While in Budapest, Fred and I became better acquainted with everyone on the trip. I guess you could say that all of us got better acquainted with each other. But it was on this particular flight that I got better acquainted with John B. and George B. We all sat in the first class section of our Pan-Am flight to Florida, and John B. and I talked the whole way home.
We left in the morning, and arrived around 2:00PM that same afternoon (chasing the sun). John told me about his meat-packing company, and about his family. Some of it was very touching, and so I won’t divulge such private matters in this blog. But there is one thing he spoke of that has since been reported in the news, so I’ll touch on some of it – because it is such a Forrest Gump thing.
Before this point in time, John was suffering from depression brought on by his business falling off and his family-life faltering. So he had determined that he would take a break by taking his boat (it had a crew, so it was probably more like a yacht) out in the ocean to stay for awhile and drink – just to get away from it all. So according to plan, he took off from where he lived in Florida, sailed away for awhile, then chose a spot to drop anchor and sit.
He was in the territory of the Bahamas’ when he ordered the anchor dropped. He got an alert from the crewman who dropped the anchor to come take a look. Curiously, the anchor certainly didn’t go down very far for how far out to see they were. So he had a diver go over the side to see what the anchor had hit. Wouldn’t you know it! The anchor had struck a portion of a sunken Spanish ship – possibly an old Galleon (the kind that carried gold).
Now John was completely cheered up, and had a new purpose to his life! Because he was one of the ones who had taken President Bush out on his fishing trips of late, he was politically very well connected, including with the Bahamian government. So his plan he told me, was when he got back from Poland, he would solicit the Bahamians to lease this portion of the ocean (since it was in their territory), to explore this find. He suspected it was the ship that had reportedly sunk with 9 billion dollars worth of doubloons on board – so he couldn’t exactly tell them WHY he needed the lease, but would be more general about his petition in order to get an exploration grid over the sunken ship.
Of course, many years have gone by since this flight home, and I did receive some faxes from John stating what he was up to in the context of underwater exploration. And when I went back to Poland, I did some negotiations with the Gdansk Maritime Museum curators for John on the possibilities of exploring the Baltic Sea and river that emptied into it where Nazi treasure was suspected to be sunk.
All of this was such an interesting way to pass the time on the long flight, but the very best part was getting to know John. He was just such a wonderful, friendly, intelligent man. It was a privilege to know him as a friend and watch him in the next couple of years go from the brink of his life changing forever, to living the life he had wanted all along.
Where was Fred on this flight? Fred was where he always was on every flight I ever took with him. He was off talking to the flight attendants, the general passengers, and the rest of our trade mission group. When not bothering everyone around him, he was reading the newspaper. I never traveled with Fred where we ever carried on a conversation. We didn’t really have a lot to say to each other. Fred preferred to do squats in the isle so he could be the center of attention (he never exercised a day when he was on the ground), or to read the paper. On this flight however, I hardly knew he was around, because my interest was truly engaged with the stories of sunken treasure and exploration.
I don’t remember anything about Studibert and Frank. I’m sure they were on the same flight with us because only a few months later, Studibert began to formulate a plan he was certain would utterly destroy me that had been sparked by this chat on the plane with John. It took me a long time to figure out why he would even bother with such a plan, but it would became annoyingly apparent all too soon.
In the end, the flight was too short, and as we went our separate ways, we all vowed to stay in touch, and do what we could to coordinate our efforts to benefit the people we met in Poland. And so we did for awhile.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
BUDAPEST
Our plans took us to Budapest, Hungary. Here we were able to observe the first free elections in over 45 years (technically the first free election in over 1100 years, the election in 1945 was overthrown to put the communists into power). We boarded the Hungarian airline, and were terrified to notice some glaring differences between flying on an American/European aircraft and the iron-curtain variety. First of all, there were no overhead “bins,” just shelves to put all our heavy stuff on. No one cared if our tables were in their upright and locked positions. In fact, the “tables” where perfectly cut plywood rectangles that folded in half on brass hinges. You could poke a knee out on these 90 degree weapons just getting in and out of your seat!
