20th Anniversary Celebrations: High Noon in Poland

It went almost unnoticed. Quietly, simply, and not quite believing they were doing it, Poles walked into their polling places on this date, twenty years ago, and elected a non-Communist majority to their Parliament. They picked up pencils, marked ballots and left them for counting. Their bloodless, stealth revolution was all but lost in the horrific news of the day, the massacre in Tiananmen Square in Beijing. In fact, I googled "June 4, 1989" several months ago, just for fun, and had to scroll through over 300 entries before getting to a mention of Poland's first free election. Today, I tried again and got an election anniversary story within the first 125. There is no story about the anniversary in the New York Times. The Washington Post is covering it. Polish friends of mine report going to vote with a sense of hopefulness but still not expecting a decisive result, certainly not the outcome achieved. Solidarity candidates won 99 out of the 100 seats in the upper house, the Senate, and won all 161 of the contested seats in the Sejm, the lower house of Parliament. Round Table Talks earlier in the spring, between the Communist government and Solidarity, set up the election, and reserved two-thirds of the seats in the Sejm for members of the Communist party and its affiliates. Nevertheless, the election was an overwhelming victory for the Solidarity and anti-communist movement and set up the official changes that continued to amend the constitution, to omit the "leading role of the Communist party" and to set up a Solidarity led government, with a non-communist Prime Minister. Posters appeared all over Poland in the run-up to election day. Gary Cooper in High Noon, hands on hips, ready for a showdown, with a Solidarity banner, made it clear that the stakes were as high as they could be. Something had to give. And now. It did. "It all began in Poland..." The Iron Curtain came down later in the year. Events in Poland provided the impetus for the sweeping, historic changes, for the end of the ugly divide in Europe. Angela Merkel, who grew up in the former East Germany, spoke at today's celebrations in Krakow, and credited the Poles for the "decisive victory of democracy in Poland and finally in all of Eastern Europe." She expressed gratitude on behalf of the Germans for the Poles' "courageous stands," that led to the end of communism in her country as well. Vaclav Havel, the Czech playwright and leader of Czechoslovakia's "Velvet Revolution" later that year, also spoke at celebrations and praised the Polish leadership in the movement to bring down communist regimes and reunite a divided Europe. And George H. W. Bush, then President of the United States delivered a video greeting praising the Poles' "irrepressible spirit." It was high noon. The Polish people didn't blink. And that, in fairness, included the communist government. It was time. And they did what needed to be done. Historic, remarkable, and oh, what a gift to the world.

"Let's learn how to be cheerful"

It's true. Poles do need lessons in cheerfulness. Lech Walesa spoke today (3 June 2009) in the Polish Parliament and encouraged his compatriots to be cheerful and to "invite the society to be cheerful with us." Even as they celebrate today and tomorrow their 20 years of freedom, Poles are remarkably grumpy. In the same way that I confess to friends that, as a Swede, I am terminally nice, one of my good Polish friends laments that he is always irritable. Is it congenital? Who knows. Certainly their history gives reason to be almost permanently perturbed. If it wasn't one thing, it quite literally was another. They got it coming and going. I think I might understand this. How do you dare to relax, and be happy? The sky will surely fall in tomorrow. Or if not then, then the day after that. I do hope the Poles learn how to be cheerful. And it wouldn't hurt to start now. They did it! They did the unimaginable. They not only survived the Nazi's determination to wipe them out -- to wipe out not just the political state but the people themselves -- they strategized, got lucky, stuck with it and somehow managed to lead the way for all of Eastern Europe as it struggled to get free of the absurdities of Soviet Communism. Isn't that worthy of cheerfulness? I'd like to see my Polish friends go nuts today, get silly and even downright happy. To look up rather than always looking back, or over their shoulder. We've got vodka chilling and fresh strawberries and we're ready to party. Happy anniversary, friends, and cheer up!

Rubles? Who needs rubles?

