Requiem for a Dream

By Thomas A. Sancton

Solidarity: August 1980-October 1982

The end came quickly, if not unexpectedly. In the wood-and-marble chamber of Poland's Sejm (parliament) last week, row upon row of Deputies lifted their right hands high. By an overwhelming vote, they decreed the death of Solidarity, the 9 million-member independent union federation that for 16 months had shaken the entire Soviet bloc with its bold cry for freedom. That vote, approving a sweeping new trade-union law, finished the job that General Wojciech Jaruzelski had begun when he imposed martial law and suspended Solidarity last December.

The parliament outlawed not only Solidarity but all other existing labor organizations as well, clearing the way for a new set of factory-based unions that the government clearly intends to control. With Solidarity Leader Lech Walesa and some 600 other key members still in custody, Jaruzelski was gambling that a dispirited population would accept the union's long-predicted demise without major upheavals. Warsaw's bosses were also hoping that Western opposition would be largely rhetorical.

On the domestic front, the regime's calculation proved correct. Although some leaflets appeared in the capital urging Solidarity supporters to demonstrate before the parliament building, Poles seemed reluctant to go into the streets again in the wake of the Aug. 31 riots, when five died in bitter clashes with security forces. Taking no chances, the government had already bivouacked hundreds of extra riot police in downtown Warsaw hotels, but most citizens heeded the advice of Solidarity's underground leaders to refrain from violence.

Western reaction was mixed. Asked to comment on the Polish situation shortly after the vote, President Ronald Reagan snapped, "I think it's horrible." At week's end he vowed to move as quickly as possible to suspend Poland's most-favored-nation trading status, which will result in increased import duties on more than $50 million in Polish goods sent to the U.S. Sharing Reagan's outrage, French Prime Minister Pierre Mauroy declared that the union law was "yet another attack against individual liberty and the rights of man." He added that the law would "place a new obstacle between Franco-Polish relations."

But the Europeans, already opposing Washington's ban on building the Soviet gas pipeline, were unwilling to increase sanctions against the East bloc. Indeed, an American proposal that NATO countries reduce their diplomatic representation in Poland and raise tariffs on goods from that country stirred no enthusiasm when it was discussed by the alliance's ambassadors in Brussels last week.

The one voice that in other days had effectively defended Solidarity was silent last week. Lech Walesa remained under detention in the government hunting lodge called Arlamowo, about 200 miles southeast of Warsaw, cut off from events and powerless to change them. He receives regular visits from a priest, Father Alojzy Orszulik. His wife Danuta and their seven children have been allowed to stay with him for short periods. After her last visit some three weeks ago, Danuta told reporters that her husband was in good physical and mental condition but was still a trifle overweight. TIME has obtained exclusive photographs, taken last month, showing that Walesa has shaved off the beard he grew after the imposition of martial law. He has steadfastly refused to negotiate Solidarity's future with authorities unless his top advisers are present, maintaining an almost absolute silence since he was seized in his Gdansk apartment on Dec. 13.

The new unions proposed by the government will be starkly different from the one that Walesa led into history. Among the law's provisions:

> Unions can be formed only at the factory level initially. Though nominally independent of party and state control, these units will probably be closely supervised by the government.

> The right to strike is subject to such elaborate restrictions as to be virtually nonexistent.

> The government may immediately ban any unions that "violate the constitution of the Polish People's Republic and other laws."

> No allowance is made for the formation of farmers' unions, like the now banned Rural Solidarity.

Seeking to present the law as a positive reform, Deputy Premier Mieczyslaw Rakowski declared that Poland could not afford the "turmoil" caused by Solidarity's challenges to the government. Declared Rakowski of the ban on Solidarity: "Closing it down means opening a new chapter, creating opportunities for getting out of this chaos."

