A new clash over Poland’s judiciary has exposed the fault lines between constitutional sovereignty and EU-driven legal integration.
The Polish government has accused President Karol Nawrocki of steering the country toward “Polexit” after he proposed legislation that would criminalise persistent challenges to judicial appointments made by the head of state. Nawrocki was responding to Donald Tusk’s centre-left government, which is seeking to demote or remove judges appointed during the previous Law and Justice (PiS) administration. Under the president’s draft bill, repeatedly questioning the legitimacy of such appointments could carry prison sentences of up to ten years, while judges who deny the professional status of their colleagues could be removed from office.
In a video published on X, President Nawrocki justified his move in stark terms. Citing what he described as the “progressive disintegration of the justice system,” he announced a bill aimed at restoring the right to a fair trial and adjudication without undue delay. The proposal, he explained, rests on three principles: the impartiality of courts, the non-contestability of judicial rulings, and the unequivocal confirmation of the status of lawfully appointed judges.
If these proposals are dismissed, Nawrocki warned, he will appeal directly to voters. “Let the citizens decide,” he said. “Their voice is always the most important.”
What the president proposes
The draft law is sweeping and unapologetically corrective in intent.
First, it introduces a ban on contesting constitutional organs. Judges would be explicitly prohibited from questioning the existence, authority, or constitutional competence of bodies such as the Constitutional Tribunal or the National Council of the Judiciary. This prohibition would extend to challenging rulings of the Constitutional Tribunal itself. Second, the bill addresses the legality of judicial appointments. Courts and other state bodies would be barred from assessing the legality of the appointment of judges or judicial assessors or from questioning judgements issued with their participation. Third, it introduces nullity sanctions. Any judicial acts or rulings based on questioning a judge’s or assessor’s status would be deemed legally void. Fourth, the bill imposes a duty of disclosure. At the request of a party to proceedings, judges would be required to disclose information about their organisational affiliations, activities in associations or foundations, and—historically—their membership in political parties. Fifth, it strengthens disciplinary enforcement. A deliberate refusal to adjudicate would be treated as a voluntary resignation from office, with the law providing a closed catalogue of situations constituting such refusal.
Sixth, it reinforces the ban on political activity. Judges and assessors would be prohibited from belonging to political parties, trade unions, or organisations whose statutes require subordination to decisions of governing bodies.
Finally, the proposal introduces disciplinary and criminal liability. It establishes a defined catalogue of disciplinary offences and criminal sanctions—up to five years’ imprisonment—for actions undermining the constitutional order, including questioning the constitutional prerogatives of state organs or the legality of judicial appointments by public officials.
Why such provisions—and why now?
At first glance, many of these principles may seem self-evident in a state governed by the rule of law. The problem, however, is that since at least 2015—following the electoral victory of the centre-right Law and Justice party (PiS), which ran against the preferences of the EU nomenklatura—the Polish judiciary has increasingly become a vehicle of political destabilisation.
Under the banner of ‘restoring the rule of law,’ parts of the judiciary, encouraged by European institutions, have openly challenged constitutional bodies, refused to recognise judicial appointments, and undermined legal certainty. Poland has been placed under sustained pressure by the European Commission, accused of systemic violations of the rule of law, and subjected to unprecedented legal and financial coercion.
The bill’s explanatory memorandum therefore speaks plainly—this is not rhetorical flourish—of a creeping anarchisation of the justice system. According to its authors, some judges have committed blatant violations of the law while claiming to defend legality. As guardian of the Constitution, the president argues that legislative intervention is now unavoidable to restore constitutional order, prevent further erosion of accountability, and halt the growing impunity of public officials.
The proposal also emphasises the need for new legal instruments to restore respect for constitutional hierarchy, rebalance the separation of powers, guarantee citizens’ right to a court, and rebuild public trust in the judiciary.
The EU dimension: sovereignty under pressure
Beyond its domestic implications, the bill is also a response to repeated actions by EU institutions that, in the president’s view, encroach—contrary to the Treaties—on member states’ sovereignty over their judicial systems.
The most striking example came on 18 December 2025, when the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU) ruled that Poland’s Constitutional Tribunal does not meet the requirements of an independent and impartial court—effectively branding it illegitimate. The judgement responded to earlier rulings of the Polish Tribunal asserting that EU law does not apply to the judicial appointment process, as this would violate the Polish Constitution.
While the CJEU judgement does not formally amend Poland’s Constitution, it carries tangible consequences. The European Commission may demand corrective measures or impose financial penalties if Poland fails to comply. Poland’s Constitutional Tribunal, however, has declared that the ruling produces no legal effects in the domestic legal order, reiterating that “the supreme law of the Republic of Poland is the Constitution, not decisions of foreign bodies.”
The dispute raises profound questions about legal certainty, the status of national courts, and the hierarchy between constitutional law and EU treaties—questions with real consequences for citizens and businesses, particularly in cases involving EU law. Put bluntly, the CJEU ruling further destabilised Poland’s legal and political environment and shifted judicial loyalties beyond Poland’s borders.
