Poland's moral revolution

Timothy Garton Ash

Krakow Every weekday you can find classes of weary schoolchildren trooping through the crypt of the cathedral in Krakow's old Royal castle, where Poland's greatest kings, warriors and poets lie entombed. But last Friday the schoolchildren gathered excited- ly around one particular red and white bou- quet on the coffin of Marshal Pilsudski. 'Gdansk', it said, in the unmistakable Solidarnosc lettering, 'from the repair shipyard' — a bastion of the August 1980 strike. 'Krakow pilgrimage 1983. SOLIDARITY LIVES.' Above the coffin, a quotation from Pilsudski:

`To win a victory and rest on your laurels, that is defeat: To be defeated and not give in, that is victory.'

A motto for the Pope's pilgrimage?

It was here, in the Royal castle on the Wawel, that John Paul II received General Jaruzelski for their unscheduled second meeting on the last evening of the visit, and the symbolism was not lost on the Poles. For in this week of masses and mass en- thusiasm, Karol Wojtyla has confirmed his authority as the uncrowned King of Poland — the King over the mountains. What he himself described to a close friend as the most difficult of all his journeys (including Nicaragua), has proved another personal triumph.

From the moment he stepped on to the tarmac at Warsaw airport, this great and very homesick man spoke with a clarity which thrilled his listeners and dismayed the Government. Many had expected him to cast his sermons in a remote and universal frame. Not a bit of it. In sharp contrast to his last visit, he said nothing about the churches in the rest of eastern Europe, and the special mission of the Slav Pope to reassert the unity of Christian Europe from the Atlantic to the Urals. This was his one major concession to Moscow. But equally, he made no offerings to the Soviet media on the subject of nuclear disarmament or East-West relations. No, this was a cycle of homilies written by a Pole, for the Poles, about Poland.

He told them, by his words and by his sombre mien, that he shares their suffering since the imposition of martial law. 'Together with all my compatriots', he declared in his first homily in Warsaw, 'especially with those who are most acutely tasting the bitterness of disappointment, humiliation, suffering, of being deprived of their freedom, of being wronged, of having their dignity trampled upon — I stand beneath the Cross of Christ ...' Yet his theme was victory. Out of this political defeat, he told them, they are called to win a moral victory. In part this must be an in- ternal, spiritual victory: 'Man is called to victory over himself, the victory of martyr- dom, the victory of the cross. The children of God cannot be slaves.' But the moral vic- tory of the nation will not be won merely by patient suffering in faith. Rather it demands 'living in truth', and 'fundamen- tal solidarity between human beings'. The nation must bear witness to the truth as it did in August 1980, 'that witness which amazed the whole world, when the Polish worker stood up for himself with the Gospel in•his hand and a prayer on his lips'. Today, too, the Poles must not cease to stand up for certain fundamental rights.

And then he spoke about Poland's right to independence, to national sovereignty, to take 'her proper place among the nations of Europe, between East and West' — this last in the speech to General Jaruzelski at the Belweder Palace which, unlike most of his homilies, was televised live nationwide. In Katowice, industrial capital of Upper Silesia, addressing an audience subdued by temperament, pouring rain and strict Church discipline, he went on to spell out the specific rights of workers, including the right to form their own trade unions. 'This right is not given us by the State' — he quoted the late Cardinal Wyszynski — 'the State has only the obligation to protect and guard it ... This right is given by the Creator who made man as a social being.' 'It was in this spirit,' he continued, 'that I spoke in January 1981 during an audience granted to the delegation of Solidarity' and even the dour Silesians raised a cheer at his first (and only) direct mention of the outlawed movement — 'accompanied by . . — they nudged each other and whispered 'Lech Walesa' — 'accompanied by the representative of the Polish Govern- ment ...'

Such matters, however, can only be resolved by 'a true dialogue between the authorities and society'. In ,order to revive the dialogue which was severed on 13 December 1981, they, the Polish people, must learn to forgive. Forgiveness should liberate them from 'the fetters of hatred'. 'Forgiveness is love's might, forgiveness is not weakness. To forgive does not mean to resign from truth and justice . .' The authorities, for their part, must learn to respect these fundamental rights. The start- ing point for 'moral and social renewal' (he effortlessly recaptures the word 'renewal' from the communist vocabulary) must be the 'social accords' which concluded the strikes of Summer 1980. Poland's rulers never tire of repeating that they head a sovereign state. All right, said the Pope, then you must behave like the rulers of a

sovereign state! 'The State is firmly sovereign when it governs society and also serves the common good of society and allows the nation to realise its own subjec- tivity (i.e, aspirations), its own identity.' And later, speaking directly to the sacred ikon of the Black Madonna in the Jasna Gora monastery behind him, as to a real mother: 'Queen of Poland, I also wish to entrust you with the difficult task of those who wield authority on Polish soil ... The State gains its strength first of all from the support of the people.'

t was a superb performance which gave I heart and hope, and food for thought, to millions of Poles. But has it, can it, blast an opening out of the political stalemate? Like so much else in Poland today, the position of the Jaruzelski government is paradox- ical: it is both unprecedentedly strong and very weak. Its strength derives from the monopoly of physical force which it has shown itself ready to use and use again. General Jaruzelski is the first Polish party leader since 1956 to have been responsible for the shooting of Polish workers and to have survived in office. Both his predeces- sors tumbled after breaking that unwritten commandment of the Polish national tradition: 'Pole shall not kill Pole'. Its weakness is manifested in its inability to find any political way out of the continuing crisis.

