BOOK MARK : Solidarity’s infancy was marked by a passion that propelled ideas from Poland’s factories

I n a series of interviews during the early 1980s, Solidarity leaders Wladyslaw Frasyniuk and Bogdan Borusewicz, who had gone underground after the hard-line Polish Communist regime cracked down, presented their story of Solidarity’s early days and their experiences “underground.”

On Dec. 12-13, 1981, Frasyniuk and other activists from Wroclaw learned about the imposition of marital law from a waitress in the station restaurant in Poznan, where they were changing trains. He recalled:

Of course, we thought this was simply a sign of the panic sown by government propaganda. Later on, a policeman came over to us and told us that marital law had been imposed. Now, he said, pointedly, the police were going to have the chance to really “clean up.” To which one of us replied, “S---, we’ll have to clean up, too, in the end.” The policeman didn’t react and left the restaurant. But later they took that guy who’d made the remark to the internment camp and cleaned him up.

We moved off with the feeling that ominous events had, after all, begun. When the conductor looked in on our compartment (we were sitting comfortably in first class, although we only had second-class tickets), we immediately offered our apologies and money for the extra fare. “Gentlemen,” he said, “at this point, nothing matters, tickets don’t matter. I know who you are and I’ve heard they’re waiting for you in Wroclaw; you’d better get off at the next station.”

Before we got to Oborniki, the conductor came back to tell us that this was the last stop before Wroclaw and our last chance to get off. We told him we’d go as near to Wroclaw as possible and then try to jump out before we got to the station. The conductor shook his head but didn’t argue. A few kilometers outside the city, the train began to slow down. I jumped off while we were still moving, but the others got off without difficulty because the train came to a halt. It’s impossible to say whether the driver stopped on purpose, but for the sake of the story let’s say he did.

Initial conditions under the crackdown varied wildly. In Wroclaw, the “war” was vicious. Everywhere there were troops with machine guns, and there was no public transportation.

We didn’t yet know whether the city transportation was at a standstill because it had broken down or because of marital law. At the depot on Slowianska Street we were greeted joyfully, well . . . some people greeted us joyfully and some (women whose husbands had been carted off in the night) greeted us with tears.

It was these people who rescued documents and ran up flags and banners with slogans calling for strikes. There were flags flying everywhere--at large factories at small plants, design bureaus, at the university, the Agricultural Academy, the polytechnic, the Higher School of Fine Arts, the Economics Academy. There wasn’t a single store, no matter how small, without a red-and-white flag. The streets were full of people with backpacks and sleeping bags, people walking around quite openly with a blanket under their arm. Everyone was getting ready to occupy the factories.

On Saturday night, the riot police occupied regional strike committee headquarters. They sealed all the doors, secured everything with chains and surrounded it with radio vans and trucks. Nevertheless, some of our printers got through the fence in order to run off some communiques and conceal some equipment. Others also rescued what they could.

Even now, we have no idea where that electronic equipment ended up, but thank God something was rescued. At least it’s helping people to hear Radio Free Europe.

A general strike began in Wroclaw. Our people repaired the factory radio system, which had been demolished on the order of the director, and broadcast communiques, played strike songs, and read out leaflets. Of course, the workers immediately hung a photograph of the Pope and a picture of the Virgin Mary over the gate. There were flowers and a red-and-white banner. The atmosphere was fairly militant. Some workers seemed to be extremely hyped-up, as though they were actually spoiling for a fight. Others seemed tense and horrified at what was going on, but despite their great fear for their own lives, they felt that they had to do what they were doing. That’s why they came back.

These early days of the “war” were characterized by intense discussions. Workers talked about economic reform, about justice and the impossibility of totalitarian dictatorship coexisting with democratic structures. . . . Everyone was hoping that the police and the tanks were nothing but a show of strength--that the whole country was on strike and that it would be enough to last out honorably for three days , for the authorities to give in and begin negotiations.

It looked as if an unprepared Solidarity was being attacked by an equally unprepared opponent. The campaign that the authorities presented as organized and super efficient was, in reality, a chaotic struggle. The lists of those to be detained had, it is true, been drawn up in advance, but perhaps too far in advance, because they contained the names of many people who had died or who had long been abroad.

BORUSEWICZ:

This operation, which was the most important of all from the authorities’ point of view, was carried out inefficiently; it was effective only because our side made even more mistakes. In this respect they were competing with each other. For example, every few kilometers or so along the road stood tanks that had broken down on the way from the barracks into town. If the armies of the Warsaw Pact were dependent on such dilapidated equipment, how are we ever going to beat the Americans? Nevertheless, Solidarity leader Zbigniew Bujak, who has spent some time behind the wheel of these things, declares that if they really have to get somewhere they usually manage it, so I guess they broke down because the troops weren’t too enthusiastic about the battle. Apparently neither the rank and file nor their officers would have taken the risk of openly defying an order. If only, though, they’d used the army in the front-line. . . . The authorities didn’t attempt to overplay their hand, and the army was essentially kept in reserve. The successive waves of hardware that rolled through the streets were mostly for decoration. The attack on the Gdansk Shipyard was carried out with the aid of two tanks. Only two! One of them broke down the gate. Its crew must have been fairly determined (particularly their commander, who was driving it himself), but despite this, and although it didn’t look as though people were going to stand in its path, the tank came to a halt before the first collision, giving the shipyard workers time to scatter. Borusewicz talked to the crew of the second tank, which dragged off a truck that was blocking the road leading to the neighboring Northern Shipyard. He clearly saw that the tank crew (who must have been specially selected from their unit) had tears in their eyes, even though nothing had really happened so far and they hadn’t yet had to shoot at anyone.

FRASYNIUK:

In Wroclaw, the first big attack began at 4 a.m. The police launched their attack from the side of the factory where there was a lot of open ground surrounded by a chain-link fence. They cut the fence and attacked the building where the Strike Committee had spent the night in March, 1981. The second offensive was launched from the street, but the tank didn’t break down the gate itself because the workers had hung on it a picture of the Virgin Mary that was lit up all night. The tank knocked out a fair stretch of wall and a couple of cars parked behind it. A moment later, they began the attack on the plant. The workers there told us how the riot police had gone through the workshops, waving their pistols, threatening people, beating them.

Every flag that was raised, every attempt to open your mouth, every movement away from the shop floor was met with repressive measures, dismissal from work, arrest. People no longer wanted to lay themselves open to danger, so Solidarity had no alternative but, with the aid of the workers, to slip away from this area crawling with police.

The strikes were over.

BORUSEWICZ:

Apparently, security officials refer to me as a professional revolutionary. Maybe, but it’s more the result of specific circumstances, which forced me into action, than of any desire on my part. I haven’t yet reached the stage at which conspiracy would be the thing I valued most, an end in itself. Nothing surprises me anymore. My experience could still be useful, but there will come a point when I have to say: Enough! Otherwise --it’s just the same as drinking vodka--I could fall into a dangerous habit.

FRASYNIUK:

As far as the return to public life is concerned, at the moment we have no idea whether we’ll come out of the underground to a free Poland, a half-free Poland, or simply to prison. Maybe we’ll have to build everything all over again from scratch? There’s no doubt that most of us have had enough, for the time being. Although, on the other hand, I can’t imagine that we’d put up with inactivity for very long; after all, it’s precisely through struggle that we realize ourselves. Otherwise, we’d never have got involved in conspiracy in the first place.

1990 by Maciej Lopinski, Marcin Moskit and Mariusz Wilk; used with permission of University of California Press.

BOOK REVIEW: A review of “Konspira: Solidarity Underground” appears in the Book Review section on Page 4.