The direction of the CJEU’s reasoning becomes clearer when viewed alongside another ruling. On 4 September 2025, the Court held that Polish ordinary courts may disregard decisions of the Supreme Court’s Extraordinary Control and Public Affairs Chamber if necessary to uphold EU law. Although formally limited to civil cases with an EU-law element, the judgement encourages lower courts to question not only the authority but even the composition of the Supreme Court—weakening the institutional framework responsible for validating elections.
A battle over governability
Against this backdrop, the President’s initiative seeks to restore normality and safeguard judicial sovereignty. Without this, Nawrocki’s supporters argue, the state becomes ungovernable. Judiciary, after all, is to the state what the nervous system is to the human body: decisions taken by the legislative and executive ‘head’ are meaningless if they are not enforced by the courts on the ground.
The reaction of Poland’s governing camp—favoured by Brussels—has been vociferous, if unsurprising. Justice Minister Waldemar Żurek accused the President of engineering a “legal Polexit” and of attempting to intimidate judges.
Among the loudest voices warning of Polexit is MEP Bartłomiej Sienkiewicz, from Civic Platform, led by Donald Tusk. His intervention is noteworthy less for its originality than for its historical irony.
To foreign audiences, the name Sienkiewicz may sound unremarkable. In Poland, it carries literary resonance. Bartłomiej Sienkiewicz is the great-grandson of Henryk Sienkiewicz, the Nobel Prize-winning author of Quo Vadis, a novel about the persecution of Christians in ancient Rome. He also wrote In Desert and Wilderness, which gave Polish culture one of its most enduring archetypes: Kali, the embodiment of moral relativism—“evil when they take from me, good when I take from others.”
It is hard to resist the conclusion that this ‘Kali morality’ has quietly become the guiding principle of today’s rule-of-law debate. When judicial reforms were enacted by PiS, Brussels and Tusk thundered about authoritarianism and the destruction of democracy. Today, when EU institutions themselves exert political pressure on judicial appointments and undermine constitutional prerogatives, the same practices are reframed as a defence of ‘European values.’
What was once a mortal sin in Warsaw has become acceptable orthodoxy in Brussels. Of all Henryk Sienkiewicz’s characters, history appears to have chosen Kali—and institutionalised him in the spirit of the European rule-of-law discourse.
Judicial War in Poland: Nawrocki Pushes Back as Tusk Government Cries “Polexit”
Entrance to the building of the Polish Constitutional Tribunal
Adrian Grycuk, CC BY-SA 3.0 PL, via Wikimedia Commons
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A new clash over Poland’s judiciary has exposed the fault lines between constitutional sovereignty and EU-driven legal integration.
The Polish government has accused President Karol Nawrocki of steering the country toward “Polexit” after he proposed legislation that would criminalise persistent challenges to judicial appointments made by the head of state. Nawrocki was responding to Donald Tusk’s centre-left government, which is seeking to demote or remove judges appointed during the previous Law and Justice (PiS) administration. Under the president’s draft bill, repeatedly questioning the legitimacy of such appointments could carry prison sentences of up to ten years, while judges who deny the professional status of their colleagues could be removed from office.
In a video published on X, President Nawrocki justified his move in stark terms. Citing what he described as the “progressive disintegration of the justice system,” he announced a bill aimed at restoring the right to a fair trial and adjudication without undue delay. The proposal, he explained, rests on three principles: the impartiality of courts, the non-contestability of judicial rulings, and the unequivocal confirmation of the status of lawfully appointed judges.
If these proposals are dismissed, Nawrocki warned, he will appeal directly to voters. “Let the citizens decide,” he said. “Their voice is always the most important.”
What the president proposes
The draft law is sweeping and unapologetically corrective in intent.
First, it introduces a ban on contesting constitutional organs. Judges would be explicitly prohibited from questioning the existence, authority, or constitutional competence of bodies such as the Constitutional Tribunal or the National Council of the Judiciary. This prohibition would extend to challenging rulings of the Constitutional Tribunal itself. Second, the bill addresses the legality of judicial appointments. Courts and other state bodies would be barred from assessing the legality of the appointment of judges or judicial assessors or from questioning judgements issued with their participation. Third, it introduces nullity sanctions. Any judicial acts or rulings based on questioning a judge’s or assessor’s status would be deemed legally void. Fourth, the bill imposes a duty of disclosure. At the request of a party to proceedings, judges would be required to disclose information about their organisational affiliations, activities in associations or foundations, and—historically—their membership in political parties. Fifth, it strengthens disciplinary enforcement. A deliberate refusal to adjudicate would be treated as a voluntary resignation from office, with the law providing a closed catalogue of situations constituting such refusal.
Sixth, it reinforces the ban on political activity. Judges and assessors would be prohibited from belonging to political parties, trade unions, or organisations whose statutes require subordination to decisions of governing bodies.