The tiny white Polski Fiat with a lawn-mower motor putt-putted its way along the leafy lane and sputtered to a stop in front of the warehouse. Only then did we look at the gas gauge and see the needle hovering close to E. Neither of us said a word. It was one of the most humiliating ventures I'd ever been part of. Waiting in that prefab warehouse built with American money were soaps and meats and medicines, all sorts of necessities of life. My hard currency, American dollars, real money had been deposited into an account bearing my Polish friend's name. He could go in now and choose what he wanted, needed, had gone without for months, even years. My friend, a prominent and accomplished writer, with an earned doctorate and years of professional success, was thrilled beyond belief to find soap -- SOAP! -- and rice and tins of sardines. We left with good lean sausages, hams, some basic over-the-counter medicines like aspirin for his father, and probably even a few rolls of toilet paper, I don't quite remember. It was 1982. It was horrible. But wonderful. The Soviet-style and imposed, clunky economy in Poland in the 1980's failed. The country could not feed its people. "This is our last butter," he told me at dinner. And what he meant was, this is the end of the butter. For the month. Until I get more ration stamps. There is no more butter. At all. For two weeks. I stood one day in the market and cried. I wanted to buy bread. There wasn't any bread. Twenty years ago on Thursday, June 4, Poland voted for food. For bread. And butter. For dignity. Their money became real, convertible on the international market, useful. I read two articles today, June 2, 2009, from the Polish press, both from the same publication, Polityka. One is current. Poland is one of the three countries in the European Union with positive economic growth this year. They are struggling like the rest but surviving, holding their own. How ironic. The other article is from 1986. It laments Poland's debt crisis, even within the Soviet bloc. The Polish economy relied on the Russian ruble, and the community of other Socialist nations. I pasted a small part of it here, in translation... (The IBEC was the International Bank for Economic Cooperation, the Soviet bloc's financial connection to the 'outside' world and within its boundaries. CEMA referred to the community of Socialist nations within the Soviet bloc.) Here is an excerpt of an interview. [Question] "What credits has Poland obtained recently from IBEC and what is the role of the Bank in settling the Polish debt?" [Answer] "Because of the economic situation and particularly its complexity early in the 1980's, Poland was not able, and is still not able, to fully repay its indebtedness to its CEMA partners. Our bank assists importantly bygranting planned term credits to balance payments so that Poland's economict ies with its partners can develop normally. So that Polish import, which at the moment still exceeds export, can be paid for without hindrances. On anannual scale, credits for Poland make up 25 percent of the total sum of credits granted by us to CEMA countries. I would like to emphasize that recently, and especially this year, a favorable tendency has appeared, the tendency to reduce Poland's ruble debt to our bank. The basis of this tendency is the growth of export to CEMA countries due to the policy,conducted by the PZPR, of increasing Poland's share in the socialist international division of labor." Huh? That reads like ancient history now. It sounds like gobbledy-gook. To be honest, the response didn't exactly make any sense then either, despite the skill of the interviewer. How do you explain the inexplicable? These days, when I go to Poland, there are no humiliating trips to the warehouse. I buy all the butter I want, at the shop on the corner. (Don't tell my doctor.) The lawn-mower motors are saved for those machines used to cut grass. And the teeny tiny white Fiat has been replaced by a late model, sporty green Nissan with a gas tank that stays full. Happy anniversary, my friends! Ya done good!

Paging Dr. Nowatny

I spent the day today with a friend at the hospital. In less than ten years, a gazillion dollar state of the art medical center has grown up on the prairie near our home, with first-rate physicians and top notch medical care. My friend is gearing up for a new surgical procedure that makes use of technology and materials that have been created only in the last few years. We have got to the point of expecting, presuming to have this high standard of care. Of course, not all Americans can be so hopeful or confident. Or afford to pay. And this is a bad thing. We'd better get cracking and figure it out, soon. I can't imagine having to sit on the sidelines and watch, to see what is possible and not be able to touch it or get access to the life-saving surgeries, medicines, and treatments that are as close as the nearest hospital. It's infuriating, immoral, indecent. That's the way my Polish friends lived for a long time. On the outside looking in. So close, but not available. Medicine, food, homes, diapers, shoes. Socialism, Soviet style, didn't work. Life is not perfect now either, of course, but these same surgeries are as routine now in Warsaw as in Denver. I know a man in Warsaw who has the same kind of internal defibrillator - pacemaker as Dick Cheney. The hospital food is still terrible but the medical care is of the highest quality. When the Poles picked up their pencils on June 4, 1989, they set in motion the final phase of the revolution that changed their world and that of the rest of the Soviet bloc. I don't know if they were voting with pacemakers and CT scans and glucose monitors in mind, but these are just some of the benefits that have come along with the chaotic democracy and new economy. It's just not that far anymore, from here to there. Thank goodness.

