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Time of India
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Time of India
Once a refuge of peace amid war, this Colaba gallery espouses lasting legacy of universalism
Crouched on the stucco floor of a Colaba gallery, near stacks of rattan chairs that are not meant for sitting, Kamlakar Gavankar—a retired watchman from Panvel who loves making pencil portraits—is painting a canvas for the first time. The cheerful hues in his mother-and-child portrait contrast with charcoal crows on the weathered walls of Strangers House Gallery. The crows, recently painted on linen by a homesick Kacper Abolik—a Polish American artist and son of Jewish war émigrés—reflect ancestral memory. Invited to the gallery after spending three weeks painting a Bandra restaurant wall, Abolik created the bird series in two days. Their quiet presence harks back to the Second World War, when this very space offered refuge to strangers. From 1940 to 1962, in its former avatar as a guest house inside Clark House, the gallery was run by a Jewish man from Baghdad and a Jewish woman from Eastern Europe. Together, they hosted sailors, professionals and artists fleeing the Holocaust. Abolik's crows are also inspired by the works of Stefan Norblin, a self-taught Polish painter who escaped Warsaw with his actor wife Lena in 1939. Their journey through Baghdad and Asia eventually led them to Bombay in 1941. "He was fleeing war and found recognition in India," says curator Sumeshwar Sharma, referring to the Pole who lived on Nepean Sea Road. You Can Also Check: Mumbai AQI | Weather in Mumbai | Bank Holidays in Mumbai | Public Holidays in Mumbai By 1942, Norblin's oil painting had won third prize in a Red Cross lottery in Bombay. A few years later, exhibition ads described him as a "Reputed Polish Artist". Royals from Jodhpur, Morvi and Ramgarh became his patrons. In Jodhpur, Maharaja Umaid Singh commissioned him to adorn Umaid Bhavan Palace. Norblin spent three years covering its walls with Art Deco interpretations of Indian mythology. "Once Sumesh showed me Norblin's work, I immediately felt a kinship—not just because of our Polish ancestry, but because I remember seeing his work as a child," says Abolik, whose own art draws on post-war expressionism. In 1944, Norblin's son Andeew was born in India. But a health scare led the family to relocate to San Francisco where fame eluded them. Lena became a manicurist and Norblin, suffering from glaucoma and depression, died by suicide in 1952. In the decades that followed, Norblin's work faded from memory and the Colaba space transitioned from a guest house to a shipping office. In 1955, Ram Bahadur Thakur & Co, run by the Sharma brothers, moved in. Their trade links to the Middle East, Eastern Europe and Japan eventually gave way to cultural collaborations. One such initiative was Lidice Memorial Day, honouring the 1942 Nazi massacre of the Czech village of Lidice. Artists from around the world—including India's K K Hebbar and British-Indian sculptor Chintamoni Kar—donated works for a planned museum. This lesser-known chapter, documented by Austrian art historian Simone Wille, further deepens the gallery's legacy of universalism. "The architecture of our space holds those memories close," says Sharma. "We draw from thinkers like Babasaheb Ambedkar and Senegalese historian Cheikh Anta Diop. Our aim isn't to look westward, but toward exchange with Africa and South America, toward solidarity with people whose histories have been erased. " Over the years, artists from around the world have worked here. Senegalese artist Souleymane Bachir Diaw explored the burden of masculinity. Mexican artist Ximena Labra examined the Spanish Inquisition's impact on the Aztecs. In 2012, Pune's Prabhakar Pachpute recreated a coal mine on the gallery's walls. "What we know of human existence comes from wall paintings made by our ancestors in caves," says Sharma. "The murals of Ajanta are reminders of an equitable society that once existed. " Today, a guestbook keeps track of the strangers—spanning Pennsylvania to Poland —who pass through. It is maintained by the smiling man from Panvel who has just finished painting his first canvas.