We were all picked up at the airport by a bus, and our guide for the duration was a young man name “Gabor,” (as in “Eva!”). He pointed out the Danube river (pronounced daNOOB in Hungarian), and we crossed from the Buda to the Pest side where we settled into our hotel. Here I have to stop for a minute and state for the record that the Poles had good food, but the Hungarians had the best food in the world – no matter where we went or what we ate – it was simply the best food ever! I could happily gain 200 lbs if ever I stayed there for more than a couple of days – and it would be worth every ounce.
At one little restaurant, we were treated with the gypsy violin player, and then the Transylvanians sitting next to us began to sing their anthem of independence (which they desired from Hungary). In the communist days, many otherwise separate countries were forced to behave as one, and with the break up of the Soviet Union, all the otherwise separate nations wanted to resume their historical separations. This would cause many problems, particularly in Yugoslavia.
Also, here in Hungary, the mission seemed to break down. Frank and Studibert had not fixed our agenda except for shopping and dinning. However, we did observe the elections, and watched the results in the U.S. Embassy. But there was a problem getting into the Embassy – and I would find out later why Studiber himself was probably source of that problem.
We ran into Walter Mondale. He was there to observe the elections as well (I wondered what had happened to him?). We witnessed masses of people streaming into the polling places. Old men escorting their even older fathers to cast their secret ballots. Where a citizen was too infirmed to vote, the ballot box was taken to them by one of the election officials. We followed one of these boxes with our cameras, and have on video tape the account of an elderly woman filling out her ballot. When she had completed it, she carefully folded it into quarters and held it above the box and pronounced these words in Hungarian: “I am casting this vote for my sister, who was murdered by the Russian tanks in 1956,” and she cast her paper with that precious vote -- bought with innocent blood -- into the ballot box (I never miss voting in any election, no matter how insignificant it may seem).
We were all picked up at the airport by a bus, and our guide for the duration was a young man name “Gabor,” (as in “Eva!”). He pointed out the Danube river (pronounced daNOOB in Hungarian), and we crossed from the Buda to the Pest side where we settled into our hotel. Here I have to stop for a minute and state for the record that the Poles had good food, but the Hungarians had the best food in the world – no matter where we went or what we ate – it was simply the best food ever! I could happily gain 200 lbs if ever I stayed there for more than a couple of days – and it would be worth every ounce.
At one little restaurant, we were treated with the gypsy violin player, and then the Transylvanians sitting next to us began to sing their anthem of independence (which they desired from Hungary). In the communist days, many otherwise separate countries were forced to behave as one, and with the break up of the Soviet Union, all the otherwise separate nations wanted to resume their historical separations. This would cause many problems, particularly in Yugoslavia.
Also, here in Hungary, the mission seemed to break down. Frank and Studibert had not fixed our agenda except for shopping and dinning. However, we did observe the elections, and watched the results in the U.S. Embassy. But there was a problem getting into the Embassy – and I would find out later why Studiber himself was probably source of that problem.
We ran into Walter Mondale. He was there to observe the elections as well (I wondered what had happened to him?). We witnessed masses of people streaming into the polling places. Old men escorting their even older fathers to cast their secret ballots. Where a citizen was too infirmed to vote, the ballot box was taken to them by one of the election officials. We followed one of these boxes with our cameras, and have on video tape the account of an elderly woman filling out her ballot. When she had completed it, she carefully folded it into quarters and held it above the box and pronounced these words in Hungarian: “I am casting this vote for my sister, who was murdered by the Russian tanks in 1956,” and she cast her paper with that precious vote -- bought with innocent blood -- into the ballot box (I never miss voting in any election, no matter how insignificant it may seem).
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
ENTERPRISE IN GDANSK
While still in Gdansk, we met with more of the movers and shakers from Solidarity that afternoon. Solidarity Liberal Democratic Congress spoke with us in their broken English, dressed in their very best sweaters and patched jackets. They told of how anxious they were to be free-market businessmen, but were not sure where to start. Everyone of the American businessmen in that room had tears in their eyes by the end of the presentation. Free enterprise was so simple and easy, yet these men who had brought down a tyrannical regime were pleading to know the secrets of free markets. Of course we told them all our "free-enterprise" secrets: Manufacture and/or sell a product/service people want/need at a competitive price through a strong distribution channel -- too easy, huh?
We figured out ways we could help them (i.e. exportable computer technology), and exchanged contact information. We had accomplished something worthwhile that day, and were inspired to continue helping these people long after we were back home in our luxurious comfort.