Hide and Seek

Poland is part of Europe. But of course, you say. Just look at the map. There it is: Poland. Right smack in the center of Europe. As sixteen-year-old Annika says, “well, duh.” It’s there, all right, conveniently situated exactly where it has been for hundreds of years, stuck right there in the middle of the European continent, offering easy access to armies from east and west. Yes, indeed, that wide open field in the heart of Europe is Poland. Except for when it isn’t. Ah, there’s the rub. Poland isn’t always where it is. Or isn’t. Or was. Or wasn’t. Put simply, Poland has been hard to keep track of. Sometimes Poland wasn’t here. Or there. Or anywhere. There were times, whole centuries, in fact, when Poland went completely missing. Search any map. Look high and low, there is no trace. Poland is gone! Lost. You blink, you turn away for several decades and Poland has vanished. It simply isn’t there. Entire centuries, notably the 19th, passed without any evidence at all of a Polish nation on the map. It disappeared completely. Except that it didn’t. Turns out, Poland was there all along. Hiding. Or more to the point, hidden. Pushed underground, shrouded with obscurity, pounded down and then carved up into three pieces. The biggest chunk of Poland was hidden away within Russia. Another part in Germany. And the third was tucked neatly into Austria. Each of these three countries was determined to hide Poland most of all from itself. Formerly Polish citizens were forbidden from even seeing their own language, from speaking it, learning it and teaching Polish to their children. Poles were deprived of their own culture, history, and traditions; it was illegal to practice and celebrate ancient Polish customs. They were not allowed the basic rights of citizenship in any nation, including owning land and self-government. Ancient and rich Polish traditions of education, democracy, science, music and literature and other arts were hidden from the very cultivators of these precious treasures. Marie Curie, Frederick Chopin, and other brilliant Poles sadly realized they would have to find freer societies for their genius to flourish. For a time, these three partitioning powers tried vainly to disguise Poland, to make it look like another country altogether. Each attempted to dress it up as part of themselves, but the real Poland kept popping out. Even while Poland shared aspects of its identity, its ethnicity, religion and culture with all of these three usurping empires, Poland did not look convincing to outsiders, much less to itself, when fitted out as part of Austria, Russia or Germany. Ultimately, there was no hiding it. Whether disguised or hidden or hunkered down, Poland was unmistakably itself and eventually (after World War One) had to emerge from obscurity and oblivion. Poland also moved. Left, right, up, down, over, out and around, Poland, at least, was a moving target. It did and did not control the Baltic coast, then it did and didn’t again. It was and wasn’t east of the Bug River, west of the Oder, inclusive of Lithuania, Ukraine, parts of Slovakia. When Poland reappeared on the maps again at the end of World War I, its borders were not the same as they had been when it was cut apart, over a century earlier. And Poland at the end of World War II had still different borders, as if the entire land mass had taken two giant steps left (pun not intended, well, maybe, pun intended). The Soviet Union had taken for itself a big part of what had been Poland in the east, enlarging the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, and the victorious Allied powers had given Poland parts of what had been Germany in the west. People who had started the war in Germany, ended it – without moving – as Poles. Ironic, isn’t it. Vast numbers, however, of formerly German citizens were resettled westward, losing their lands, their homes, their livelihoods. Polish citizens in Lvov, if they survived at all, now found themselves with the dubious distinction of Soviet citizenship, although some Poles from the former eastern region, now in the USSR, were planted in these newly Polish areas in the west. Confused? Join the club. Which brings us to this. Poles have, from time to time, hidden themselves. Underground. Forbidden to be Polish, to teach or speak, to celebrate and carry on their own Polish customs, Poles of earlier eras took themselves to ground, doing whatever they could to speak and sing and read and teach, to practice their religion, to govern themselves and run their own affairs, tucked beneath the surface of things, away from the watchful eyes of their arrogant, ruthless official leaders. During the period of the partitions, under the Russian, Austrian, and German regimes, the Poles suffered terribly. At the same time, they cleverly outwitted and undermined their overlords. Children were taught in homes, in secret; they learned from an early age the cost of telling tales out of these clandestine schools. Higher education was carried out in what they called “flying schools,” or “flying universities,” a practice revived of necessity at points in the communist era of the 20th century. They operated without formal sanction but continued to provide not only an excellent education but also the various diplomas and certifications that prepared Poles for future service in the medical, legal, scientific and other professions, and in service of a once and future Polish nation. All of these earlier lessons served them well when, once again, in the 20th century during the brutal Nazi German occupation and again at critical times during the post-war Soviet-imposed Communist period. These flying universities and underground schools, press, businesses and professional activities, unions and even, to an extent, small self-governing civic units were reliable sources of social order and authentic Polish life. Poland was there, even when it wasn’t. Poland was on the map at the dawn of the 21st century. But, of course, you say? Consider this, Poland was missing, invisible, wiped off the map when the two previous centuries started. It seems safe now to draw these new, post-1945 borders in permanent ink but Poland, perhaps more than any other European country, teaches one to keep an eye on the horizon. Things change. They come. And go. For good, and for ill. One thing is for sure, nevertheless. Poland is stuck in the middle.