IOL News
09-07-2025
- General
- IOL News
He knows he was adopted from South Korea. The rest is a troubling mystery
A baby photo of Aaron Grzegorczyk, born Cho Yong-kee and an adoptee from South Korea, in his adoption file. Image: Family photo Kelly Kasulis Cho For most of his life, Aaron Grzegorczyk believed that his birth name was Cho Yong-kee. He thought he was born on April 28, 1988, in a clinic in Anyang, South Korea, about 11 miles south of Seoul. He was told that his mother, a 19-year-old unwed woman, had abandoned him a day after giving birth to him. In an initial physical exam, he was recorded as 'cute and alert.' Less than five months later, he arrived into the arms of his adoptive Polish American parents in Bay City, Michigan. He was their first child, sensitive and artistic, and his birth mother had surrendered him so that he could have, as his adoption papers put it, 'an optimum future.' Grzegorczyk never questioned this story until this past March. That's when his friend sent him an article detailing the South Korean government's admission to five decades of adoption fraud. 'I was reading it and I was just like, jaw open,' Grzegorczyk said. 'I had absolutely no idea about any of this.' Immediately, he started digging into his past. Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. Text Color White Black Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Background Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Transparent Window Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Transparent Semi-Transparent Opaque Font Size 50% 75% 100% 125% 150% 175% 200% 300% 400% Text Edge Style None Raised Depressed Uniform Dropshadow Font Family Proportional Sans-Serif Monospace Sans-Serif Proportional Serif Monospace Serif Casual Script Small Caps Reset restore all settings to the default values Done Close Modal Dialog End of dialog window. Advertisement Next Stay Close ✕ Ad loading South Korea's adoption 'industry' Earlier this year, a South Korean government-appointed, independent investigative commission released a damning report that for the first time admitted the country had allowed human rights abuses to occur in what it criticized as a decades-long 'profit-driven' adoption 'industry.' An examination of dozens of cases between 1964 and 1999 found that some children were taken without their biological parents' consent, while others were given false birth names and fake background stories before being sent abroad for steep adoption fees. Some were sent without legally valid documents or with little to no screening of the adoptive family, and agencies often scurried to fulfill orders or quotas in what the report called the 'mass exportation of children to meet demand.' 'The long-standing intercountry adoption practices represent a failure of the government to uphold its responsibility to protect the fundamental human rights of its citizens,' South Korea's Truth and Reconciliation Commission said. The TRC's conclusions were based on a partial review of 367 cases submitted by adoptees across 11 countries. It's unclear how many of the more than 200,000 Korean children estimated to have been adopted internationally since the end of the Korean War were sent abroad under unlawful pretenses, but experts say bad practices by adoption agencies were widespread. In some cases, the birth parents were lied to and told their child had died shortly after delivery. 'We have not seen one case where there is not an issue,' said Boon Young Han, one of several adoptees from Denmark who banded together as the Danish Korean Rights Group and successfully campaigned for the South Korean government to launch its investigation. Her organization has meticulously investigated more than 2,000 cases. Grzegorczyk with his adoptive family in Michigan. Image: Family photo An 'existential crisis' For Grzegorczyk, the recent news has thrown his entire life course into question. He was in his early teens when his adoptive mother told him that his birth mother had abandoned him - a moment he now refers to as his 'first existential crisis.' 'That was the very first mental and emotional issue that I ever confronted in my life,' he said. South Korea had just risen out of widespread postwar poverty and was in the throes of its decades-long struggle for democratization when Grzegorczyk was born. The country had already massively transformed its economy, but it was not the Group of 20 nation it is today. Grzegorczyk grew up feeling out of place in a predominantly White community, he said, and began having behavioral issues in his early teens. He attended graphic design college in 2006, but dropped out amid the 2008 financial crisis, fearing his degree would be useless for getting a job. He then worked for years as an emergency medical technician - a job so 'rough' that he was eventually diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, he said. Grzegorczyk began suffering from substance abuse issues. He quit his emergency responder career, which paid close to minimum wage, and resorted to selling drugs, he said. He got in trouble with the law and spent a few stints in jail. 