Firmness vs. Confusion

Jaruzelski cracks down in anticipation of the Pope's visit

It was a perfect day for fishing, so no one paid much attention when some of the faithful who crowded into St. John's Cathedral in Warsaw brought their rods, reels and tackle bags. As soon as the service was over, however, it became obvious that the worshipers were angling to annoy the government. From their satchels they produced large banners with the word SOLIDARITY stenciled in red paint, which they began to string from one fishing rod to another. As the banners appeared, hands shot up in the V-for-victory sign, and a shouting, cheering crowd set out to march through the narrow streets of Warsaw's Old Town.

The martial-law regime of General Wojciech Jaruzelski, eager to maintain order as it prepared for the visit of Pope John Paul II next month, was ready for trouble. Hundreds of helmeted riot policemen, each carrying a 24-inch white rubber baton filled with lead balls, had sealed off the area. They were supported by dozens of militia trucks, water cannons and armored personnel carriers. "Disperse!" boomed a shrill voice over a bullhorn. Shortly thereafter, the police attacked the crowd. Militiamen struck indiscriminately, beating an old woman with their sticks and kicking a plump man in work pants who had been knocked down in the melee. Some demonstrators tried to escape into the church. Others were forced into Market Square, where they were doused with ink-blue water fired by water cannons. The blue water had a double purpose: to damage the clothing of the demonstrators and to single them out for later identification and punishment.

The government's response underscored a harsh reality for supporters of Solidarity: the banned movement has never recovered from the beating it took a year ago, when militiamen first began to crack down on demonstrators. In the meantime, the government has been quietly encouraging thousands of former union activists to leave Poland for the West. Since last July, the U.S. has felt obliged to admit about 1,200 former internees and their families for humanitarian reasons.

Even the preparations for last week's May Day demonstrations showed the degree of Solidarity's weakness and confusion. A clandestine radio station, identifying itself as Radio Solidarity, called on Poles to stay home on May Day. "Smiles of pity from the windows," it said, should serve to chastise the government and its supporters. But nobody knew if the message was really from Solidarity or was a government-inspired fraud.

In all, according to the Polish government, there had been demonstrations in 20 cities. About 1,000 people were detained, although most were released within 48 hours. Only one person died: a printshop worker whose body was found outside a restaurant in downtown Nowa Huta, a mile from the site of the nearest demonstrations. A second round of protests, two days later, was broken up by police and militiamen with equal ease. In a particularly brutal incident, "hooligans" believed to have been recruited by the secret police invaded St. Martin's Church in Warsaw and beat up a number of volunteer workers who were serving on a committee to help the city's unemployed.

The Jaruzelski government, mindful of the Pope's impending visit, was making few concessions. Officials confirmed last week that the Pope had asked them to grant amnesty to all political prisoners before his arrival on June 16. The government refused, on the ground that this would not be "beneficial to public order." At week's end police seized former Solidarity Leader Lech Walesa and several aides in Warsaw. The "charge": meeting secretly with other members of the banned labor union and attempting to draft a letter to the Polish parliament. Police promptly drove Walesa to his home in Gdansk, 220 miles away, where they increased the security around his apartment and prevented him from making phone calls. . This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.