Back in 2019, Poland’s Konfederacja party was seen as a curiosity rather than an actual political player. Counting just 11 members in the 460-people-strong Sejm, the lower house of the Polish parliament, it was not even an actual party in a legal sense, but a coalition composed of two very unlikely bedfellows—a libertarian faction of deregulation aficionados that joined the leadership of the National Movement, a far-right Catholic group with decisively anti-European, xenophobic views. Separately, these two entities stood no chance of crossing the 5 percent electoral threshold, but together they managed to secure the backing of more than 1.2 million voters, which translated into 6.81 percent support and gave them a foot in the door to mainstream politics.
These days, Konfederacja, consolidated under the leadership of Slawomir Mentzen, a charismatic 36-year-old Thatcherite with a doctorate in economics and a talent for shooting viral TikTok videos, might tip the scale in the upcoming elections, scheduled for Oct. 15.
After eight consecutive years in power, Law and Justice (PiS), Poland’s nationalist-populist governing party, is struggling to mobilize its core electorate, which is displeased with worsening economic conditions, rising costs of living, and money channeled toward helping Ukrainian refugees. It looks almost certain that PiS will fall several seats short of forming a majority. But a similar outcome looms for the opposition, divided into three blocs and tormented by years of internal quarrels between its leaders.
Konfederacja, in turn, chooses to stand by and watch. On the one hand, it continues to be highly critical of the current government, accusing it of corruption and clientelism at home with simultaneous submissiveness to Brussels and Washington in foreign policy. Recently, it has added Kyiv to the list as well, arguing that Poland has been way too generous in its support for Ukraine and Ukrainian refugees in the country, effectively cornering PiS and forcing it to assume a new, harsher approach toward Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky.
The opposition camp, which has added the adjective “democratic” to its name, is not good a partner for the kingmakers, either; its policies are socially progressive and its diplomatic orientation staunchly pro-European. But the government and opposition do share one trait: They are led by experienced politicians, whom the younger electorate especially considers worn out, morally compromised, and out of touch with reality.
Konfederacja promises to offer a breath of fresh air under a textbook anti-establishment narrative. Its politicians market themselves as a real, viable option rather than a lesser of the two evils.
But who are they, really?
The eccentric marriage from the previous term has now been replaced by a much more unitary form of practicing politics. The nationalists have been largely marginalized and their socially conservative voice quieted. The label that Konfederacja would likely choose for itself is “modern right,” similar to the self-portraits painted by other European radicals going mainstream now: Spain’s Vox, Italy’s Fratelli d’Italia, or the Swedish Democrats. Even the former leader of the nationalist faction—Krzysztof Bosak, a former legislator for an ultraconservative Catholic-leaning party called the League of Polish Families—is now wearing the hat of data-obsessed protectionist in a tailor-made suit; he is happy to debate anyone anywhere on what he argues are the negative economic implications that migrants bring for Poland.
Economic policy, not social norms, is Konfederacja’s unique selling point in the current campaign. When its politicians advocate for shutting down borders and oppose the EU’s migrant relocation mechanism, they try to couch it as an economic argument. Migrants are primarily cheap laborers in their eyes, putting unfair pressure on Polish entrepreneurs, who are left with no choice but to employ them—obviously at the expense of domestic workers. The racism and xenophobia are still there, but hidden out of plain sight, as they would scare off some of the less radical voters.
The same goes for sexism, which Konfederacja’s leaders try to dismiss at any costs. Polls continue to show the coalition’s support coming mostly from young males who oppose—just like in the case of Vox— social changes in favor of women and sexual minorities. So Konfederacja took on a major effort to demonstrate popularity among female voters—though it’s had limited success thus far. It will, however, become necessary at some point, since it aims to evolve into Poland’s most important conservative party within the next 10 to 15 years. Going mainstream means that one can no longer be rough around the edges.
But Konfederacja’s leaders seem to know that very well. They are playing the long game. Both in their public statements and in off-the-record conversations, they convey a single message: there will be no deal with PiS after the elections. Even though Warsaw has been buzzing with rumors of a supposed list of conditions and ministerial appointments that Mentzen has put forward in backstage negotiations with the ruling party, he denies those rumors in every public appearance.
His acolytes add that a possible offer from PiS would never interest them precisely because of their anti-elitist DNA. They are not morally corrupt, they say, so public appointments and material benefits do not make them blink. There is no bottom-up pressure on the party’s leadership. This, in turn, makes it easier for Mentzen to force his rebellious approach. And since voters, dissatisfied with politics overall, want Konfederacja to flip the table rather than to sit at it, on paper, it all looks credible.
The devil is in the details. Mentzen openly admits that he has ambitions reaching well beyond becoming a minor coalition partner. But he also knows that he is, after all, a political debutant. The post-1989 democratic Poland has a rich history of anti-establishment parties mushrooming in the election season, scoring single, sensational victories and disappearing into thin air immediately after, usually consumed by more experienced, larger players. Konfederacja knows that nothing makes it fully immune to that scenario.