We paid our respects at the Gdansk (formerly Lenin) shipyard memorial the next day, by laying a wreath and bouquets of flowers at the base of the monument. Our appreciation of what it meant to be in Solidarity was increased as the guards at the gate showed us that brass marker where the striker had been pinned and crushed to death against the iron gate during the 1970 tri-city, shipyard strike. Three anchors representing crosses mounted in a mixture of cement, asphalt and embedded rocks, sticks and bits of glass from thrown bottles that told the story of the massacre of the 19t0 strike.
Like the Berlin Wall, the 19t0 strike was tragically ironic. If communism was a “workers’ state,” and unions in the United States had been considered communist in origin – why would any workers’ strike in a communist country result in a bloody massacre? This was a question that Anna Walentynowicz asked after 19t0. The question had no answer, so she left the communist party and became part of the opposition, in search of the truth.
Joanna Wojciechowicz recounted to me how the whole shipyard went out on strike in 1980 in protest over Anna’s firing, and that no concessions in wages would bring them back, until she was reinstated. With the same authority as the well-known, Lech Walesa, Anna -- a crane operator -- was victorious over the tyranny of the government, as the government not only re-instated her, but with the encouragement of Alina Pienkowska (a nurse in the shipyard infirmary); the backing of other unions (to form Solidarity); and with Joanna orgainizing all of Gdansk to support the strikers (bakeries to provide bread; collected blankets, food, water, etc.); the 1980 strike continued until the communist government gave in to the 21 demands of the strikers.
We bought a make-shift Solidarity flag from the guards at the gate, and posed for a group picture on this freezing March day. We then began our Solidarity Pin collection by visiting St. Brigita’s cathedral. Here, the Priest Jankowski, had helped hide members of Solidarity during Martial Law (1981 to 1983), and I was able to meet him in subsequent visits to Poland.
Later that evening, we headed back to Warsaw where we met with Ambassador John Davis. This diplomat was instrumental in helping the Intellectual father of free Poland, Jacek Kuron, marry the idea of the intelligentsia and the workers in unity against The Big Lie (communism). This was the turning point in the history of Polish-worker strikes under communist rule. It wasn’t until the Intelligentsia were able to support the workers’ and student strikes that they had any impact on the communist hard-liners. Ambassador Davis attended as many of the court sessions as he could to witness the illegal proceedings of the Solidarity leaders’ trials and sentences. He wanted to make sure there was a representation from the United States as witness to the illegality of these proceedings.
We were sad to leave Poland, but our journey was not over. We were headed for Hungary as observers of the pending free election.
We figured out ways we could help them (i.e. exportable computer technology), and exchanged contact information. We had accomplished something worthwhile that day, and were inspired to continue helping these people long after we were back home in our luxurious comfort.
We paid our respects at the Gdansk (formerly Lenin) shipyard memorial the next day, by laying a wreath and bouquets of flowers at the base of the monument. Our appreciation of what it meant to be in Solidarity was increased as the guards at the gate showed us that brass marker where the striker had been pinned and crushed to death against the iron gate during the 1970 tri-city, shipyard strike. Three anchors representing crosses mounted in a mixture of cement, asphalt and embedded rocks, sticks and bits of glass from thrown bottles that told the story of the massacre of the 19t0 strike.
Like the Berlin Wall, the 19t0 strike was tragically ironic. If communism was a “workers’ state,” and unions in the United States had been considered communist in origin – why would any workers’ strike in a communist country result in a bloody massacre? This was a question that Anna Walentynowicz asked after 19t0. The question had no answer, so she left the communist party and became part of the opposition, in search of the truth.
Joanna Wojciechowicz recounted to me how the whole shipyard went out on strike in 1980 in protest over Anna’s firing, and that no concessions in wages would bring them back, until she was reinstated. With the same authority as the well-known, Lech Walesa, Anna -- a crane operator -- was victorious over the tyranny of the government, as the government not only re-instated her, but with the encouragement of Alina Pienkowska (a nurse in the shipyard infirmary); the backing of other unions (to form Solidarity); and with Joanna orgainizing all of Gdansk to support the strikers (bakeries to provide bread; collected blankets, food, water, etc.); the 1980 strike continued until the communist government gave in to the 21 demands of the strikers.
