Walesa Gets Tossed

By Thomas A. Sancton

Solidarity sticks with its leader, but his policies are attacked

If he lost, he warned, he might just wash his hands of the whole business and retire, perhaps to "write books and sign autographs." Three rivals were vying for his job, which was without parallel in the world: the chairmanship of the Communist bloc's only independent trade union, Solidarity, whose 892 delegates assembled in Gdansk last week for the second and decisive round of their national convention. As the campaign grew bitter, Lech Walesa was assailed for his "dictatorial" leadership style and his policy of seeking compromise with Warsaw's Communist bosses.

But there was far at stake than union job. A victory by one of the radicals might end all hope of peaceful cooperation between the union and the government. Even if Walesa won by a narrow margin, he could find it increasingly difficult to exert his authority over the restive and faction-ridden organization. Authorities in Warsaw and Moscow, already enraged by the provocative political demands of the initial Solidarity meeting early last month, were anxiously watching the results and calculating their moves. Indeed, on the eve of the vote, the Soviet news agency TASS ominously accused Solidarity of seeking to "dismantle the socialist system" and of "calling for fratricidal war" against the other East bloc nations.

In their final campaign speeches, Walesa's rivals became increasingly militant. Andrzej Gwiazda, 46, a leading Solidarity theoretician, complained that the union had "gone backward" by being too moderate. Marian Jurczyk, 46, a veteran labor activist from Szczecin, won enthusiastic applause with his attacks on government officials for threatening to use force to restrain disorder. By far the most inflammatory candidate was Jan Rulewski, 37, the local union chief from Bydgoszcz. He blasted the "imperialist policy of the Soviet Union," and implied that Poland had the right to withdraw from the Warsaw Pact. That audacious pronouncement drew a mixture of applause and startled gasps from the assembly.

When his turn came to speak, Walesa gave an uncharacteristically low-keyed address, calling for unity and warning that the union should not "trust too much in our own strength." His tepid performance caused some observers to wonder whether the leadership, against all expectations, might be taken from him.

But when the ballots were finally cast and counted at week's end, Walesa was the easy victor. The former electrician and strike leader polled 55.2% of the four-way vote. Jurczyk took 24%, thereby establishing himself as a rising power in the organization. Gwiazda got 9%, and Rulewski only 6%, a stinging rebuff of his confrontational style.

As cheers echoed through the cavernous convention hall, Walesa strode casually to the podium. Said he: "Over the past year, we have been learning democracy. Through this congress, we will be wiser because of the comments and policies made here." Someone thrust a bouquet of flowers into his right hand. With his left hand, he triumphantly held aloft a canvas bag containing the election ballots as the delegates sang a chorus of Sto Lat (May He Live a Hundred Years). The scene recalled an even more exuberant celebration three days earlier. In honor of Walesa's 38th birthday, a group of scouts had treated him to songs and flowers, and supporters had tossed the stocky union chief into the air.

Until his electoral victory, however, Walesa had little real cause for celebration last week. Ever since the first round of the union convention three weeks earlier, Polish authorities had been talking about a possible crackdown and the Soviets had been threatening economic reprisals, if not outright intervention, unless Solidarity curbed its political demands. Walesa and his allies needed to work out some kind of accommodation with the Communist government in Warsaw. In this setting, with the prime responsibility his, Walesa found himself under blistering attack by union members.

The grumbling had started on the eve of the conclave, when Walesa and three other members of the union's eleven-man presidium accepted a compromise plan for worker self-management without consulting the rank-and-file. The new plan, which would give workers a limited voice in choosing their own plant managers, fell short of initial sweeping demands for worker autonomy. Many of the delegates returned to Gdansk spoiling for a fight with their own leaders.

Early last week Gwiazda blasted the compromise as "a deplorable political mistake" and accused Solidarity's leadership of "no longer talking to the grass roots." Rulewski said that "this union was not created to make compromises, but to smash the totalitarian system in our country." Finally, by a vote of 348 to 189, the delegates reprimanded their leaders for "a violation of the principles of union democracy" because so few people had taken part in the decision. At week's end, however, the delegates overwhelmingly adopted a resolution accepting the new government laws on worker self-management, but called for a national referendum on amendments to the legislation.

Walesa fought hard last week to bring back under control the union he had worked so hard to build. On the second day of the Gdansk session, he grasped the white lectern with both hands and angrily replied to his critics. "Don't think I'm a fool, or that I am manipulated by the experts," he said, responding to charges that he depended too heavily on his advisers. Walesa berated the radicals for seeking "to destroy the Sejm [parliament] and government, take their place, and become more totalitarian than they are." He added: "This we cannot do--we must protect ourselves from ourselves."

While Walesa and his radical challengers continued to jockey for position, Economist Edward Lipinski, 93, made a dramatic announcement: the Committee for Social Self-Defense, the influential dissident group known by the acronym KOR, was disbanding. Founded in 1976 to aid workers arrested after food-price riots, KOR had served as Poland's main underground opposition force and laid much of the organizational groundwork for Solidarity. KOR members, such as Jacek Kuron and Ajdrzej Celinski, had become key advisers to the union leaders. Lipinski, one of the group's original 14 members, explained last week that Solidarity's very success had created "new conditions and new forces that operate more effectively than KOR could."

Lipinski did not stop there. He delivered a scathing attack on Poland's Communist leaders in a booming voice that belied his frail figure. Declaring himself a socialist since 1906, he said that Warsaw's bosses had given the country a "faulty" socialism and precipitated "an economic collapse unparalleled in the course of the past 100 or 200 years." Said Lipinski: "This socialism of waste, of prisons, censorship and police, has been destroying us for 30 years, as it is doing with some other nations. It is their socialism that is antisocialist and antirevolutionary."

Meanwhile, Solidarity was preparing a bold blueprint for political, social and economic reform that would cause even more conflict with the government. Among the 34 points of the union's draft program that must be approved before the convention adjourns: democratic reforms at all levels of management and local government; formation of a second parliamentary chamber representing self-managing bodies in industry and local government; union control over food distribution; an end to the government's monopoly over the press, radio and television; and an independent judiciary. The program also calls for protection for lower-income groups in the event of new price hikes. Last week the government announced 300% to 400% increases in food and fuel prices. The draft program was careful to acknowledge "our alliance with the U.S.S.R." and Poland's membership in the Communist bloc. But TASS blasted the proposed resolution as "a manifesto of a political party that claims leadership of society and the country."

Moscow's displeasure was only to be expected. But even Walesa was unhappy with many of the reform proposals under discussion in Gdansk. Between convention meetings last week, he told TIME that he planned to propose his own program to the union, one that would be "more reasonable and gradual than the draft program of the congress."

Whether his moderate policies would prevail in the final resolutions was the central issue, one that was closely watched by Moscow and Warsaw. As the Gdansk session headed into its second week, it was clear that Walesa would have to fight even harder to retain control. Said his wife Miroslawa, with undisguised apprehension: "There are so many people against him. He is a great symbol, but such symbols can fall and then what? People will say he is responsible for the problems in the country." --By Thomas A. Sancton. Reported by Richard Hornik/Gdansk

With reporting by Richard Hornik/Gdansk

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