At the peak of its performance in summer polls, the coalition reached a staggering 16.9 percent support—a result that was probably inflated, but impressive nonetheless. Should the final score be lower, however, disillusion among voters might start to brew. Rejecting a possible offer to join the government with PiS might then become a much riskier bargain. Radical politicians campaigning against old-fashioned elites often get carried away and gamble with their support, eventually punching well above their weight—just like Italy’s Matteo Salvini, the leader of the far-right Lega party, who in 2019 renounced his position as Italy’s deputy prime minister and forced a snap election, but overplayed his hand and lost the leadership of Italy’s right to current Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni.
Should Konfederacja pursue that risky path as well, Poles will probably return to the voting booth in the spring. Mentzen would hope for a rebel premium—that is, a boost in support for resisting PiS—but who is to say that he would be able to sustain his popularity for another half a year and actually perform better in an election rerun?
This fear is likely consuming him, especially since the tides of Polish politics can switch suddenly. Much of Konfederacja’s support grew over the summer out of increased discontent among Poles, tired of Warsaw’s unconditional support for Ukraine. Already in the spring, a number of studies began to show a clear tendency among the electorate: the Polish people were happy to back the Ukrainian cause but not necessarily happy to aid the Ukrainians residing permanently in their country. Poland would not be the only one to adopt such a stance. Many countries are anchored in Western international bodies but geographically close enough to the war zone to experience direct, mostly economic, consequences of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Similar tendencies have emerged in Turkey, Slovakia, and Bulgaria.
Konfederacja capitalized on that but did so through an economic lens. Mentzen and Bosak toured the country and produced countless social media posts while trying to persuade its voters that they are bearing the costs of Ukrainians’ presence. The Polish state should not prioritize foreign citizens over its own, reads their message between the lines. And PiS, according to Konfederacja, is doing exactly that.
The party’s foreign-policy program is a reflection of that sentiment. It is not necessarily opposed to aiding Ukraine against Russia, mostly because such a position in Poland, one of Europe’s most anti-Russian societies, would be a political kiss of death. But Konfederacja’s politicians argue that Warsaw’s relationship with Kyiv should be much more transactional.
They’ll give weapons, financial aid, and advocacy on the international stage, but only in exchange for contracts for postwar rebuilding guaranteed to Polish companies. Should Ukraine refuse to give such guarantees, they argue that Poland ought to back out of cooperation. Konfederacja would also support some sort of rapprochement with President Vladimir Putin’s Russia, independent of the war’s final result. From its point of view, PiS jumped the gun when it led the sanctions offensive against the Kremlin. Poland, after all, is Russia’s direct neighbor and used to be its economic partner. As such, a total isolation of Moscow costs money.
Thus, reestablishing trade links would be in Poland’s national interests—provided that these are defined in purely mercantilist terms, which is what Konfederacja’s politicians propose. This is perhaps the only area of their political manifesto where libertarian principles are still smoothly paired with nationalist views. Money knows no nationality or ideology, and to enrich one’s country is to serve it best, so trading with Russia would not be unimaginable for Konfederacja.
PiS caught wind of that and shifted its own position. The past few weeks in Polish politics were dominated by a sharp turn in Warsaw’s strategy toward Kyiv. Prime Minister Mateusz Morawiecki announced that Poland was no longer going to supply its eastern neighbor with any new weapons. He also promised that the country will “not allow Ukraine grain to flood us,” announcing that, independent of Brussels’s decision on the matter, PiS will keep its embargo on Ukrainian grain. This is both an attempt to solidify the ruling party’s support in rural areas, as well as to steal Konfederacja’s thunder.
Even the recent cash-for-visas scandal involving dysfunction in the Polish government offices that allocate Schengen visas, which was expected to rock the partisan scene, will not work to the kingmakers’ advantage. PiS is skillfully diverting public opinion away from its own misdemeanors. Independent media report on corruption in the Polish foreign ministry and the possibility of as many as 400,000 visas given to non-European migrants without proper screening, and the rest of Europe demands explanations.
Germany introduced spot checks on its border with Poland in response, and Chancellor Olaf Scholz publicly accused Warsaw of “waving through” the migrants so that Germans have to deal with their asylum applications. Morawiecki kicked the ball back, accusing Germany of letting refugees into Poland and promising to “seal” the country’s western border.
Moreover, TVP, Poland’s public broadcaster-turned-PiS mouthpiece, has not mentioned the cash-for-visas story even once since it broke four weeks ago. In such an airtight propaganda ecosystem, Konfederacja—arguably the most anti-migrant party in Poland’s history—stands no chance on gaining from the scandal.
The outcome on Oct. 15 is anybody’s guess, but one possibility worth exploring in Poland’s case is the Swedish scenario. The Sweden Democrats, a far-right party with neo-Nazi roots, is not a member of the ruling coalition. But it acts as the power stabilizer, as it backed the government in crucial votes through a separate agreement. As such, the Sweden Democrats killed two birds with one stone: they remained relevant and influential in everyday politics while keeping their anti-establishment label pretty much intact. In the meantime, they scored a number of victories, especially in hardening Sweden’s migration policy.
In the current climate, Konfederacja’s politicians—and its voters—would probably accept such an outcome without even blinking.
