Ballot Battle

By John Kohan

Was it victory or dissent?

Most of the midday voters at polling station 202 in the Warsaw industrial suburb of Ursus dutifully accepted the printed ballots listing the official slate of candidates and dropped them into the large white-and-red box without a moment's hesitation. But one elderly man insisted on his right to consider alternative choices, noting that "nobody buys a cat in a bag." As he stepped into the booth conspicuously provided for that purpose, amused polling officials heard him sarcastically exclaim as he marked his ballot, "What a surprise! They even provide pencils to cross out these names."

In another district of the Polish capital, a middle-aged woman was on her way to work when a plainclothes policeman stopped her on the street and asked why she was not walking in the direction of her voting station. Summoning up her courage, the woman told the policeman to stick to the business of keeping the peace, and kept on walking.

Poles registered their personal protests in many ways last week during the first elections held since martial law was declared in December 1981. Even so, most of the country appears to have participated in the voting for 7,040 regional and 103,388 local councils, despite calls for a boycott from leaders of Solidarity, the disbanded independent trade union. At a midnight press conference, jubilant government officials projected the total turnout at 75% of Poland's 26 million eligible voters. The regime had viewed the elections as a referendum on the leadership of Premier General Wojciech Jaruzelski, and he was quick to interpret the high turnout as proof that "the great majority of society" backed the government.

Disappointed Solidarity supporters charged that the authorities had inflated the figures by 10% to 15%. They claimed, for example, that at one polling station in the industrial city of Nowa Huta the turnout was a mere 10%. One Pole who was a definite no-show at his polling place was Solidarity's former elected leader, Lech Walesa. The mustachioed electrician who caught the world's attention during Poland's short-lived era of renewal went to morning Mass in Gdansk and then headed off to a favorite fishing hole. Walesa had told Poles that he would suspend his political activities unless they heeded the boycott. That vow prompted Jerzy Urban, the government's abrasive press spokesman, to say, "Go and ask him whether he will fulfill this pledge or if he will back out of it and make fools of you for the 100th time."

The official figure of 74.95%, if accurate, was impressive when compared with voter tallies in the U.S., but it fell far short of the 98.87% turnout recorded in the elections four years ago, just before Solidarity's birth. The voting appeared to be heaviest in rural districts, where villagers are generally more conservative and are dependent on the good will of local officials for allotments of fertilizer and farm equipment. In contrast, Lodz and Cracow, Poland's second-and third-largest cities, registered turnouts of only 64%. Poland's powerful Roman Catholic Church took no position for or against the boycott. Urban claimed last week that 38% of the clergy had gone to the polls and that five of 87 bishops cast ballots. When Polish journalists requested a picture of Primate Jozef Cardinal Glemp voting, the government-run photo agency said that none would be available because of the "lack of a photo opportunity."

Government officials acknowledged that elections would have to be held again in at least 85 of the nation's 23,214 districts, where less than half of all the eligible voters had cast ballots. "These are the citizens who maintain their skepticism of our actions," said Spokesman Urban. "The government knows that we still have to work for that trust and we declare the policy of the extended hand."

In an effort to close the Solidarity era once and for all, the government announced two weeks ago that four key union advisers, including Dissidents Jacek Kuron and Adam Michnik, would go on trial July 13. If they are convicted, as expected, the four face up to ten years in prison. So far, there has been no word about the fate of seven jailed Solidarity leaders or the nearly 600 other political prisoners still in detention. Church leaders have actively pressed for their release and have called upon the Jaruzelski regime to help create a "new social and political climate that would eliminate the sources of tension and repression." How the government responds will signal whether the "hand" that was extended last week is really open--or clenched. --By John Kohan. Reported by John Moody/Warsaw

With reporting by John Moody/Warsaw