Finally, the proposal introduces disciplinary and criminal liability. It establishes a defined catalogue of disciplinary offences and criminal sanctions—up to five years’ imprisonment—for actions undermining the constitutional order, including questioning the constitutional prerogatives of state organs or the legality of judicial appointments by public officials.
Why such provisions—and why now?
At first glance, many of these principles may seem self-evident in a state governed by the rule of law. The problem, however, is that since at least 2015—following the electoral victory of the centre-right Law and Justice party (PiS), which ran against the preferences of the EU nomenklatura—the Polish judiciary has increasingly become a vehicle of political destabilisation.
Under the banner of ‘restoring the rule of law,’ parts of the judiciary, encouraged by European institutions, have openly challenged constitutional bodies, refused to recognise judicial appointments, and undermined legal certainty. Poland has been placed under sustained pressure by the European Commission, accused of systemic violations of the rule of law, and subjected to unprecedented legal and financial coercion.
The bill’s explanatory memorandum therefore speaks plainly—this is not rhetorical flourish—of a creeping anarchisation of the justice system. According to its authors, some judges have committed blatant violations of the law while claiming to defend legality. As guardian of the Constitution, the president argues that legislative intervention is now unavoidable to restore constitutional order, prevent further erosion of accountability, and halt the growing impunity of public officials.
The proposal also emphasises the need for new legal instruments to restore respect for constitutional hierarchy, rebalance the separation of powers, guarantee citizens’ right to a court, and rebuild public trust in the judiciary.
The EU dimension: sovereignty under pressure
Beyond its domestic implications, the bill is also a response to repeated actions by EU institutions that, in the president’s view, encroach—contrary to the Treaties—on member states’ sovereignty over their judicial systems.
The most striking example came on 18 December 2025, when the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU) ruled that Poland’s Constitutional Tribunal does not meet the requirements of an independent and impartial court—effectively branding it illegitimate. The judgement responded to earlier rulings of the Polish Tribunal asserting that EU law does not apply to the judicial appointment process, as this would violate the Polish Constitution.
While the CJEU judgement does not formally amend Poland’s Constitution, it carries tangible consequences. The European Commission may demand corrective measures or impose financial penalties if Poland fails to comply. Poland’s Constitutional Tribunal, however, has declared that the ruling produces no legal effects in the domestic legal order, reiterating that “the supreme law of the Republic of Poland is the Constitution, not decisions of foreign bodies.”
The dispute raises profound questions about legal certainty, the status of national courts, and the hierarchy between constitutional law and EU treaties—questions with real consequences for citizens and businesses, particularly in cases involving EU law. Put bluntly, the CJEU ruling further destabilised Poland’s legal and political environment and shifted judicial loyalties beyond Poland’s borders.
The direction of the CJEU’s reasoning becomes clearer when viewed alongside another ruling. On 4 September 2025, the Court held that Polish ordinary courts may disregard decisions of the Supreme Court’s Extraordinary Control and Public Affairs Chamber if necessary to uphold EU law. Although formally limited to civil cases with an EU-law element, the judgement encourages lower courts to question not only the authority but even the composition of the Supreme Court—weakening the institutional framework responsible for validating elections.
A battle over governability
Against this backdrop, the President’s initiative seeks to restore normality and safeguard judicial sovereignty. Without this, Nawrocki’s supporters argue, the state becomes ungovernable. Judiciary, after all, is to the state what the nervous system is to the human body: decisions taken by the legislative and executive ‘head’ are meaningless if they are not enforced by the courts on the ground.
The reaction of Poland’s governing camp—favoured by Brussels—has been vociferous, if unsurprising. Justice Minister Waldemar Żurek accused the President of engineering a “legal Polexit” and of attempting to intimidate judges.
Among the loudest voices warning of Polexit is MEP Bartłomiej Sienkiewicz, from Civic Platform, led by Donald Tusk. His intervention is noteworthy less for its originality than for its historical irony.
To foreign audiences, the name Sienkiewicz may sound unremarkable. In Poland, it carries literary resonance. Bartłomiej Sienkiewicz is the great-grandson of Henryk Sienkiewicz, the Nobel Prize-winning author of Quo Vadis, a novel about the persecution of Christians in ancient Rome. He also wrote In Desert and Wilderness, which gave Polish culture one of its most enduring archetypes: Kali, the embodiment of moral relativism—“evil when they take from me, good when I take from others.”
It is hard to resist the conclusion that this ‘Kali morality’ has quietly become the guiding principle of today’s rule-of-law debate. When judicial reforms were enacted by PiS, Brussels and Tusk thundered about authoritarianism and the destruction of democracy. Today, when EU institutions themselves exert political pressure on judicial appointments and undermine constitutional prerogatives, the same practices are reframed as a defence of ‘European values.’
What was once a mortal sin in Warsaw has become acceptable orthodoxy in Brussels. Of all Henryk Sienkiewicz’s characters, history appears to have chosen Kali—and institutionalised him in the spirit of the European rule-of-law discourse.
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