In 1985, Czeslaw Milosz said in an interview, "The importance of the movement in Poland, of Solidarity, is that it is not just a Polish phenomenon. It exemplifies a basic issue of the twentieth century. Namely, resistance to the withering away of society and its domination by the state. In the Poland of Solidarity, owing to some historical forces, there was a kind of resurgence, or renaissance, of the society against the state.
Quite contrary to the predictions of Marx, this is the basic issue of the twentieth century. Instead of the withering away of the state, the state, like a crab, has eaten up all the substance of society. Destroying society, as a matter of fact. As a workers' movement, Solidarity resisted this. Whether various societies that have been conquered by the state will awaken in the future, I don't know. The movement in Poland presents a hopeful pattern."
Communism was the ultimate expression of state power, and it ate away and destroyed society, observed Milosz, but this sinister process also "exemplifies a basic issue of the twentieth century," meaning to one degree or another, it was a universal problem. It still is. With increased surveillance from the state, and its power to micromanage or interfere with nearly all aspects of our lives, we're entirely at the state's mercy. In the US, the government can prevent us from flying without explanation, and it can even summarily disappear or kill us. Typing a word, we must look over our shoulder.
Thirty-one years after Milosz' statement, is Poland still a promising bellwether? Seems like it traded one empire for another. Instead of being a Russian thorn against the West, it has become NATO's point man against Russia. It is lobbying to have foreign troops in its territory to deter against "Russian expansionism," though that would only increase the likelihood of such an aggression. To its disappointment, its effort to host American missiles fell through. It lost 74 soldiers in the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan, fourth highest among Uncle Sam's vassals.
On a recent, brief visit to three Polish towns near the German border, I saw quite a few signs of Poland's infatuation with the USA. In Luban, there's an Uncle Sam's Ice Cream, with the depicted vanilla and chocolate soft serve looking strangely like long screws. A clothing store displays a large image of Manhattan with a dozen taxis. There's a Manhattan Bistro. Luban's many one-room casinos also evoke that land of MTV and Hollywood fantasies, with Cafe Vegas showing a freeway and skyscrapers of" Los Angeles. "JACK HOT," "HOT FUN," "LUCKY SEVEN," "LUCKY SLOTS," "VIP ROOM," all these Polish casinos have American names. It's as if luck and America are the same, though of course you nearly always lose in these joints.
Decades of Communist destruction of society has left its marks in Poland. East Germany had the West to help it recover, but Poles had to catch up by themselves. As of 2014, its GNI per capita of $24,710 was roughly the same as Russia's and Hungary's, but behind the Czech Republic's $28,020 and just over half of Germany's $46,850. Crossing from Gorlitz into Zgorzelec, I could immediately see the differences between the two nations. The Polish buildings were in poorer shape, the shops were homelier and there were many fewer places to eat and drink. Almost none had a menu outside to attract clients. Even the service was different.
Spotting an inviting restaurant, I walked in to find a lady at a table. Since she barely looked up, I assumed she was a customer. I went to the counter to pick up a menu then peered into the kitchen to see an old woman, whom I waved at. I sat down. After about two minutes, the first lady stood up, turned around and said to me, "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" It turned out she was the waitress and cashier.
The place was more bar than restaurant. Middle aged men would walk in, order a tall draft of Okocim then drink at a table mostly in silence, though they all seemed to know each other. Sauntering in, a guy said hello to everyone and shook their hands. Seeing me, he shook my hand also. I had a plate of soothing pierogi filled with a pork paste for just $2.20. An honest bowl of tripe soup with bits of ham and vegetables set me back $1.90. The decors flaunted plastic chandeliers and velvet curtains with tassels and frills. On the walls were postcard-sized, mass-produced paintings of rustic scenes. It was kitschy all over, but worn and faded, like an old, affable prostitute. I like you, too. Dipping half a pierogi into sour cream, I felt very at home and comforted. On TV, there was a Turkish soap opera that was dubbed by a single male voice. Everyone sounded the same.
Along with Hungary, the Czech Republic and Slovakia, Poland is rejecting the European Union's mandate to accept thousands of Muslim refugees. With recent memories of having their societies deformed and suffocated by Soviet Russia, these central European nations know only too bitterly how precarious national identity and autonomy is. In 1985, Milan Kundera pointed out, "When it comes to the misfortune of nations, we must not forget the dimension of time. In a fascist, dictatorial state, everyone knows that it will end one day. Everyone looks to the end of the tunnel. In the empire to the east, the tunnel is without end. Without end, at least, from the point of view of a human life. This is why I don't like it when people compare Poland with, say, Chile. Yes, the torture, the suffering are the same. But the tunnels are of very different lengths. And this changes everything."
Citing this difference, Kundera reminded us that Communist European nations were subjugated by Russia, and that's why they couldn't terminate their misery organically, from the ground up. When the masses rebelled against dictatorship, like the East Germans did in 1953, the Hungarians in 1956 or the Czechs in 1968, the Russians brought in the tanks. Kundera also asserted, "For a thousand years, Czechoslovakia was part of the West. Today, it is part of the empire to the east." Like the Poles, their fellow Slavs, Czechs also see an affinity and allegiance with the West, not Russia.
Its owner is one of only two Vietnamese in town. Tran has lived in Europe for 30 years, with the first three in the Czech Republic, where he met his first Polish wife. Following her back to Zgorzelec, he survived by selling black market cigarettes, then clothes, and was locked up several times. Tran started cooking 20 years ago, and now has a spacious restaurant. On the wall was a common New Year's greeting. It translates as, "MUCH WEALTH MUCH LUCK."
Working seven days a week, Tran leaves the house at 7AM and doesn't return until 10PM. Married to his second Polish wife, he has six kids altogether, with three grown ones working in Leipzig, Germany. His 20-year-old has a job across the river, since German wages, averaging 2,183, are three times higher. Tran has two Polish employees.