Rather to my surprise, even people active in opposition will concede that General Jaruzelski's personal intentions are pro- bably different from — and in some senses better than — those of his predecessors. In his Belweder speech he spoke Polish — not translated Sovietese. His obligatory reference to Soviet-Polish friendship was almost Papal in its allusiveness, quoting a famous poem `to Muscovite friends' by Adam Mickiewicz, the Polish Byron. He did not once mention the communist Party but instead spoke emphatically about the need for a strong State, a State which im- plements reforms through laws. Moreover, `our law does not punish for views: it only bans anti-State actions imcompatible with the Constitution'. It is possible, even plausible, that this enigmatic man really wishes to be an authoritarian rather than a totalitarian ruler, head of a State in which, as Frederick the Great used to put it, 'the people say what they like and I do what I like'.

But can he realise his intentions? At the moment he is stymied on all sides. Within his own Politburo he faces stiff opposition from a faction led by the wily Stefan Olszowski — a faction which opposed the Pope's visit all along, and will now be say- ing, after the accompanying Solidarity demonstrations and Western media cover- age, 'We told you so'. Behind them is the stubborn conservatism of the bureaucratic apparatus of the Party-State, the swollen security apparatus (' wherever two or three are gathered together,' my taxi-driver biblically remarked, 'one will be a policeman') and pressure from those 'Muscovite friends'. Against rumours of an imminent deposition of Jaruzelski must be placed the weighty fact that he is backed by the Soviet military, who were, after all, in- strumental in the elevation of Andropov. Nonetheless, pressure from the Polish and Soviet party apparatuses drastically reduces his room for manoeuvre.

He is stymied by the economic crisis, which I will discuss next week. And above all, he is stymied by his'lack of popular sup- port. If he is to begin to regain even a measure of popular acceptance he must, as the Pope told him, restart a genuine dialogue. But how and with whom? The Patriotic Movement for National Salvation (PRON), which he set up for this purpose, is still an unpopular joke. The shrunken Party has nil credibility with the workers, the great majority of whom also boycott the new official trade unions. Genuinely in- dependent professional associations like the Polish Journalists' Association or the Polish Writers' Union have been or are being closed down.

In fact there is only one body in Poland today to which the Government is prepared to talk and society is prepared to listen: the Church. Paradoxically again, the Church is now stronger than it has been 'at any time since 1945, spiritually, institutionally and politically. It is the only institution to have been strengthened both by the rise of Soli- darity and by the state of war. Since 13 December 1981 a great charge of frustrated hopes, idealism and energy has run from Solidarity (and all the independent in- itiatives it spawned) to the Church. Surveys reveal that the percentage of regular churchgoers has soared from an already high 60-65 per cent to an astonishing 90-95 per cent in some parishes over the last year.

Under the uncertain leadership of Car- dinal Glemp, however, it has been divided about how to use this strength. The Jaruzelski government will clearly make large concessions to win its co-operation. Never before has the Church had so much broadcasting time on radio and TV (a con- cession originally won for it by the workers in Summer 1980), so many publications, seminaries and permits for church build- ings. Two hundred churches are being built in the Krakow diocese alone.

If Jaruzelski and his advisers have their way, they will pursue this 'dialogue' still further. In return for the lifting of martial law (perhaps on the State anniversary of 22 July) and a partial amnesty for political prisoners, they would like the Church to move into closer public co-operation with them. Ideally, they would wish it to be as it was on the grey streets of Katowice last week, where order was kept by three-man patrols: one soldier, one policeman . . . and one priest. In the medium term they might enter into a kind of 'corporatist com- promise' with the Church, conceding to it larger areas of religious and cultural autonomy, and perhaps even sharing power with it over some areas of social and economic life. From the Solidarity period there still survive two lay Catholic govern- ment ministers — though their current lot is to hold responsibility without power. Bet- ween them, then, these two vast authoritarian corporations, Church and Military-Party-State, would guarantee Poland's stability to Moscow

There are ecclesiastical politicians close to Glemp, and in the Vatican, who are plainly tempted by the prospect. But, though as yet we do not know what the Pope said in private to Jaruzelski, he last week gave a resounding public `No' to this temptation. Politely ignoring the dumpy figure of Glemp, he told the uncertain Polish Church what he wants it to do. He singled out for special praise the tough communiques of the plenary sessions of the Episcopal Conference, because they 'res-

pond to the need to hear the truth, which is so acute in society'. It is necessary, he in- structed the bishops, 'to defend every citizen, to protect every life, to prevent in- juries, which occur so easily in the case of beatings, especially with young and weak organisms' (a characteristic allusion to the recent case of a Warsaw schoolboy who died after police interrogation). 'The Chris- tian doctrine of work demands both the solidarity of workers among themselves and the need for honest solidarity with workers.' A genuine dialogue must include authentic trade unions.