Leaping into history

Ready, set, GO! I landed in Poland just as Lech Walesa leapt over the shipyard fence and Solidarity was being born, in the late summer of 1980. No one yet dared to dream that within the decade communism would be done for. Gone. Kaput. And I had no idea that Polish history – and history-making – would become a life-long passion. I arrived in Poland, a graduate student, expecting to study history and ethics for several months in Warsaw, then return home enriched, but not completely transformed. Instead, I was hooked, fascinated and enthralled by the story of a people that lost everything, over and over again, yet managed to get up every time, again and again and again, to re-create their national culture and institutions and their personal lives out of literal mounds of rubble and ruin. And now they were about to risk everything to attempt it once more. How can you walk away from that? I found the Poles’ story compelling on a personal level, as well. My name, Erickson-Pearson, reveals my heritage as the daughter of Swedish immigrants, with not one drop of Polish blood in my veins, so this is not my story. Yet, on that first visit in 1980 and again over the years, and especially most recently, I discovered in the Polish experience many important parallels to my own. How to resist evil and survive betrayal? How to get back up again after deadly violence? How to deal with a difficult past? What to remember, what to forget? What to forgive, and when and how? How to rebuild, when to take risks? Whom to trust, and how much? How to tell the difficult and unwelcome truth, and when? How to stand up to bullies and indifference? On that first trip, I was stunned to discover the extent to which I could identify with and respect the Poles’ dilemmas and courage. My fascination with Polish life was fixed. “To choose what is difficult, all one’s days, as if it were easy; that is faith.” __W. H. Auden I inscribed the poet’s words as a caption to the photograph I’ve kept on my desk, of Polish friends who were never free of the burden to make consequential, agonizing decisions. Their cunning, cleverness, creativity and courage inspired me at work and in my personal life. How do you do that? I wondered and marveled at their resilience. Over time, I found Polish poets, artists, and writers who spoke with eloquence and power even more directly to my soul. No matter what else was supposed to be happening in Warsaw and the rest of Poland during the fall and winter of 1980-1981, the daring-do of a young electrician named Lech Walesa and his brave band of steel-workers, journalists, doctors, students, captivated everyone, as they stood toe-to-toe with the iron might of Soviet power. It was a seminal moment for Poland. Public impatience perfectly corresponded with the political maturity of the post-war generation’s anti-communist dissident leadership and the time was ripe for decisive action. Sympathy for the striking workers was almost universal and, for the first time in the communist era, serious support and active collaboration between the workers and intelligentsia created a perfectly unsettled situation, ripe for change. A propitious moment, indeed. The real problem, of course, was not in Poland but next to it. The times were as dangerous as they come. Earlier outbursts of frustration in Poland and in other Soviet satellites had been threatening to the Soviet Union’s aging, imperious and unimaginative leadership, and had been met with a violent response. One needs only to remember Budapest, 1956, and Prague, 1968, to know how disastrous it could be to challenge Soviet hegemony in Eastern Europe. But, in the late months of 1980 in Poland, the danger was more acute than ever before. The daily news featured two distinct, but absolutely