The row over metal singer Adam 'Nergal' Darski is part of a renegotiation of what it means to be Polish and Catholic
A TV talent show has became the focus of a national row in Poland, with the parliamentary commission for culture and the media dramatically condemning one of the show's judges as a "satanist who publicly offends Christian values".
Adam "Nergal" Darski, singer and guitarist in blackened death metal band Behemoth, became a hate figure when he was charged with blasphemy offences for ripping up a Bible on stage at a concert in his hometown of Gdynia, northern Poland, in 2007. Now a judge on The Voice of Poland, the controversy surrounding Darski has highlighted shifting values in Polish society.
Despite being found not guilty last month, the judge ruling that the Bible-ripping act was legitimate artistic expression, Darski has seen a campaign launched against him by a group of conservative Catholics. Indeed, while Polish law remains hardline on blasphemy , with article 196 of the penal code making "offending religious feelings" a crime carrying a maximum two-year prison sentence, it has only tended to be applied at the intervention of rightwing politicians. Ryszard Nowak ? a former Law and Justice party MP, and chairman of the committee for the defence against sects ? spearheaded the original case against Darski, as well as naming Behemoth in a blacklist of "dangerous" bands distributed to Polish government departments back in 2007.
But the fact that The Voice of Poland is aired by the public television network TVP has brought out new critics. Bishop Wies?aw Mering of the northern Polish diocese of W?oc?awek issued a pastoral letter at the beginning of this month condemning Darski as "a blasphemer, satanist and lover of evil incarnate [who] will have free use of the public television screen to spread his poisonous teachings", and threatening a licence-fee boycott.
Meanwhile, the Association of Catholic Journalists has launched a petition to get Darski removed from the show, and Bishop Grzegorz Kaszak of Sosnowiec has called for active opposition to the singer .
TVP, and Darski himself, must be thrilled with all the publicity. But Bishop Mering and others take Darski too seriously in depicting him as a proselytising devil-worshipper. Behemoth owe much of their aesthetic to the black metal scene that emerged in Norway in the late 80s, at the heart of which, says sociologist and metal culture specialist Keith Kahn-Harris, "lies virulent opposition to religion, particularly Christianity".
This scene has been associated with satanism, fascist ideology, church burnings and a string of violent crimes, but Behemoth's views are somewhat less virulent. Their statement that their 2007 album, The Apostasy, was so named as the word's "basic meaning is 'to go against religion', and with Poland being one of the top religious countries in the world, Behemoth strives to convey that being religious is not the key to happiness" was rather mild. And Darski has made frequent suggestions that his "satanism" is more about a general anti-establishment individualism than any theistic idea. Indeed, some opponents have dubbed the likes of Darski "Sunday satanists".
Yet whatever the confusion over what metal culture really represents, it is clear that this row is about more than just religious offence.
Last week Darski appeared on the cover of Polish Newsweek swathed in the Polish flag, with the headline: God, Horror, Fatherland. Here was an interrogation of what Polishness might mean, and while Darski's religious disrespect is condemned by people on both sides of the political divide, as an articulate, prosperous, educated young person, he symbolises something of the new Poland. Meanwhile, the church whose fortunes have been so intertwined with that of the nation it serves has lost much of its traditional role as consoler and, often, guardian of liberty in the face of oppression.
With Poland only just entering its third decade as a free nation after the communist era, and among the newest members of the EU, a renegotiation of what it means to be Polish, and the place of religion in that national identity, seems to be an ongoing process.
With a blasphemy case against Darski's former fianc�e, the pop star Dorota Rabczewska, still ongoing, and Mering confirming on his website on Thursday that a licence-fee boycott will be going ahead, this row, and all that it might mean for Poland, shows no sign of being resolved.
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