Pubs, cafés, and politics have been coexisting for centuries
The notion that a business should be an apolitical space is, frankly, a bit laughable from a historical perspective.
When coffeehouses began to spread rapidly across England in the 17th century, they weren’t just places to grab a cup of coffee. They became hubs for reading newspapers, doing business, gossiping, and—of course—debating politics.
And the debate was so fierce that King Charles II lost his nerve over it.
In 1675, his government tried to suppress coffeehouses. One of the primary reasons was precisely that they were hotbeds for political debate, criticism of the government, and discourse that those in power considered dangerous.
So roughly 350 years ago, a early version of today’s slogan already existed: “Just drink your coffee and stay out of politics.”
It didn’t work out too well. And thank goodness for that.
Sometimes even a tearoom can change history
In the early 20th century, British tearooms became crucial hubs for the women’s suffrage movement.
This was no accident. Back then, women enjoyed nowhere near the freedom of movement or the abundance of safe public spaces in cities that they do today. Tearooms offered them a space where they could gather, discuss, and organize.
Today, that sounds almost romantic. Tea, sandwiches, and revolution.
But it serves as a nice reminder of one thing: A hospitality venue has never been just a place for consumption. It’s a place where people meet. And whenever people gather, sooner or later, they start talking about the world they live in.
And artists? They’ve always engaged in politics
A similar reproach is routinely aimed at actors, musicians, writers, and theaters. “Just perform and keep out of politics.”
Yet what would be left of cultural history if artists actually followed that advice?
Theater has been an arena for political and social conflict since ancient times. Musicians, actors, writers, and visual artists have repeatedly stepped into the public square whenever they felt society was heading in a direction they couldn’t ignore.
We may agree or disagree with any given artist. But asking an artist not to have an opinion on society is like asking a writer not to have a vocabulary.
So should every bar hang an election poster over the tap now?
No.
And that’s precisely where we draw the line.
A bar shouldn’t be a party headquarters.
We don’t want to know who you voted for when you order a gin. We don’t want to divide our guests into the „right“ and „wrong“ kind. And we certainly don’t want anyone to feel like they’ve walked into a political rally when they step inside.
At Bukowski, we have far more important things to worry about.
Like whether the music is good.
Whether the drinks are cold.
Whether the band started on time.
Whether we have enough ice.
And why someone broke a glass again.
Yet between all of that and total civic silence, there is a pretty wide space.
We can support a charity.
We can say that we care about Ukraine.
We can criticize a city decision that we believe harms nightlife.
We can talk about business conditions.
We can speak up when we don’t like where society is heading.
And you are more than welcome to disagree with us.
Because that’s precisely the point.
A guest is not a hostage to our opinion
When a business expresses an opinion publicly, it doesn’t mean every single guest has to think the same way.
Quite the opposite.
To us, a good bar should be one of the last places where two people with completely opposite political views can sit at the same table, argue over a beer, and an hour later sing the chorus of the very same song together.
Maybe that’s what we’re missing a bit these days.
Social media has sorted us into bubbles. The algorithm serves us people who see the world just like we do.
A bar has no such algorithm.
A lawyer, a student, a courier, an entrepreneur, an actor, a tourist, a liberal, a conservative, a right-winger, a left-winger, and a person who doesn’t give a damn about politics and just wants a shot of borovička all walk into a bar.
And that’s exactly how it should be.
But yes, even open debate has its limits
Being open to discussion doesn’t mean we consider all opinions equal.
We love seeing a left-winger, right-winger, liberal, conservative, believer, and non-believer meet at the same table in our bar.
Honestly, that’s precisely what society is missing today.
We lock ourselves into our own camps too quickly. We stop listening. We turn someone with a different opinion into an enemy before they even open their mouth.
This polarization pisses us off.
And that’s why we think we need to keep talking.
But there is a line.
If the discussion turns into racism, fascism, homophobia, blatant humiliation, threats, or demands that someone lose their basic rights simply for who they are, we are no longer talking about a normal political opinion.
That’s no longer a debate over whether taxes should be higher or lower.
It’s not a debate about whether right- or left-wing economic policy is better.
It is an attack on the dignity of a human being.
And on that, we are clear.
People of various nationalities, orientations, beliefs, opinions, and life stories work and meet in our bars.
None of them should have to sit behind the bar or at a table and listen to claims that people like them should have fewer rights, shouldn’t exist here, or deserve violence.
To us, that’s no longer just a „different opinion.“
And yes, this boundary doesn’t run in only one political direction.
Extremism bothers us from both the right and the left.
Totalitarian thinking, hatred, justifying violence, or suppressing fundamental freedoms is a problem regardless of which side of the political spectrum it comes from.
So let’s discuss.
Let’s argue about taxes, the city, culture, operating hours, social policy, migration, Europe, or the economy.
Passionately, if you like.
Even more passionately over a second beer.
But the moment a political opponent turns into a „subhuman,“ the debate is over.
Not because we’re afraid of a different opinion.
But because a good bar should be a place where people with different views can meet—not a place where someone has to defend their right to exist.
“But you might lose customers.”
Of course.
That’s the risk of having any public opinion.
A business can lose a customer. An actor can lose an audience member. A musician can lose a fan. A journalist can lose a reader.
Free speech has never meant freedom from consequences or reactions.
If a business speaks out, people have every right to say:
“I disagree with this.”
They even have the right to stop coming.
That’s how a free society works.
What strikes us as strange, however, is the demand itself:
“You run a business, so stay quiet.”
Why should an electrician be allowed to have a political opinion, but a bar owner shouldn’t?
Why can a teacher speak up, but a musician has crossed a line?
Why can a person sitting at our table in the evening take a stance, but the bar that bought that table cannot?
Silence is also a choice
There’s another uncomfortable truth.
People sometimes say that being neutral is the safest bet.
Except total neutrality rarely exists.
The choice not to speak up can also be a stance.
Not every event requires a status update. Not every business owner needs to wake up every morning and comment on global geopolitics.
We certainly won’t.
We’re a bar.
Our main mission is still to create a place where people feel good.
To have a drink.
To meet friends.
To catch a concert.
To dance.
To forget about work for a few hours.
Maybe to fall in love.
Maybe to make a decision you’ll slightly regret in the morning.
That’s all part of nightlife, too.
But when a topic arises that affects us deeply, we won’t pretend we live behind glass.
Because a bar is more than a taproom
A good bar is a special place.
People meet, break up, celebrate, grieve, argue, debate, listen to music, dream up projects, and occasionally solve all the nation’s problems at 2:00 AM.
Come morning, it turns out they didn’t quite solve them after all.
But the effort was there.
And maybe that’s precisely why bars, cafés, clubs, theaters, and concert venues belong in public debate.
Not because they hold a monopoly on the truth.
They don’t.
We certainly don’t.
But because they are part of the city. They are places where people gather. They employ people. They shape culture. City and state policies apply to them. And they bear the consequences of the decisions politicians make.
So yes.
Should a bar express political views?
When it feels like it has something to say, we think absolutely, yes.
Politely. Factually. Without holding its guests hostage to its opinions.
But telling an entrepreneur, an artist, or anyone else that they shouldn’t speak out on public matters simply because their profession is something other than politics?
To us, that feels far more dangerous than a single political post on Facebook.
And if you disagree with us?
Feel free to tell us.
Ideally in person.
At the bar.
Because that’s what bars have always been for.
