn were now seeing that a new generation was being born at home, ready to take up the same fight. The building of monuments was becoming a gesture of solidarity with the people at home, but also a reminder that the Katyn massacre was the foundation of the post-war communist lie - and therefore its remembrance was not only historical but also deeply political.

The year 1990 was a moment of historic breakthrough, not only politically, but also symbolically. At that time, both in Poland and abroad, there was an increase in the number of monuments, plaques, crosses and other forms of commemoration of the victims of Katyn. This intensification of activities was not accidental. It resulted not only from another round 50th anniversary, but also from the transformation of the international situation, the collapse of communism and, above all, the official admission of responsibility for the crime by the Soviet Union.

The collected material proves that Katyn commemorations outside Poland have a double function: they are both a document of the past and a tool of the contemporary culture of remembrance. Their persistence in the public space of various countries is proof that the Katyn massacre - despite attempts to pass it over in silence and falsify it - has been permanently inscribed on the global map of memory of the 20th century. This phenomenon should be regarded as an example of diasporic, transnational and multidimensional memory, which combines individual memories, political declarations, the need for truth and artistic visions of mourning.

On 13 April 1990 - exactly on the 50th anniversary of the crime - TASS, the official press agency of the USSR, published a communiqué in which, for the first time, the Soviet Union acknowledged that NKVD functionaries were responsible for the murder of thousands of Polish officers in Katyn, Kharkiv and Mednoye. A few weeks earlier, on 7 March, President Mikhail Gorbachev handed over to the Polish side the first documents proving Soviet responsibility. These events put an end to decades of hypocrisy and silence that had prevailed not only in the USSR, but also in the People's Republic of Poland, which was subordinate to it.

Revealing the truth had an immediate effect. In Poland, where until then the subject of Katyn had been censored, forbidden in education, the media and the public space, there was a sudden explosion of the public need to commemorate the victims. Dozens and, in time, hundreds of monuments, crosses, plaques and lapidaries came into being - in cities, towns and parishes across the country.

The new political situation also allowed access to crime scenes hitherto beyond the reach of the public and the victims' families. The Soviet authorities agreed for the first time to allow delegations of Katyn families and representatives of the Church and Polish authorities to visit the forests of Kharkiv, Kharkiv and Mednoye. They were allowed to pray, lay flowers and place crosses at the execution sites. It was then that the first - still makeshift - signs of remembrance began to appear: wooden crosses, plaques and photographs. Over time, these evolved into more permanent forms - until the creation of official war cemeteries, already open in the 21st century.

The year 1990 was also a time of rebuilding ties between Poland and the diaspora. In émigré circles - which for decades had borne the responsibility for nurturing the truth about Katyn - Gorbachev's decision was greeted with relief, but also with a determination to bring the struggle for memory to a dignified conclusion. In places such as Vancouver, Doylestown, New York and London, existing unofficial plaques and crosses were refurbished, moved to more visible spaces, and supplemented with new inscriptions, no longer requiring camouflage and generalities.

The years 2010-2011 brought another noticeable wave of commemorations of the Katyn massacre, particularly visible in Hungary, but also in Austria and in Polish communities in the United States. The context for these activities was primarily the Smolensk catastrophe of 10 April 2010, which caused a strong social upheaval and refocused public attention on the history of Katyn. The plane crash with President Lech Kaczyński and the elite of Polish public life on board, flying to the Katyn ceremony, symbolically linked the present with the tragic past.

The most visible reaction was seen in Hungary, where several Katyn plaques and monuments were unveiled in 2010-2011: in Szeged, Székesfehérvár and, above all, in Budapest, where a symbolic Katyn Martyrs' Park was created. These actions did not only have a moral and historical dimension - they were also the result of close political relations between the Polish and Hungarian right. At a time when the Law and Justice milieu was coming to power in Poland and Viktor Orbán and the Fidesz party were in power in Hungary, the memory of Katyn was integrated into the broader political context.

In parallel, new plaques and memorials also began to appear in the United States - including at Our Lady of Consolation Church in Brooklyn (2011), in South River (NJ) and in Providence (RI). The Polish community there - reacting vividly to the Smolensk catastrophe - intensified its efforts to remember Katyn, often combining historical messages with references to the present. In many places, plaques were erected with the inscription 'Katyn 1940' and references to Smolensk - indicating the tragic continuation of the fate of the elites of the Second Polish Republic.

In Vienna, also in 2011, a Katyn obelisk was unveiled at the Church of the Holy Cross. In this case, it was the culmination of many years of efforts by the Polish community, which after the Smolensk catastrophe received greater support and understanding for the idea of commemorating the Katyn massacre. The increased emotional involvement of the public, including the Austrian public, made it possible to realise a project with strong national and religious symbolism.

In contrast, between 2021 and 2024, there was no information about the unveiling of new monuments or plaques commemorating the Katyn massacre outside Poland.