'I can't say whether or not my adoptive parents are proud of how I turned out,' he said. ' … I've made the most of my life despite a lot of hardships, most of which I did bring on myself.' He turned his life around in 2019, he said, when he found out he was expecting a child. He got sober and started a roofing apprenticeship. 'I finally got into a place where, I wouldn't call myself happy, but I am for the most part at peace,' he said during a Zoom call in April. 'Up until about five days ago, when I heard about all of this,' he added, his smile giving way to tears. Grzegorczyk with his daughter, Isla. Image: Family photo Dizzying quests for the truth For years, activists and adoptees have criticized adoption agencies in South Korea for being slow or outright uncooperative in sharing their adoption records. Several adoptees told The Washington Post that they've been searching for their complete records for years, bogged down in the bureaucracy of working with adoption agencies in South Korea as well as filing Freedom of Information Act requests in their home states. 'The documents are not just a piece of paper,' Han said. 'That is our one and only clue, our one and only opportunity, to trace back our original identity.' South Korea recently ordered all adoption agencies to turn their files over to a government office called the National Center for the Rights of the Child, starting in July. The change could standardize birth family searches, Han said, but she also fears some documents will get lost in the transfer. Meanwhile, politicians are debating whether they'll investigate more adoption cases. In Grzegorczyk's case, the paperwork his adoptive mother saved for him raises some red flags: The file does not include a police report detailing his abandonment, nor a relinquishment consent form signed by a birth parent. There is no name or address for the clinic he was supposedly left at as a newborn, and several fields on his forms are left blank. His family origin is also listed as 'Hanyang,' a placeholder term referring to Seoul. 'If it says 'Hanyang' in the document, then you know the name is falsified. It's incorrect,' Han said. 'It's like saying someone comes from Disneyland,' she added. A page from the adoption file of Grzegorczyk, 37, born Cho Yong-kee on April 28, 1988, in Anyang, South Korea, with an identification bracelet that had been attached to him as a baby. Image: Family photo Hope for reunion In mid-April, Grzegorczyk faced another twist: A worker at his adoption agency told him that she had spoken by phone with his purported birth mother, whom the employee said was 'happy to keep in touch' with him and had been 'waiting for a long time.' The worker asked Grzegorczyk to write her an introduction letter, which the agency confirmed it translated and sent days later. In the letter, he spoke fondly of his 5-year-old daughter, Isla, his brother and his sister - also a Korean adoptee - and his young nieces. 'I never tried to look for you because I didn't think you wanted to be found,' he wrote. ' … I have so much more to say and questions that I would like to ask you. But I don't want to overwhelm you. I was so happy to hear that you wanted to talk to me.' But Grzegorczyk hasn't heard anything from his mother since. The adoption agency worker told him that his case will be turned over to the government office that is taking over adoptee records in July, and said his mother never responded to a second phone call. He seemed resigned, asking the worker to give his contact information to her. Driving his car back from Detroit in the middle of the night in mid-May, he looked forlorn in a video message, masking his disappointment in between jokes and grins. 'I never planned on hearing anything from anybody in the first place, my whole life,' he said, appearing to try to cheer himself up. 'Maybe my paperwork wasn't made up,' he added. 'Let's say it is 100 percent true. At the very least, I would understand.' | The Washington Post
Yahoo
08-05-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Vintage Chicago Tribune: Pope John Paul II's visit in 1979
