Seven months ago, while packing my suitcases and boarding a plane from Warsaw to New York, I did not suspect that my stay in the United States would be so permeated with the ever-present Polish problems. I knew, of course, that the August 1980 events and their consequences had stimulated a great interest in Polish affairs. I also knew that my individual biography might seem symbolic: after all, I was a participant in some of the most spectacular activities of Polish democratic opposition in the late seventies--KOR--Committee for the Defense of Workers--underground publishing, the "Flying University", etc. Moreover, right after August my case even became one of Solidarity's first victories. Due to pressure from the newly-formed union, I was triumphantly reinstated to my job at Poznan University. As such, I should have expected that "under Western eyes" I would seem sort of a living example of what has happened in Poland. However, in the back of my mind I nourished a hope that after my turbulent Polish years I finally would have an opportunity to stop being concerned with politics and to dedicate myself to things which better suit my temperament: say, research on the subtleties of Polish versification or some obscure Baroque poets.

No way. Even though I have always defined myself as a writer and critic, and by no means a specialist on political or economic matters, like many people in Eastern Europe, I became an "involuntary dissident" because of moral rather than political convictions. Here, I am still treated as an expert on Polish affairs and somebody who can predict Poland's future. True, I have seen with my own eyes all that happened; I even took part in it, just as hundreds and millions of my compatriots did. But mere participation does not give anybody the title of a specialist, and an eyewitness can not be called a clairvoyant. The only thing I can do during numberless conversations, discussions, quarrels etc. is to try to rectify some most obstinate misunderstandings, which reflect the enormous distance between the Western and Eastern ways of political thinking.

For there are some very obstinate misunderstandings. Among my Western interlocutors everybody agrees that the Polish events are of historical importance; some add that they have actually opened a new epoch in contemporary history. Almost everybody sympathizes with the Polish cause and maintains that the creation of Solidarity was probably the only possible way to change the decaying system in a peaceful manner. But at this point, the misunderstandings emerge. Sooner or later my Western interlocutor expresses the opinion that the whole things is very risky. Too risky, and that the Poles themselves do not understand it.

Well, with the possible exception of the last sentence, I am usually ready to accept this line of thinking. Yes, the movement is very risky indeed. First of all, it is unprecedented. Secondly, it endangers not only Poland, but the whole world's political balance (although here I have some doubts: is the contemporary world really so balanced? and is this kind of balance really so precious?). However, at this point I usually demand some concrete arguments upholding the thesis that "the Poles do not understand" the risk. And this is the response I usually get:

1. "The Poles risk so much, because they do not realize what the Soviets are up to."

Here the answer is relatively simple. How can a Western observer know better than a Pole what the Soviets are up to? All the past of Polish-Soviet relations is marked by violence and treason from the Soviet side. Of course, the official historiography keeps its mouth shut about that. But Polish people remember very well the massacre in Katyn forest, the deportations to Siberia, the betrayed Warsaw Uprising, the means by which Communist rule has been imposed on Poland since 1944. And they also remember three examples of Soviet "brotherly help": Hungary in 1956, Czechoslovakia in 1968, Afghanistan in 1980. Can anybody seriously maintain that the Poles underestimate the danger? Just the opposite: at a certain moment of their history Polish people simply understood that sooner of later they would also fall a victim to sovietization--which, enforced in either a violent or in a "peaceful" way, is the destiny of every country in the Soviet orbit. The only way to avoid sovietization was to stop being scared, to organize a collective self-defense against the injustice and lies that sooner or later would have led to a complete Soviet-modelled decomposition of Polish society. Naturally, there was a risk involved, but from a Polish point of view--expressed brilliantly in a joke: "You say they may invade us? Why, they're already here!"--the risk of spiritual surrender to sovietization was much greater.

2. "Solidarity demands more and more all the time: as soon as the government satisfies one of their demands, they make a new one."