We bought a make-shift Solidarity flag from the guards at the gate, and posed for a group picture on this freezing March day. We then began our Solidarity Pin collection by visiting St. Brigita’s cathedral. Here, the Priest Jankowski, had helped hide members of Solidarity during Martial Law (1981 to 1983), and I was able to meet him in subsequent visits to Poland.
Later that evening, we headed back to Warsaw where we met with Ambassador John Davis. This diplomat was instrumental in helping the Intellectual father of free Poland, Jacek Kuron, marry the idea of the intelligentsia and the workers in unity against The Big Lie (communism). This was the turning point in the history of Polish-worker strikes under communist rule. It wasn’t until the Intelligentsia were able to support the workers’ and student strikes that they had any impact on the communist hard-liners. Ambassador Davis attended as many of the court sessions as he could to witness the illegal proceedings of the Solidarity leaders’ trials and sentences. He wanted to make sure there was a representation from the United States as witness to the illegality of these proceedings.
We were sad to leave Poland, but our journey was not over. We were headed for Hungary as observers of the pending free election.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
HOW GUN CONTROL WORKED FOR POLAND
Throughout Polish history, the Poles had been marched over and through; partitioned, oppressed, worked to death, and summarily abused in the worst ways by almost every country around them, including Germany, Russia, Hungary, and Prussia. However – all of the tortures and murders they endured were always by someone from another country – up until WWII.
In 1970, it wasn’t the Russians who picked off the shipyard strikers, it wasn’t the Russian army driving the tanks over the workers; and it wasn’t the Russians who fired into the panicking people on the streets from the buildings and helicopters. It was the Polish Zomo police. It was Poles killing Poles. For Poland – even more so than for the U.S. -- being at war with fellow Poles could not have been imagined in a million eons. The Poles are 99% homogeneous. Unlike the “melting pot" of the United States, they are all the same people, and they have always stood together in the face of annihilation. But not this time. This time, their own people on whom the citizens had always relied on for defense, had turned their weapons from the outside enemy on to their own people.
Gun control in a communist country (or even a Nazi-occupied country) was utter and complete. No one but the army had a gun: there was no such thing as the common man hunting or target practicing. So here were the ordinary workers, in a workers’ state, striking for higher wages so that they could afford food to feed their starving families. They were met with guns, and forced to fight back with bottles, bricks, sticks, stones – anything that their arms could hurl.
I know for a fact that the Polish people at this time, and any other oppressive time in their history would have wept to be able read these words from their governement:
"Before a standing army can rule, the people must be disarmed; as they are in almost every kingdom in Europe. The supreme power in America cannot enforce unjust laws by the sword; because the whole body of the people are armed, and constitute a force superior to any band of regular troops that can be, on any pretence, raised in the United States. A military force, at the command of Congress, can execute no laws, but such as the people perceive to be just and constitutional; for they will possess the power, and jealousy will instantly inspire the inclination, to resist the execution of a law which appears to them unjust and oppressive."
---Noah Webster, An Examination of the Leading Principles of the Federal Constitution (Philadelphia 1787).
"To suppose arms in the hands of citizens, to be used at individual discretion, except in private self-defense, or by partial orders of towns, countries or districts of a state, is to demolish every constitution, and lay the laws prostrate, so that liberty can be enjoyed by no man; it is a dissolution of the government. The fundamental law of the militia is, that it be created, directed and commanded by the laws, and ever for the support of the laws."
---John Adams, A Defence of the Constitutions of the United States 475 (1787-1788)
"They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety."
---Benjamin Franklin, Historical Review of Pennsylvania, 1759.
"To model our political system upon speculations of lasting tranquility, is to calculate on the weaker springs of the human character."
---Alexander Hamilton
(these and other quotes can be found at http://www.guncite.com/gc2ndfqu.html )
The Poles idealized and fantasized about owning guns to enforce their personal safety, and looked to the United States as the exemplary icon for just such a dream.
At a later time, I brought with me a university professor who’s specialty was Social Economics. When Solidarity found out he owned 10 guns, he became an instant hero, and famously worshipped wherever he went.
The Solidarity logo is only enhanced by the poster of the cowboy from High Noon (Gary Cooper) as the icon of the whole movement. Solidarity thought of itself as the cowboys of Europe – I thought of them as the bravest, smartest people of their generation (http://www.contemporaryposters.com/category.php?Category_ID=143).
