The first generation hits a wall

Entrepreneurship in Poland after 1989 was a movement of people who didn’t wait for someone to hand them a roadmap. They established warehouses, workshops, transportation companies, manufacturing plants, and retail chains in a world that was just learning the ropes of the market. Back then, the owner was everything at once: strategist, salesperson, debt collector, CFO—and the final authority on every major decision.

This model made sense. In a world of uncertain rules, business had to rely on the owner’s energy and tight control. The problem is that what helped build the company doesn’t always help pass it on. The “everything goes through me” model is effective in the startup phase. In the succession phase, it becomes fragility disguised as strength.

A report by Bank Pekao shows that between 2017 and 2023 alone, the number of entrepreneurs with employees over the age of 50 increased by nearly 50,000, and the number of entrepreneurs aged 65 and older reached approximately 45,000. The problem isn’t coming. It’s already here.

The greatest paradox of succession in Poland: almost everyone knows it needs to be addressed—but surprisingly few actually do so. A report by PwC Poland shows that 31 percent of Polish family businesses lack a clear succession plan, and more than half have not developed basic family governance policies.

Behind these numbers lies something more human than a spreadsheet: silence. In many homes, succession is discussed in the same way as aging, illness, or death—not directly, not now, not today. General statements are made: “someday it will all be yours,” “we’ll see how things turn out.”

The problem is that a vague promise is not a plan. And a plan that exists solely in the founder’s mind—in practice, does not exist.

In stories about succession, it’s all too easy to fall into a stereotype: the tough patriarch versus the entitled children. The reality is much more interesting—and much more painful. On one side sits a generation that remembers the economic chaos of the 1990s. On the other—a generation that grew up in a world of Erasmus exchanges, startups, and project-based work.

There is nothing ungrateful about this. It is a sign that Poland underwent a civilizational shift faster than business families could change the language they used to discuss the future.

This difference is not merely a gap in preferences. It is a chasm through which the continuity of entire companies and thousands of jobs could fall. But there is also a liberating conclusion: since children often do not want to manage the business—they do not have to. A model of ownership without operational management is entirely feasible. If someone plans it in advance.

Succession researchers describe this process as an attempt to address several types of gaps at once. A Polish family business often performs exceptionally well on the outside but is surprisingly fragile on the inside. Hover over each gap to see how it works in practice.

In the debate on succession, too little is said about what happens to the company before the handover takes place. Succession uncertainty may be one of the reasons for the relatively low investment activity of companies with Polish private capital. The lack of a decision on the future not only increases the risk of a crisis—it quietly slows the company’s growth for years before the generational change itself.

Why build a second plant if it’s unclear who will run it? Why invest with a ten-year horizon if the family hasn’t agreed on whether they want to continue doing business together? As a result, some companies don’t plan for the future—they put it off year after year.

Meanwhile, high-performing companies are more likely to opt for a well-thought-out succession plan. A well-planned succession is not a sad duty. It is a growth strategy.