Such an impression is typical of the Western mind. It results from an apparently obvious assumption: if the state authorities publicly promise something, they will at least try to keep their promise. As far as the Eastern Bloc is concerned, this is a serious mistake. One should not forget that in totalitarian countries the authorities are completely beyond anybody's control (except their own internal control, of course). Even if, quite exceptionally, they are forced by a threat of popular rebellion to sign an agreement with true representatives of the society, it does not guarantee that later they will feel obliged to honor their own commitments. On the contrary, they try to ignore the agreement, or at least to cheat their partner. The Western observers, excited about the August "social contract," fail to notice that not a single one of the agreements signed in Gdansk shipyard was fully observed by the government in the first year of Solidarity's existence. During that time Solidarity was reiterating earlier demands. The first demands that were really new were made only last month at Solidarity's first Congress: but it was perfectly natural to put them forward in a situation when the government's lack of cooperation (not to mention their deliberate campaign of lies in the mass media) endangered the very basis of the Polish reform. Who does not march forward, marches back: this proverb is particularly true in Communist countries, in which only the methods of faits accomplis and of constant pressure can be used by society in negotiations with such an unreliable partner as the government.

3. "Solidarity is not inclined to any compromise: if the government yields so much, why can't Solidarity be a little more flexible?"

This argument is based on exactly the same error as the previous one. In fact, it all depends on what you call a compromise. What the Communist authorities mean by a "compromise" is the acceptance of their terms: consequently, they repeatedly accuse Solidarity's leaders of "radicalism" and unreasonableness. The most amazing thing is the fact that the Western world sometimes believes this stuff, while it should rather realize that "compromise" and "middle course" are the very nature of a phenomenon called Solidarity. In other words, the compromise is represented by the very fact that people refrain from violently overthrowing their repressive government--a government which nobody elected and nobody accepts. But apart from this simple fact, the West seems also to forget that in certain matters there can be no compromise. There is no "middle course" in the matters of truth, justice, safety of each individual: hence the "unflexible" attitude of Solidarity in negotiations concerning, for instance, the new law on censorship or the issue of political prisoners. Solidarity makes a lot of tactical concessions anyway; but in some basic matters it simply must be firm.

4. "The Poles talk too much and too openly; they should do their business of reform, but at the same time they should restrain from debating the issues of freedom and democracy, in order not to irritate Soviets."

"Not to irritate Soviets" is an extremely difficult task: usually they get irritated by the slightest shade of disobedience. Naturally, they must be "irritated" by Polish events: it is obvious they would know what is going on in Poland even if the Poles refrained from "openly" discussing the reform of the system. Besides, it is impossible to separate, for instance, the reform of the economy from the reform of political life, or the debate on democracy from the debate on censorship. These things are closely linked and any suggestion that the Prague Spring of 1968 would have succeeded if only censorship had not been abolished is completely naive. When the whole body is infected, one can not limit treatment to only half of it: analogically, it is impossible to improve only one sector of public life--for example, economy--and at the same time "not to irritate Soviets" with other reforms.

These are the arguments I sometimes hear; I was lucky never to meet anyone who would use the favorite slogan of Soviet-sponsored propaganda: "instead of striking, the Poles should rather take to work." This explanation of Polish troubles is definitely too primitive to be accepted. Nevertheless, there are a great deal of misunderstandings, some of which I tried to analyze above. It strikes me that their common denominator is actually anxiety: anxiety that something might happen, which would not only end Poland's dream of freedom and democracy but also compel the Western world to assume at last an unhesitating stand. Will something like that happen?

Nobody knows, of course. But let us realize one simple thing. What happened in Poland is--so far--successful. And it is successful only because it demolished two foundations of a totalitarian state: fear (which ruins the structure of society) and lie (which ruins the hierarchy of values). There is another, equally important, foundation: brute force. But brute force can be efficient only when used together with fear and lie. When neither of them exists anymore; when violence can not be met by fear and justified by lie; even brute force is not able to suppress people's striving for freedom and justice.

Stanislaw Baranczak, Associate Professor of Slavic Languages and Literatures, arrived in Cambridge last spring after a long struggle to obtain an exit visa.