Gun control did not work out too well for the working people of Poland.
In 1970, it wasn’t the Russians who picked off the shipyard strikers, it wasn’t the Russian army driving the tanks over the workers; and it wasn’t the Russians who fired into the panicking people on the streets from the buildings and helicopters. It was the Polish Zomo police. It was Poles killing Poles. For Poland – even more so than for the U.S. -- being at war with fellow Poles could not have been imagined in a million eons. The Poles are 99% homogeneous. Unlike the “melting pot" of the United States, they are all the same people, and they have always stood together in the face of annihilation. But not this time. This time, their own people on whom the citizens had always relied on for defense, had turned their weapons from the outside enemy on to their own people.
Gun control in a communist country (or even a Nazi-occupied country) was utter and complete. No one but the army had a gun: there was no such thing as the common man hunting or target practicing. So here were the ordinary workers, in a workers’ state, striking for higher wages so that they could afford food to feed their starving families. They were met with guns, and forced to fight back with bottles, bricks, sticks, stones – anything that their arms could hurl.
I know for a fact that the Polish people at this time, and any other oppressive time in their history would have wept to be able read these words from their governement:
"Before a standing army can rule, the people must be disarmed; as they are in almost every kingdom in Europe. The supreme power in America cannot enforce unjust laws by the sword; because the whole body of the people are armed, and constitute a force superior to any band of regular troops that can be, on any pretence, raised in the United States. A military force, at the command of Congress, can execute no laws, but such as the people perceive to be just and constitutional; for they will possess the power, and jealousy will instantly inspire the inclination, to resist the execution of a law which appears to them unjust and oppressive."
---Noah Webster, An Examination of the Leading Principles of the Federal Constitution (Philadelphia 1787).
"To suppose arms in the hands of citizens, to be used at individual discretion, except in private self-defense, or by partial orders of towns, countries or districts of a state, is to demolish every constitution, and lay the laws prostrate, so that liberty can be enjoyed by no man; it is a dissolution of the government. The fundamental law of the militia is, that it be created, directed and commanded by the laws, and ever for the support of the laws."
---John Adams, A Defence of the Constitutions of the United States 475 (1787-1788)
"They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety."
---Benjamin Franklin, Historical Review of Pennsylvania, 1759.
"To model our political system upon speculations of lasting tranquility, is to calculate on the weaker springs of the human character."
---Alexander Hamilton
(these and other quotes can be found at http://www.guncite.com/gc2ndfqu.html )
The Poles idealized and fantasized about owning guns to enforce their personal safety, and looked to the United States as the exemplary icon for just such a dream.
At a later time, I brought with me a university professor who’s specialty was Social Economics. When Solidarity found out he owned 10 guns, he became an instant hero, and famously worshipped wherever he went.
The Solidarity logo is only enhanced by the poster of the cowboy from High Noon (Gary Cooper) as the icon of the whole movement. Solidarity thought of itself as the cowboys of Europe – I thought of them as the bravest, smartest people of their generation (http://www.contemporaryposters.com/category.php?Category_ID=143).
Gun control did not work out too well for the working people of Poland.
ZOMO AND 1970
At the very immediate time after the communist collapse, the number one topic of conversation in this room, even before business, was everyone’s encounters with the Zomo (Polish secret police). It would emerge as the dominant theme as I met more and more members of Solidarity. Joanna Wojciechowicz was someone I met in Seattle after I had stopped traveling to Poland, but her account of the Zomo clearly defined who they were and will live in my mind and heart forever:
Joanna was an architect who worked for the city of Gdansk in the 1970’s. In other words, she worked for the government. December 14, 1970 was like any other cold day in communist Gdansk. She made her way to the bus which would bring her from her apartment that she shared with her son, (Mihou) and her abusive husband. Just trying to live life in communist Gdansk was very hard. I have a letter Joanna wrote to a friend describing how exhausting just eking out a living through the maze of rules and laws and lack of goods and resources had become: One time, during martial law, when a visiting Senator from the U.S. had come to Gdansk (she thought it had been Senator Hatch from Utah), she had shared the last of her bread with him, spread with lard and cut so thin that the lard made it seem transparent. This was all she had left, and didn’t know where she would get any more. But this was a typical condition from the time she could remember.