Today, the world learned the identity of the new leader of the Catholic Church — Leo XIV. Robert Prevost, a Chicago native, became the first American pope. Robert Prevost was 'the pride and joy of every priest and nun' at St. Mary's on Chicago's South Side Only one pope has ever visited Chicago. Pope John Paul II (formerly known as Karol Wojtyla) was the first non-Italian leader of the Catholic Church in almost half a century. Born in Poland in 1920 but not ordained a priest until after World War II, the master of at least a dozen languages was elected Oct. 16, 1978 — making him among the youngest popes in history — amid much jubilation from Chicago's Polish American community, which was the largest outside Warsaw. 'My parishioners are in seventh heaven,' Bishop Alfred L. Abramowicz told the Tribune at the time. 'Pope John Paul II will be as lovable as John Paul I. He is an extremely holy man and is well-beloved by his people. He is a scholar, but he also has a great touch with the laboring man. During the war years he was a worker in a chemical factory in Krakow.' There were three leaders of the Roman Catholic Church in 1978. Cardinal Albino Luciani of Venice was elected Aug. 26, 1978, following the death of Pope Paul VI. Yet the pontificate of Pope John Paul I (Luciani's chosen name) would become among the shortest in the church's history. He died of a heart attack in his sleep just 33 days after his election. Pope John Paul I's successor would become among the church's longest-serving pontiffs. Rumors began to circulate in June 1979 that Pope John Paul II might travel to Chicago, which was then home to 2.4 million Catholics making it the largest archdiocese in North America. After his office confirmed the pontiff would speak before the United Nations General Assembly in New York City, word spread that he would return to Chicago in October 1979. That's right — it wasn't the former Polish cardinal's first time in the city. He led a group of bishops on a tour of the United States — that stopped in Chicago — in 1976. The sweaty masks, the weird graphics: For generations of kids, Ben Cooper costumes meant Halloween The secret lives of Maurie and Flaurie, the Superdawg rooftop icons in Chicago Picketers shut down construction sites in 1969 in push for more Black union jobs The 2024 Chicago White Sox lost often — and in every fashion. Here's a loss-by-loss look at their 41-121 season. Boodlers, bandits and notorious politicians: In Chicago, corruption is a source of both shame and perverse pride On a cold, windy autumn night at 7 p.m., Pope John Paul II stepped off the Shepherd I jetliner to cheers from the more than 1,000 well-wishers and dignitaries that showed up at O'Hare International Airport to greet him. Escorted by Cardinal John Cody, the pontiff was serenaded by a group of 30 violin players, aged 3 to 15, before departing in a limousine. When his motorcade made a brief detour from the Kennedy Expressway to travel along stretches of Nagle, Milwaukee and Lawrence avenues, an estimated 750,000 people — many who could barely see him — lined his path. Another 30,000 gathered outside his next stop. The Pope delivered his first statement to the people of Chicago at Holy Name Cathedral: 'How greatly I would like to meet each one of you personally, to visit you in your homes, to walk your streets so that I may better understand the richness of your personalities and the depth of your aspiration. May God uplift humanity in this great city of Chicago.' As world-renowned opera singer Luciano Pavarotti sang 'Ave Maria,' the pontiff sat in a chair at the center of the sanctuary's altar. He 'appeared slightly weary on his arrival in Chicago, the third city he visited during the day,' the Tribune reported. He skipped a planned break to continue to St. Peter's Church in the Loop where he was welcomed by a large assembly of Franciscan brothers and members of other Catholic orders. Finally arriving at Cardinal Cody's residence, 1555 N. State Parkway, at 10:15 p.m., Pope John Paul II took to a balcony to give those outside yet another sign — the last act from his first day in the city. 'Cupping (his hands) together, he placed them on his cheek, tilted his head in a sleeping motion, and smiling, reentered the mansion at 10:25 p.m.,' the Tribune reported. Friday began with shivering 40-degree temperatures 'that numbed thousands of pilgrims who wore parkas and scarves and sipped coffee while they waited for a glimpse of the pontiff in the many places he toured,' Tribune reporters Monroe Anderson and William Gaines wrote. Entering a motorcade shortly before 7:30 a.m., the pontiff was escorted throughout the city's neighborhoods with tens of thousands greeting him with songs and cheers. He stopped to celebrate Mass in Spanish at Providence of God Church in Pilsen then in Polish at Five Holy Martyrs Church. Estimates of between 70,000 to 200,000 people crowded shoulder-to-shoulder outside each site. Shortly after 2 p.m. the Pope took to the skies to see the city from a helicopter, cruising above the South Side and the lakefront before landing in Lincoln Park for a quick ride back to the cardinal's residence. For three hours, Grant Park became a church. A huge crowd — estimated at 1 million or more people — its congregation. 