One of the 20th century's most extraordinary political experiments, an attempt by an East bloc population to wed democracy with Communism, was coming to an ignominious close. Born during a wave of strikes in the summer of 1980, Solidarity had inspired a peaceful revolution that breathed a heady new freedom into Poland's social, political and cultural life. Even the ruling Communist Party had been affected by the process of odnowa, or renewal, as grass-roots movements within its rank and file demanded more internal democracy and sweeping economic reforms. For the first time in history, a truly proletarian movement was forcing an atrophied Communist bureaucracy to heed the people's will.

In the end, the crusade and its threat were too much for Warsaw's bosses to accept. Governmental resistance to reforms forced Solidarity's leaders into an increasingly radical position. Finally, with the union in effect challenging the exclusive rule of the party, Jaruzelski seized military control of the government, swept away the short-lived freedoms, suspended the union and detained several thousand Solidarity leaders and supporters.

When he imposed martial law, Jaruzelski probably intended to purge only the union's more unruly elements. Since the discredited Communist Party lacked the public's trust, Jaruzelski could have greatly benefited from establishing a relationship with an institution that was supported by the vast majority of Polish workers. But Jaruzelski's strategy for dividing the union and finding collaborators among its leadership failed totally. Not a single important Solidarity leader ever broke ranks, despite the arrests of key members.

In the face of such recalcitrance, the regime finally fell back on the "zero option" of abolishing the union. The timing of the move was probably affected by the late-summer riots, which were easily crushed by the government. "The way they handled Aug. 31 proved they could handle mass demonstrations at relatively low cost," says a State Department analyst. The authorities may also have wanted to clear the way for lifting martial law before the Dec. 13 anniversary of the imposition of military rule. Observed former U.S. Ambassador to Warsaw Richard Davies: "They want to get it settled no matter what the cost inside the country, so they can boast after one year of martial law, 'We have changed the conditions here, and now we are rebuilding.' "

Jaruzelski's advisers insist that the new law on unions is a major step toward national renewal and reform. Their professed goal is to establish strong, "independent" but nonpolitical unions that can serve as a check on the entrenched bureaucracy without opposing the state itself. But even Warsaw officials admit that they will have trouble persuading workers to accept the emasculated unions.

There are unofficial government estimates that only 10% to 20% of the work force will join the unions in the initial stages. In fact, a low turnout would work to the government's advantage by giving party activists at the factory level the chance to pack the unions with their own loyalists. Reflecting widespread public skepticism about the independence of the new unions, a Polish intellectual scoffs, "This law is tougher than the Stalinist union law of 1949. There is not a single hole in this net."

The government's latest move has left the Solidarity underground in a quandary. The banned union's five-man coordinating commission met secretly in Warsaw early last week and agreed to make an indirect appeal for a boycott of the new organizations, while advising against widespread strikes and street demonstrations. But Union Leader Wladislaw Frasyniuk of Wroclaw urged the group to call for some form of protest that would help him to restrain the hotheads in his increasingly volatile region. Returning to Wroclaw to confer with local activists, Frasyniuk was arrested on the stairway of his apartment building. He reportedly told the arresting officers, "You win this round." The church, meanwhile, seemed paralyzed in the face of the government's action. The Polish Primate, Archbishop Jozef Glemp of Warsaw, had long demanded the restoration of Solidarity. Last week, however, he offered the workers only the mild recommendation to "ask for Solidarity in another form." Glemp signaled his displeasure with the regime by canceling a scheduled meeting with Jaruzelski.

Earlier he had called off planned trips to Rome and the U.S., choosing to stay at home and help calm the situation if violence broke out. For the present, Jaruzelski seems to have won his gamble. But in the long run, the crushing of a group that enjoyed overwhelming public confidence may oblige the government to continue its rule by force. That, in turn, would aggravate Poland's economic woes and increase the danger of new upheavals. This same vicious cycle has toppled three Polish leaders in the past twelve years. Although he has bought some time, Jaruzelski has not yet won the support, let alone the trust, of his restive people. --By Thomas A. Sancton. Reported by Richard Hornik/Warsaw and Gregory H. Wierzynski/Washington

With reporting by Richard Hornik, Gregory H. Wierzynski

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.