That December day, however, she finally got to work a little late. Once again, the electricity was out, which meant there were no lights, and more importantly, no elevator (a government building), and her office was on the top floor of the 5-story building. She climbed to the top just in time to see everyone looking out the windows. Her office overlooked the Lenin Shipyard, and everyone was there, watching the workers going on strike behind the gates. They were striking -- again -- for higher wages so they could afford meat. This was a useless effort, because as soon as everyone could afford meat, they'd buy up all the meat in Poland, and then there would be a shortage (supply) of meat, which would drive up the price of meat (demand), and everyone would be right back at this same point -- preparing to strike for higher wages so they could afford meat. She joined in looking out the windows with her co-workers out of curiosity, but then something unbelievable happened.
The workers opened the gates and began to march down the street with their signs and their chants. As she watched them parade by, she noticed one of the workers grab his upper arm, spin about, and collapse on the ground. Almost immediately, another worker seemed to fall back and down. Another grabbed his shoulder and hit the ground. It suddenly, and horrifyingly occurred to Joanna that these workers were being shot as they marched through the streets. Panic ensued, and all hell broke loose with tanks, helicopters, and the crack of gunfire.
Joanna’s desire was to get down to the street and help these wounded men immediately! As she ran down the stairs, she noticed one floor where their were helmeted figures crouched at a window. It was the Zomo: snipers who were picking the workers off one by one. This was why the electricity didn’t work! The Zomo were hiding in the darkened building where they had the greatest vantage point to the shipyard gates and streets. They were using Joanna’s building to ambush the unarmed men.
Not much is written about the ensuing massacre, but Joanna tells about how the taxi drivers served as ambulances that day, and crammed in as many of the wounded as possible and drove as fast as possible to all the nearby hospitals. They hurried as fast as they could all the while the smell and stickiness of blood filled up their cabs.
I have been to the Monument in Gdansk at the shipyard, and have seen the embedded broken bottles, sticks and stones that the workers fought back the tanks, automatic weapon fire, and helicopters with. I have seen the brass marker at the shipyard where a worker was crushed by a tank against the iron gate. I have seen the photos of the dead man on the door being marched through town as a martyr. I have a copy of a tape recording of the massacre as it unfolded that day.
The recorded sounds of the massacre are worse than pictures, because it is an additional sensation of almost being there. While there was a man who secretly filmed the massacre, another friend of Joanna’s had taped the sound, and she gave me a copy. It seems that the battle (one-sided massacre) lasted forever. You can hear the people scurrying away in the streets. You can hear the engines of the tanks as they roll by. You can hear the helicopters overhead punctuated by gunfire. But even worse, you can hear the whistle from the shipyard warning people to stay away from this place of death. It lasts for about 5 minutes until the man who is holding the whistle is shot, and the shrill sound abruptly stops. The massacre spread from Gdansk through Sopot and to Gdynia. It was massive and total.
Joanna recalled that after the massacre, all the families of anyone slain (including the families of a 3-year old girl, and a pregnant woman who was caught in the cross-fire), were rounded up in the middle of the night and shipped off to Siberia, never to be heard from again. I know this sounds like a scene from “Dr. Zivago,” but it’s exactly what happened. The official government word on the 1970 strike/massacre was that it never happened. Getting rid of all evidence was extremely important to the government, and deporting the families of the fallen was expedient in order to defend the lie that it never happened. The remaining people were not allowed to ever speak of it for fear of being deported to Siberia, or jailed, or admitted to a mental hospital. Instead, these people who witnessed it kept the horror deep in their hearts where it grew and swelled until it could no longer be contained. It was the beginning of Solidarity.
Joanna subsequently quit her job with the government, and opened a pottery shop, which she used as a front for the Gdansk Information Agency – a communications network for Solidarity. Then when the Monument was erected to the slain workers of 1970 (written 19t0), Joanna put together an exhibit of all the artifacts, art, and stories from the massacre for the people of Gdansk, Sopot, and Gdynia to come and pay homage to and remember those who were mowed down by powerful weapons of war.
Of course, I am re-telling this story in a very short form, but I want to illustrate the consequences of a subject that I had not only taken for granted, but had never really cared much about. Oh, I had thought a little about it when President Reagan was shot, but I had not analyzed the meaning of it until I went to the shipyard in Gdansk that cold, windy March day in 1990: Gun control and the Second Amendment.