'Perhaps what didn't happen at the Mass was as impressive as what did: The crowd did not, for the most part, become restless and rowdy, even though many — including children — had waited for four hours and longer,' Tribune reporter Michael Hirsley wrote a few days later. When the pontiff departed for Washington, D.C., he had been seen by some 2 million people throughout Chicago. 'If Chicago gushed unabashedly at its visitor from the Vatican, the 59-year-old leader of 600 million Catholics made Chicagoans feel it was a mutual friendship,' Hirsley wrote. Pope John Paul II's nearly 3-hour Mass in Grant Park supposedly attracted 500,000 to 1.5 million people. One Tribune reporter wondered if the park could host a crowd nearly half as large as the city itself? Bill Currie set out to get answers. Vintage Chicago Tribune: 5 largest crowd estimates in city history Currie discovered the only way 1 million people could have attended the Mass was for some to be standing in — or on — Lake Michigan. He remains convinced that most crowd estimates are incorrect. 'I don't think 1 million people (let alone 2 million) have ever gathered together in any one place in the world since time immemorial,' Currie said. 'Prove it, I say.' Become a Tribune subscriber: It's just $1 for a six-month digital subscription. Thanks for reading! Subscribe to the free Vintage Chicago Tribune newsletter, join our Chicagoland history Facebook group, stay current with Today in Chicago History and follow us on Instagram for more from Chicago's past. Have an idea for Vintage Chicago Tribune? Share it with Kori Rumore and Marianne Mather at krumore@ and mmather@
Chicago Tribune
08-05-2025
- Politics
- Chicago Tribune
Vintage Chicago Tribune: Pope John Paul II's visit in 1979
Today, the world learned the identity of the new leader of the Catholic Church — Leo XIV. Robert Prevost, a Chicago native, became the first American pope. Only one pope has ever visited Chicago. Pope John Paul II (formerly known as Karol Wojtyla) was the first non-Italian leader of the Catholic Church in almost half a century. Born in Poland in 1920 but not ordained a priest until after World War II, the master of at least a dozen languages was elected Oct. 16, 1978 — making him among the youngest popes in history — amid much jubilation from Chicago's Polish American community, which was the largest outside Warsaw. 'My parishioners are in seventh heaven,' Bishop Alfred L. Abramowicz told the Tribune at the time. 'Pope John Paul II will be as lovable as John Paul I. He is an extremely holy man and is well-beloved by his people. He is a scholar, but he also has a great touch with the laboring man. During the war years he was a worker in a chemical factory in Krakow.' There were three leaders of the Roman Catholic Church in 1978. Cardinal Albino Luciani of Venice was elected Aug. 26, 1978, following the death of Pope Paul VI. Yet the pontificate of Pope John Paul I (Luciani's chosen name) would become among the shortest in the church's history. He died of a heart attack in his sleep just 33 days after his election. Pope John Paul I's successor would become among the church's longest-serving pontiffs. Rumors began to circulate in June 1979 that Pope John Paul II might travel to Chicago, which was then home to 2.4 million Catholics making it the largest archdiocese in North America. After his office confirmed the pontiff would speak before the United Nations General Assembly in New York City, word spread that he would return to Chicago in October 1979. That's right — it wasn't the former Polish cardinal's first time in the city. He led a group of bishops on a tour of the United States — that stopped in Chicago — in 1976. On a cold, windy autumn night at 7 p.m., Pope John Paul II stepped off the Shepherd I jetliner to cheers from the more than 1,000 well-wishers and dignitaries that showed up at O'Hare International Airport to greet him. Escorted by Cardinal John Cody, the pontiff was serenaded by a group of 30 violin players, aged 3 to 15, before departing in a limousine. When his motorcade made a brief detour from the Kennedy Expressway to travel along stretches of Nagle, Milwaukee and Lawrence avenues, an estimated 750,000 people — many who could barely see him — lined his path. Another 30,000 gathered outside his next stop. The Pope delivered his first statement to the people of Chicago at Holy Name Cathedral: 'How greatly I would like to meet each one of you personally, to visit you in your homes, to walk your streets so that I may better understand the richness of your personalities and the depth of your aspiration. May God uplift humanity in this great city of Chicago.' As world-renowned opera singer Luciano Pavarotti sang 'Ave Maria,' the pontiff sat in a chair at the center of the sanctuary's altar. He 'appeared slightly weary on his arrival in Chicago, the third city he visited during the day,' the Tribune reported. He skipped a planned break to continue to St. Peter's Church in the Loop where he was welcomed by a large assembly of Franciscan brothers and members of other Catholic orders. Finally arriving at Cardinal Cody's residence, 1555 N. State Parkway, at 10:15 p.m., Pope John Paul II took to a balcony to give those outside yet another sign — the last act from his first day in the city. 