Commemoration as a cultural practice

Chronological analysis reveals the presence of several distinct waves of intensification of commemoration: the first - the emigration wave of the 1970s, the second - the anniversary wave of 1980, the third - associated with the political breakthrough of 1990, and finally the fourth - triggered by the Smolensk catastrophe (2010) and its symbolic entanglement with the history of Katyn. Each of these waves was a reaction not only to the past, but also to current political tensions and the identity needs of specific communities. As such, the Katyn memorials need to be analysed not only as material signs of remembrance of the victims of the 1940 crime, but also as part of a broader political and cultural discourse that evolved in tandem with the changes of the post-Stalin and post-Cold War world.

The form of these commemorations is extremely varied, ranging from realistic sculptural figures to abstract spatial structures to modest plaques and Oaks of Remembrance. Their formal and aesthetic range reflects not only local conditions and cultural traditions, but also the disagreements around how to represent trauma. The contrast between the expressive drama of Jersey City and the minimalist tranquillity of Bykivnia shows that diametrically opposed strategies of imagery are possible within a single narrative of remembrance, none of which claims a monopoly on 'proper' commemoration.

It is also not insignificant that many of these memorials - especially in the 21st century - were created in the context of current political tensions and conflicts of interpretation. Their analysis must take into account the risk of the instrumentalisation of history and the awareness that the boundary between commemoration and political communication can be fluid. In this sense, Katyn becomes not only a subject of historical memory, but also a battlefield for meanings, symbols and the right to narrate.

Katyn commemorations outside Poland have a double function: they are both a document of the past and a tool of contemporary memory culture. Their persistence in the public space of various countries is proof that the Katyn massacre - despite attempts to pass it over in silence and falsify it - has been permanently inscribed on the global memory map of the 20th century. This phenomenon should be seen as an example of diasporic, transnational and multidimensional memory, which combines individual memories, political declarations, the need for truth and artistic visions of mourning.

List of key sites

Detroit - USA - 1955 - plaque
Montmorency - France - 1965 - plaque
Leicester - United Kingdom - 1966 - plaque
Stockholm - Sweden - 1976 - monument
London - United Kingdom - 1976 - memorial (in cemetery)
Adelaide - Australia - 1977 - memorial
Hindmarsh Island - Australia - 1977 -
Roubaix - France - 1977 - plaque
Wellington - New Zealand - 1977 - plaque
Kirkcaldy - United Kingdom - 1978 - boulder
Cannock Chase - United Kingdom - 1979 - boulder
Melbourne - Australia - 1980 - cross
Brisbane - Australia - 1980 - plaque
Lens - France - 1980 - plaque
Toronto - Canada - 1980 - monument
New Britain - Canada - 1980 - memorial
Buffalo - United States - 1980 - plaque
London - United Kingdom - 1980 - plaque
Birmingham - United Kingdom - 1980 - plaque
Johannesburg - South Africa - 1981 - memorial
Northampton - United Kingdom - 1982 - plaque
Glasgow - United Kingdom - 1983 - plaque
Mansfield - United Kingdom - 1983 - plaque
Bristol - United Kingdom - 1985 - boulder (with relief)
Southwell - UK - 1987 - epitaph
Doylestone - USA - 1988 - memorial
Amersham - United Kingdom - 1988 - plaque
Grodno - Belarus - 1990 - cross
Curitiba - Brazil - 1990 - plaque
Vancouver - Canada - 1990 - plaque
Medininkai-Karlovė - Lithuania - 1990 - cross (on a cemetery)
Rudniki - Lithuania - 1990 - cross (on the cemetery)
Vilnius - Lithuania - 1990 - symbolic grave
Auckland - New Zealand - 1990 - plaque
Lviv - Ukraine - 1990 - plaque
Manchester - United Kingdom - 1990 - memorial (cemetery)
Starobelsk - Russia - 1991 - plaque
Jersey City - USA - 1991 - memorial
Ostashkov - Russia - 1994 - plaques
Doylestown - USA - 1994 - plaques
Baltimore - USA - 2000 - memorial
Buenos Aires - Argentina - 2003 - plaque
Paris - France - 2005 - plaque
Meshketa - Lithuania - 2005 - cross
Huddersfield - United Kingdom - 2006 - plaque
Vilnius - Lithuania - 2008 - plaque
Seattle - USA - 2008 - memorial
Niles - USA - 2009 - memorial
Budapest - Hungary - 2009 - plaque
Providence - USA - 2010 - plaque
Tatabánya - Hungary - 2010 - copius
Segedin, Hungary 2010 - cross
Tata - Hungary - 2010 - plaque
Vienna - Austria - 2011 - boulder
Český Těšín - Czech Republic - 2011 - plaque
New York (Brooklyn) - United States - 2011 - plaque
Budapest - Hungary - 2011 - monument
Szekesfehervar - Hungary - 2012 - cross
Miskolc - Hungary - 2014 - plaque
Heifer - Lithuania - 2015 - plaque
Keszthely - Hungary - 2020 - relief
Buenos Aires - Argentina - plaque
Rosario - Argentina - plaque
Landvarė - Lithuania - monument
Bogušės - Lithuania - boulder (and plaque)
South River - United States - plaque
Kharkiv - Ukraine - plaque
Orchard Lake - USA - monument
Luton - United Kingdom - plaque