related threads: what Solidarity said and did, and, ominously, what the Soviets were threatening. Polish citizens and visitors like me had to rely on sub-texts and rumors, street stories and underground news sources for most of the real information – about all sides. The heavily censored public press was thwarted in its efforts to describe Solidarity’s proposals and, more surprisingly, also in its presentation of the bellicose posturing of the Kremlin’s commissars and the paralyzed, scared-out-of-their-wits activity – or inactivity – of the Soviet-sponsored, Soviet-restricted Polish government. The looming question on everyone’s mind throughout the dizzying fall was not if, but when the Soviets would crack down and invade. It seemed as if the Kremlin was giving the Poles just enough rope to hang themselves. As the glorious autumn gave way to an early winter, speculation and fear about the imminent Soviet reaction rose to a fever pitch. More than half a million battle-ready Soviet soldiers paced impatiently on the Polish border, awaiting orders to invade, as I crossed the frontier from the USSR back into Poland on the frosty night of December 6, returning to Warsaw from a week’s study trip to Moscow and Leningrad. Forced to leave the train in the middle of the night, at Brest, the border station, I was stunned by the sight of troop transports and trains standing ready to take tanks and an overwhelming military force into Poland, an invasion force prepared to turn Poland into an armed camp, beaten into submission yet again. But that is not what happened. The troops stayed on the Russian side of the tracks, the “creeping revolution” continued and, a miserable nine years later, the Polish government was the first in Eastern Europe to hold free elections and shed its Soviet-style Socialist strait-jacket. Not that anyone noticed. When the Berlin Wall came down in November, 1989, twenty years ago, the world watched, transfixed as this enduring and imposing symbol of separation, desperation and despotism crumbled before our eyes, allowing the surge of stunned East Germans to rush through to freedom. Twenty years. It’s been twenty years since the Poles took up their pencils on June 4, 1989, and, ironically, on the very same day of the massacre in Tiananmen Square, in a much less dramatic and almost unreported scene, Polish voters quietly went to the polls to mark their ballots in the first free election in Soviet bloc history and elected its first non-communist government. The enduring impact of the Poles’ initiative is still evident every day throughout Eastern Europe, as the unimaginable occurred over the next few months and a peaceful, even “velvet” revolution changed history. The mighty Soviet Empire imploded. No tanks, no guns, and, most fearsome of all, no bombs. The Poles’ action – and the tacit sanction of the USSR and its remarkable leader, Mikhail Gorbachev -- emboldened East Germans, Czechs, Hungarians, and others throughout Eastern Europe, and even the citizens of the Soviet Union itself, especially in its western, Baltic republics of Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia, and by the end of that year, a new era had dawned. June of 1989. Twenty years. Twenty years of a free market economy, democracy, a free press, re-integration into the European mainstream, recovery from the stifling dictates of Soviet-imposed Communism. Twenty years of shoes, great shoes, Jimmy Choo’s, Manolo Blahniks, no less. Twenty years of fresh, top-grade beef. Twenty years, an entirely new generation, of forth-right public debate. Twenty years of vacation trips to the French Riviera, Hawaii, and Carnivale in Rio. Twenty years of chaos, deliriously normal chaos. Twenty years of freedom. And French fashions.

It all began in Poland. Yes, Poland.