(see: http://everything2.com/index.pl?node=December%201970%20Insurrection%20in%20Poland for more information – what little there is).
Joanna was an architect who worked for the city of Gdansk in the 1970’s. In other words, she worked for the government. December 14, 1970 was like any other cold day in communist Gdansk. She made her way to the bus which would bring her from her apartment that she shared with her son, (Mihou) and her abusive husband. Just trying to live life in communist Gdansk was very hard. I have a letter Joanna wrote to a friend describing how exhausting just eking out a living through the maze of rules and laws and lack of goods and resources had become: One time, during martial law, when a visiting Senator from the U.S. had come to Gdansk (she thought it had been Senator Hatch from Utah), she had shared the last of her bread with him, spread with lard and cut so thin that the lard made it seem transparent. This was all she had left, and didn’t know where she would get any more. But this was a typical condition from the time she could remember.
That December day, however, she finally got to work a little late. Once again, the electricity was out, which meant there were no lights, and more importantly, no elevator (a government building), and her office was on the top floor of the 5-story building. She climbed to the top just in time to see everyone looking out the windows. Her office overlooked the Lenin Shipyard, and everyone was there, watching the workers going on strike behind the gates. They were striking -- again -- for higher wages so they could afford meat. This was a useless effort, because as soon as everyone could afford meat, they'd buy up all the meat in Poland, and then there would be a shortage (supply) of meat, which would drive up the price of meat (demand), and everyone would be right back at this same point -- preparing to strike for higher wages so they could afford meat. She joined in looking out the windows with her co-workers out of curiosity, but then something unbelievable happened.
The workers opened the gates and began to march down the street with their signs and their chants. As she watched them parade by, she noticed one of the workers grab his upper arm, spin about, and collapse on the ground. Almost immediately, another worker seemed to fall back and down. Another grabbed his shoulder and hit the ground. It suddenly, and horrifyingly occurred to Joanna that these workers were being shot as they marched through the streets. Panic ensued, and all hell broke loose with tanks, helicopters, and the crack of gunfire.
Joanna’s desire was to get down to the street and help these wounded men immediately! As she ran down the stairs, she noticed one floor where their were helmeted figures crouched at a window. It was the Zomo: snipers who were picking the workers off one by one. This was why the electricity didn’t work! The Zomo were hiding in the darkened building where they had the greatest vantage point to the shipyard gates and streets. They were using Joanna’s building to ambush the unarmed men.
Not much is written about the ensuing massacre, but Joanna tells about how the taxi drivers served as ambulances that day, and crammed in as many of the wounded as possible and drove as fast as possible to all the nearby hospitals. They hurried as fast as they could all the while the smell and stickiness of blood filled up their cabs.
I have been to the Monument in Gdansk at the shipyard, and have seen the embedded broken bottles, sticks and stones that the workers fought back the tanks, automatic weapon fire, and helicopters with. I have seen the brass marker at the shipyard where a worker was crushed by a tank against the iron gate. I have seen the photos of the dead man on the door being marched through town as a martyr. I have a copy of a tape recording of the massacre as it unfolded that day.
The recorded sounds of the massacre are worse than pictures, because it is an additional sensation of almost being there. While there was a man who secretly filmed the massacre, another friend of Joanna’s had taped the sound, and she gave me a copy. It seems that the battle (one-sided massacre) lasted forever. You can hear the people scurrying away in the streets. You can hear the engines of the tanks as they roll by. You can hear the helicopters overhead punctuated by gunfire. But even worse, you can hear the whistle from the shipyard warning people to stay away from this place of death. It lasts for about 5 minutes until the man who is holding the whistle is shot, and the shrill sound abruptly stops. The massacre spread from Gdansk through Sopot and to Gdynia. It was massive and total.
Joanna recalled that after the massacre, all the families of anyone slain (including the families of a 3-year old girl, and a pregnant woman who was caught in the cross-fire), were rounded up in the middle of the night and shipped off to Siberia, never to be heard from again. I know this sounds like a scene from “Dr. Zivago,” but it’s exactly what happened. The official government word on the 1970 strike/massacre was that it never happened. Getting rid of all evidence was extremely important to the government, and deporting the families of the fallen was expedient in order to defend the lie that it never happened. The remaining people were not allowed to ever speak of it for fear of being deported to Siberia, or jailed, or admitted to a mental hospital. Instead, these people who witnessed it kept the horror deep in their hearts where it grew and swelled until it could no longer be contained. It was the beginning of Solidarity.