Whatever the immediate political effects of the visit, these instructions are of im- mense importance. They mean that thous- ands of priests across Poland will be preaching and ministering on the lines he has set for years to come. In Krakow a vicar was recently instructed by his superiors to dismantle his Solidarity altar and stop the worker education groups which were meet- ing in the vestry. But a priest can hardly be criticised for quoting the Pope! In the Polish Church, as in economics, there is a 'multiplier effect'.

n id his talk of authentic trade unions L mean the outlawed movement 'Solid- arity'? Did it mean Lech Walesa? Despite the Government's gloss on a 'purely private meeting', and despite the strange affair of the Osservatore Romano leader (which again betrays tensions within the Papal en- tourage), what the Pope meant to say with this meeting in the mountains is still unclear. 'There are no private meetings with the Pope,' declares his friend and ad- viser, the Krakow theologian Father Jozef Tischner. Was he indicating that Walesa is still a 'partner' for the Government, the true representative of the working-class, as many Poles believe? Or was he, as it were, elevating Walesa to the peerage of Polish martyrs — a symbol of the great ideals of August 1980, but no longer a candidate for 'dialogue'? The Government position, by contrast, is already clear. 'Lech Walesa .... will never again be a partner for the authorities,' says spokesman Jerzy Urban, 'there will be no dialogue ... with the former leadership of "Solidarity".'

To see the Pope's visit as one great boost for Solidarity, as some American news- papers have done, is, at best, a gross over- simplification. The number of active, banner-bearing Solidarity demonstrators was, in fact, relatively small: a regular troop of a few thousand, mostly young men, many of whom followed the Pope from place to place, like pilgrims.

On the other hand, the surrounding crowds seemed delighted to see them. When they marched from the Krakow meadows to the socialist model workers' town of Nowa Huta, where the Pope was to dedicate another enormous new church, children danced along the verges and old women applauded from rusty balconies. As they ad- vanced into Nowa Huta, flags borne high, the concourse of workers roared its ap- proval, hands raised in a forest of V-for-

victory signs. This is the traditional theatre of defiance, in which the Poles excel.

Yet when the chanting was over, they made a rather sober assessment of their position. 'That was our last day of freedom,' said one young standard-bearer. And another: 'Many of us feel this was a kind of glorious funeral for Solidarity.' They know they cannot force the author- ities to talk to them. If they go on to the streets for the anniversary of the Gdansk agreement on 31 August, the police will not make a sharp U-turn and speed away from the demonstrators, as I saw them do on the road to Nowa Huta. They will charge with batons raised, though the crowd chants (as it did last week) `Dem-on-stra-cja Pok-oj- ow-a' , 'Peace demo, Peace demo'. (Thompson, hadst thou been present at this hour.) 'Pilgrimages are a form of bearing witness: demonstrations are a form of bear- ing witness,' says Father Tischner, stoutly. But to what effect? An amnesty, moreover, would to some extent remove the raison d'être of the underground — although it would not be the end of the samizdat newspapers, magazines and factory bulletins which are still being produced on a scale unmatched anywhere else in the Soviet bloc.

It is a truism to say that we had to wait a year before we saw the effects of the Pope's first fantastic pilgrimage to his native land in 1979, and will therefore have to wait etc,

etc This time, however, the effects are most unlikely to be seen in any political breakthrough, but rather in countless small ways, in individual decisions, in the strengthening of habits of honesty, dignity .nd solidarity which are already visible. A university lecturer comments that, while few of his students are active in the 'underground', they are almost all prepared to say exactly what they think, in public as well as in private, even about the most sen- sitive political subjects. They 'call good and evil by name', as the Pope exhorted at Jasna Gore. Solidarity, says Father Tischner, was a forest of awakened cons- ciences. 'The forest is growing. It is not for the forest to go to the Government: the Government must come to the forest.' In this sense, for all the repression and depres- sion, Poland is still in a better condition than any of its neighbours — Hungary in- cluded. This transformation of con- sciousness, this moral revolution, is a lasting achievement of the Pope and. Solidarity.

Whatever develops in Poland over the next few years, it will be different from anything that we have seen before in the Soviet bloc. Though the police rule the streets, this country cannot be 'normalised' — returned to Soviet norms. Here, a totalitarian communist system cannot be reconstructed. The Poles have not 'given in'. Theirs is a victory in defeat. And whatever happens, I am sure that one day an excited group of schoolchildren will gather around a monument to Pope Paul Il in the crypt of the cathedral in the old Royal castle on the Wawel.