Oh, for the love of Jonas. It has started. Already. We knew this would happen. But so soon? Poland truly is the Rodney Dangerfield of nations. It gets no respect. Let's do a quick history review. What popular movement took Poland -- and the entire Soviet bloc -- by storm, putting the fear of God (maybe even literally) in Kremlin leaders and setting the world on edge? Yes, that would be Solidarnosc. Solidarity. And it's charismatic leader's name, the one with the charming mustache, the Nobel Prize Laureate? That's right, Lech Walesa. And in what East European country were the first free elections held in June, 1989, resulting in the first non-Communist government in the Soviet-controlled bloc? Yes, again. Poland. Ah, so. Keeping all this in mind..... The European Commission has released a short, three-minute video commemorating this year's 20 year anniversary of the end of Communism in Eastern Europe. And guess who is virtually shut out? One more time, yep, it's Poland. The Poles have complained (they are good at this) and a spokesperson for the EC said, "If we find something from 1989 in Poland, we'll probably put that in." FIND something? Are you kidding? I walk past the gleaming white palace on Krakowskie Przedmiescie where a sullen soldier stands watch and two alabaster lions guard this site of the Round Table Talks, official meetings between Solidarity and Communist leaders in March of '89, during which the decisive elections were agreed to and planned, during which, for all practical purposes, the Communists gave up. This is where Communism ended. And at ballot boxes all over Poland. And later in summer, at the Parliament where a non-Communist Prime Minister was elected and charged with creating a new government. How about a glimpse or two of all that? And a tart sentence of commentary. Without the spring and summer of 1989 in Poland, and the power of Solidarity in the nine years preceding it, there would not have been Trabants tootering down the German roads or the crowds in Leipzig or, finally, the fall of the Berlin Wall on the 9th of November. How about the Gdansk shipyards in 1980 and Lech Walesa stirring up the workers? Even I have a photo of that, not that they are difficult to find. Show the Polish demonstrations, the strikes in that fall of 1980. I remember. We got off the tram at noon. It -- and everything else in the country -- stood still. Huge crowds defied the authorities and gathered to protest. And the Poles gathered by the millions to worship with the Pope when he returned to his homeland during those years. Perhaps that could be fit in. I know, I sound bitter. And it's not even my fight. I'm not Polish. But I care about the integrity of storytelling, of history, of getting it right. And I've come to deeply respect and hold great affection for the people of Poland. This time, the Poles have a motto that does set the tone for the year of celebration, remembrance and honor, "It all began in Poland." They're right.

Tag, you're it!

It's Saturday night in the suburbs. There's a mess of kids in the backyard, their expensive cars parked out in front. I just pulled in and junked up the landscape with my '97 minivan. I hear a lot of noise out there and it's all laughter, silliness, slipping and sliding and, no doubt, they're intimidating the heck out of the foxes cowering under the deck. I was invited to make a brief cameo appearance, and then uninvited, "mom, could you, like, go inside now?" Actually, it was more like an order, "go, bye bye." I like this, I like this very much. We are lucky beyond measure. Our high school daughters love to play silly games with their friends in the backyard. Or the family room. They're not out spending beaucoup bucks, or drinking, or being thugs. They are, at this moment, playing tag. These little things are the best parts of life. I'm closing my eyes to take it all in and record it in my mind, the sight of tie-dye shirts and redheads and plaid bermuda shorts and stripes and jeans and brown and blonde heads, and I'm listening intently to their goofy remarks and rowdy laughter, hoping to tuck it all away so I can still see them, still hear them long after they are all gone and I'm stuck away in a nursing home somewhere. Ooo, that's maudlin. Never mind. The shushing sound aspens make as they shimmer in the late sun, the true blue canopy of sky, the glint of silver leading a jet contrail, and the black and white blur of dog rushing around in the midst of the frenzy. Boys and girls voices, soft and loud, high and low, trills, fifteen teen-agers talking at once, more giggles, guffaws. "This way, no that, no this, over there, try that," and then it all dissolves -- again -- into laughter. Is this heaven? On this night I think, "I was made for this." This is what it's all about. Not the hokey pokey, not some bunch of titles and achievements, not the trophies and plaques and ribbons. But this. Not even the published titles for sale on Amazon or the bullet-points on a resume. This. This is what I was made for, to revel, to laugh, to love the life I'm part of. What a luxury! To be here, now, to listen and watch, and even -- when they let me -- to play with them! It worries me sometimes, do my Polish mom friends get times like this? Most don't have big grassy backyards that serve as volleyball and badminton courts, playing fields and dance floors (dancing in the grass, well it sort of works), and multi-purpose silly-making space. Do they get to listen in and watch as their kids have fun? I'm not saying my life is better or worse, just that it's right for me. This is the soundtrack I want, the life I want to watch flowing past. But it's very different from the way moms -- and dads, and kids -- live elsewhere. Living in suburbia is its own trippy experience and it's one I never expected, never planned. But here we are. Not in the city where, I imagine, there would be get togethers in a park, or downtown. More movies, concerts, museums. All good. All good. That is what I remember of nights like this in Warsaw, herds of teens laughing as they wander into the Square, spilling out of the theaters, sipping coffee at Cava. Whatever, wherever, the kids will find ways to have fun. But tonight I'm thinking about the moms. And dads. This life is especially well-suited to parental voyeurism and I'm glad. The soundtrack of my life includes lots of kid-noise and, boy, am I glad. I hope my friends Margaret and Elzbieta and Marcin and Jurek, parents all, get to enjoy it too.