'Cupping (his hands) together, he placed them on his cheek, tilted his head in a sleeping motion, and smiling, reentered the mansion at 10:25 p.m.,' the Tribune reported. Friday began with shivering 40-degree temperatures 'that numbed thousands of pilgrims who wore parkas and scarves and sipped coffee while they waited for a glimpse of the pontiff in the many places he toured,' Tribune reporters Monroe Anderson and William Gaines wrote. Entering a motorcade shortly before 7:30 a.m., the pontiff was escorted throughout the city's neighborhoods with tens of thousands greeting him with songs and cheers. He stopped to celebrate Mass in Spanish at Providence of God Church in Pilsen then in Polish at Five Holy Martyrs Church. Estimates of between 70,000 to 200,000 people crowded shoulder-to-shoulder outside each site. Shortly after 2 p.m. the Pope took to the skies to see the city from a helicopter, cruising above the South Side and the lakefront before landing in Lincoln Park for a quick ride back to the cardinal's residence. For three hours, Grant Park became a church. A huge crowd — estimated at 1 million or more people — its congregation. 'Perhaps what didn't happen at the Mass was as impressive as what did: The crowd did not, for the most part, become restless and rowdy, even though many — including children — had waited for four hours and longer,' Tribune reporter Michael Hirsley wrote a few days later. When the pontiff departed for Washington, D.C., he had been seen by some 2 million people throughout Chicago. 'If Chicago gushed unabashedly at its visitor from the Vatican, the 59-year-old leader of 600 million Catholics made Chicagoans feel it was a mutual friendship,' Hirsley wrote. Pope John Paul II's nearly 3-hour Mass in Grant Park supposedly attracted 500,000 to 1.5 million people. One Tribune reporter wondered if the park could host a crowd nearly half as large as the city itself? Bill Currie set out to get answers. Vintage Chicago Tribune: 5 largest crowd estimates in city historyCurrie discovered the only way 1 million people could have attended the Mass was for some to be standing in — or on — Lake Michigan. He remains convinced that most crowd estimates are incorrect. 'I don't think 1 million people (let alone 2 million) have ever gathered together in any one place in the world since time immemorial,' Currie said. 'Prove it, I say.' Thanks for reading!
Boston Globe
20-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Boston Globe
Dust Bowl memories, and why we need to understand the past to create a healthy future
Advertisement 'The story had really been around in some form or another inside me, for so long that it's just humbling to recollect,' Russell says. A research trip to Nebraska in 2012 yielded ideas and a few short stories, including one called 'Proving Up,' set in the 1870s when the Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up But it wasn't until the pandemic that the novel came out. 'It's been a slow journey,' says Russell, 'but I had been thinking about this place and these people and this conceit for over a decade at that point.' Hunkered down in Portland, Ore., with a preschooler and a newborn while 'these terrible wildfires' raged outside, she adds, 'you could really feel the costs of climate emergency in your own lungs.' Among the novel's characters is a Black woman working for the New Deal agency as a photographer (think Dorothea Lange) — another way to store painful memories, Russell points out. Contemporary photographers, writers, and others in Nebraska helped her see and understand the place from different perspectives, from Pawnee to the Polish American farmers who themselves had fled a place 'carved up by empire.' Advertisement A large part of the book, Russell says, is about looking — and truly seeing one another: 'What if you are exchanging a gaze with someone whose land you're now living on? What if your portion of this American dream has been taken from families you live next to?' Karen Russell will read at 6 p.m. Monday, March 24, at the . And now for some recommendations . . . Maine author Ron Currie has won devoted fans for his quick-paced, darkly comic novels, and with ' ' In ' Advertisement Kate Tuttle edits the Globe's Books section.
