Poland: The Ideals of Solidarity Remain

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Maciej Wierzynski, 45, was one of Poland's leading television personalities, the host of Studio Two, a popular Saturday-night mix of entertainment and conversation. Now, as he drives around Warsaw in his battered 1979 Zastawa, he is the city's best-known taxi driver.

On the morning of Dec. 13, 1981, Maciej turned on his radio to hear the announcement that martial law had been imposed. Within hours he, his pregnant wife Ewa and their son Grzegorz, 3, had moved to a relative's apartment. As an official of the Liberal Polish Journalists' Association, Maciej quickly realized that he was a candidate for internment. The police never came, even after the family returned to its own apartment following the birth of their second son. A few weeks later, while being interrogated during the "verification," or purge, of Polish television, one official even hinted that he could have his old job back. But Maciej and Ewa, 32, a feature writer for the respected weekly Kultura, had already decided that they were no longer interested in being journalists in Poland. Both of them had worked through the 1970s writing pieces filled with allusions and double meanings, trying to slip some truth past the censor. The 16 months of Solidarity's existence had been an exhilirating journalistic experience. Says Maciej: "It's hard for me to imagine working again like before August 1980."

Driving a taxi is a tough and demanding job, but, he says, "my car was the only investment I had." By working seven days a week, Maciej manages to equal his previous salary of roughly 24,000 zlotys ($279) a month. Ewa still receives maternity-leave benefits, and family members in the West help as well. The price increases of the past year make it difficult to maintain their previous standard of living. But, as Ewa says, "there really isn't anything to buy anyway."

Still, there are psychological rewards. Total strangers who see Maciej driving his cab come up to him and congratulate him for not collaborating with the regime. Former colleagues who have stayed in journalism try to excuse themselves by saying that they are working to change the system from within. "It is really rather pathetic," says Ewa, "because in the next breath they add that they have to do it to support their families." Nonetheless, Maciej and Ewa stress that neither of them feels morally superior because of the choice they have made.

The Solidarity era had offered some prospect of a better future. Says Ewa: "I would not have had another child if I hadn't thought there was reason for hope." The couple named their baby Lech.

Eugeniusz, 36, was a Solidarity member in a textile factory in Lodz, 85 miles southwest of Warsaw. Although he was not a union leader, the factory management tried to fire him last March because he would speak out against the plant's shoddy management. Eugeniusz, who does not want his last name to be used, kept his job thanks to a successful appeal, but the experience chastened him. "Everyone is unhappy with the situation here, but they remain silent because of fear," he says. "How can there be any kind of reform when people cannot speak out and the authorities will not listen?"