Cape Town? No, Warsaw. Why Poland?

South African Airways flight 0207 took off about an hour ago for Dulles. I'm not on it. In fact, I've never been on a South African Airways flight. But it's not for a lack of trying. Thirty years ago I was bound and determined to take my anti-apartheid fervor to Cape Town and volunteer in the resistance movement. Do you know how expensive it is to fly to South Africa? And how poor I was, a graduate student, working part-time in a tiny, airless closet of a room at the hospital transcribing on a manual typewriter the information written on Emergency Room intake forms, illegible handwriting most of the time, listening all day to Bob and Betty on talk radio. No Cape Town for me. But soon, another option was presented. Poland. Poland? To be honest, I'd not given the country much thought. The Soviet Union, absolutely! East Germany, yes! But Poland. Hmmm. Frankly, it was the promise of getting to go to Moscow and Leningrad as part of the Polish study period that got me on a LOT Polish Airlines flight to Warsaw in the late summer of 1980. I wasn't sure I'd ever get excited about Poland but I was interested in Marxism and Soviet / Russian history and culture. And, importantly, the price was right! Well, as things turned out, Lech Walesa vaulted over the shipyard fence in Gdansk right about then and the unstoppable momentum and dizzying dangerous excitement of Solidarity got rolling and I was hooked. Still am. Those first months were exasperating and exhilarating and my new Polish friends joined me to their cause, their stories, their families, their improbable hopes. Let's set the record straight: the end of communism began in Poland. And now, twenty years later, I want to tell you about it. Yeah, yeah, everybody remembers the fall of the Berlin Wall. It was a huge moment for all of Europe. But, earlier, and unnoticed, as usual -- the poor Poles get no credit, in the Spring of that same year, 1989, Polish citizens made the first decisive move into the new epoch. June 4, 1989. The first free elections in the Soviet bloc. The Poles went to the polls (haha) and elected non-communist representatives to Parliament, winning every contested seat. The first non-communist government in Eastern Europe! That is when the wall came down. Poland's non-violent revolution (okay, Gorbachev, too) made possible the momentous events that followed: the hordes of Hungarians seeping through the borders into Austria, East Germans in tiny Trabants flooding the roads to freedom via Czechoslovakia, and then, as we know, the day, November 9, 1989, when the concrete wall itself was demolished. Unbelievable. But it happened. And now, my Polish friends' children have no memories of communism, of the way it was. Poland is part of the European Union and NATO, for god's sake. Starbucks is there. And every gourmet food you can imagine. I fly in and out with no more effort than if I were going from LA to Boston. Stay at the Sheraton if I'm flush, or in a modern apartment with eighty cable channels, a microwave, and high speed internet. And walk past the palm tree every single day. My daughter is on that flight from South Africa back to the States this morning. It is her life's dream she's pursued the past several months, ever since she was a regular, in her stroller, with me at the weekly anti-apartheid demonstrations at the South African Consulate in Chicago. The world is much smaller (and I am much richer) and I'm glad she's got her passion. Because I've still got mine: Poland. Where you'll find a palm tree at -- where else? -- the corner of Jerusalem Street and New World Avenue. Come with me and find out why Poland matters!

I am ambivalent about many things. But not about everything. In fact, I am not the least bit ambivalent about... Aspen leaves shimmering in the spring, cottonwoods leafing out with delicate, brilliant bursts of neon in the sparkling sunlight. Taquitos on the patio looking west, taking in the entire Front Range -- from Long's Peak and Mt. Ypsilon, the Snowy's, the Indian Peaks, and Mount Evans, south to Pike's Peak, over one hundred miles! Laughing, the more the better. Out of control hilarity is best. Foxlets pouncing and playing tag on the deck. Crisp, clean sentences and stories that carry me away. Poland's deserving spot in the light as the place that communism first went kaput, looking forward to the 20th anniversary on 4 June 2009 of the first free elections in the Soviet-bloc post WW II. Coffee in china cups at Cafe Blikle on Nowy Swiat, and not from the paper cup at Starbucks up the street. Plump grandmas in sensible shoes and stylish wool suits pushing the prams in Lazienki Park. Tween-age blond-haired girls roller-blading down the quiet lane, school bag over one shoulder, on the way home in Podkowa Lesna. Cherry blossoms. Apple blossoms. Forsythia. Honeysuckle. Lilacs. Grape hyacinth. Rich, dark dirt, furrows ready for planting. Speeding over mountain roads, chasing the sun through the Blue River Valley. Two black and white cows running -- running hard -- chasing a rabbit across a deep green hay field in northern Poland. The first ice-cold diet Pepsi of the day. Deliriously gorgeous turquoise Caribbean waters. Falling asleep to the click-clack on a speeding train rolling toward Paris. Kaia and Annika conniving to prank their mom. A just-right hair-cut. Frank Sinatra. ..... and so, so much more. What about you?

"Leafing greenly spirits of trees"

i thank you God

i thank you God for most this amazing

day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is Yes

(i who have died am alive again today

and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth

day of life and of love and of wings: and of the gay

great happening illimitably earth)

how should telling touching hearing seeing

breathing any --- lifted from the no

of all nothing --- humans merely being

doubt unimaginable you

(now the ears of my ears awake and

the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e.e.cummings

It's almost here and the signs are all around us. Leaping -- and leafing -- greenly spirits of trees! And today I went after them.

"i who have died am alive again today" so I crawled out from under the blankets and the dim safety of my tomb and took off for mountains and farms and canyons, and blood red sunsets.

I drove through three feet of snow along the Peak to Peak highway, saw aspens leafing out and hills covered in green pine, watched waterfalls cascade off the rocky cliffs, and drove down dirt roads past fields sprouting the first of spring's green. There was a blue dream of sky overhead and all the day through I found myself saying, "Yes."

How do you choose life?

Time to get out the boots

Time to find the muck boots. It's almost time for trampling. Trampling. It's not an easy image, not one I much care for. Too violent. It sounds like a capricious act, trampling everything in one's path, without discrimination. Sometimes, indeed, it happens that way. "Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death and upon those in the tombs bestowing life." I'm not much for religion these days. I spend my time among people for whom the church is a constant irritant, a source of pain and rejection and hurt. I respect their experiences and I'm not in any mood to try to talk them out of feeling anger and suspicion about the institution, as it is. But the story of this one who trampled down death by death is a compelling story, one I live with and by. I want it to live in me, to animate my comings and goings and thinkings and doings. So it's trampling time again. This Easter greeting from the Russian Orthodox Church inspires me all over again every spring. I've learned that the messy work of being kind and loving and doing justice and being merciful and gracious does, in fact, also involve some trampling. Trampling on the sensibilities of those who want order and to preserve power. Trampling on the impulses of avarice and greed, trampling down the deadly attitudes and deathly addictions that prompt me -- and others -- to hate and hoard, to look the other way, to fail to give and share and work hard for the basic human rights of others. Trampling on my fear of getting out of my little cocoon and moving back out into the world again, with humor and grace. So, it's not snow boots or ski boots (although I'd gladly strap those on one more time) or cowboy boots or even hiking boots I'm talking about. It's the muck boots. Those are the ones I imagine when Easter comes around. And I'll be out in the yard, trampling down those deadly and deathly impulses that live within and around me. The peeps and bunnies and dark chocolate rabbits will wait. I'm going trampling this week, getting ready. For new life. Maybe I'll see you out in the yard, too. There's muck enough for us all.

Give up?

I'm not giving up.

It is Lent. And even people who aren't particularly religious talk about what they are giving up for Lent. Ice cream, alcohol, shoe shopping.

I'm not giving up for Lent. That's right. I'm giving up giving up. For Lent. Forever.


The old old word that became Lent means "lengthening." There are lots of things in my life that need lengthening. And strengthening.

So I am adding rather than subtracting. Muscles. Discipline. Time to concentrate.

Some of us have already given up a lot. And not always by choice. In fact, I'm still grieving all that was stolen from me.

When so much has been taken, I honestly don't know what else I've got to give up.

I'm not giving up anything more.

Bring it on.