Joanna subsequently quit her job with the government, and opened a pottery shop, which she used as a front for the Gdansk Information Agency – a communications network for Solidarity. Then when the Monument was erected to the slain workers of 1970 (written 19t0), Joanna put together an exhibit of all the artifacts, art, and stories from the massacre for the people of Gdansk, Sopot, and Gdynia to come and pay homage to and remember those who were mowed down by powerful weapons of war.
Of course, I am re-telling this story in a very short form, but I want to illustrate the consequences of a subject that I had not only taken for granted, but had never really cared much about. Oh, I had thought a little about it when President Reagan was shot, but I had not analyzed the meaning of it until I went to the shipyard in Gdansk that cold, windy March day in 1990: Gun control and the Second Amendment.
(see: http://everything2.com/index.pl?node=December%201970%20Insurrection%20in%20Poland for more information – what little there is).
Monday, March 17, 2008
GDANSK
We spent the next day in Gdansk, where we met with Solidarity at their headquarters. Lech Walesa was being a recalcitrant at the time (lying low while Thadeus Mazowiecki worked the kinks out of the “transitional” government), and had his closest leaders meet with us in his stead: Jacek Merkel (Senator for Solidarity), Jerzy Kobilynski (Original striker and leader for Solidarity Movement), and Andrej Kozakiewicz (former roofer and political exile to the United States), et al. It was evident from the way the met us, that they were the ones that were actually the power behind the freedom in Poland. They were serious young men. They had been through beatings, killings, exile, starvation, imprisonment, and could smell a lie a mile away. They spoke only in Polish with a simultaneous translator in the room. It was hard to separate the two voices as they spoke over one another. The mood was authoritative and completely momentous. There was urgency mixed with caution. They knew what they had, and what the value of their liberty had cost, and so they protected it from anyone they had not fought side-by-side with – and that included us.
At the ensuing informal lunch, Lech’s driver sat at our table and recounted for us the occasion during Martial Law (when Solidarity had been outlawed): He was driving Pan (Mr.) Walesa through Gdansk and was stopped by the Zomo (secret police: see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ZOMO ) no less than 10 times in the space of one mile. He proudly produced a picture of the very Zomo who had been harassing them, telling how it had been a criminal offense to take a picture of the Zomo, but the minute the communists were ousted from power, he tracked this guy down and snapped his picture and carried it around as a prized trophy.
Sitting across the table from me, was the interpreter that had been at our meeting with Solidarity. I knew I would be able to talk with him, because he understood English, so I asked him where he had learned English: “Boston, Massachusetts,” he replied. “Oh!” I said, “did you live in America at one time?” “Yes,” he replied. Now he was just being clever: “I lived in America when I was born, up until the time I was a college student in Cambridge.” After I gave him a friendly scolding for his deception, he explained that he first heard about Solidarity when he was studying Russian in Moscow. Solidarity also existed in Russia, so he was in Russia when martial law was declared against Solidarity in Poland. He made his way into Poland then and there, learned Polish (like a native), and became Walesa’s liaison and interpreter from the beginning.
As an American citizen, he was probably politically immune from prosecution from his position as translator, but not persecution. He told us how the Zomo had approached him to spy on Walesa, and threatened him, saying that if he did not do so, they would go to Walesa and tell him that he was a spy, anyway. Of course, Bob did not fall for this, and got beat up a couple of times (which would explain his missing teeth) for not cooperating, but he would not compromise his convictions. The Zomo did not approach Walesa after all because they knew Walesa would never believe anything they told him anyway. In fact, telling Walesa that Bob was working for them, would only convince Walesa to the contrary.
At the ensuing informal lunch, Lech’s driver sat at our table and recounted for us the occasion during Martial Law (when Solidarity had been outlawed): He was driving Pan (Mr.) Walesa through Gdansk and was stopped by the Zomo (secret police: see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ZOMO ) no less than 10 times in the space of one mile. He proudly produced a picture of the very Zomo who had been harassing them, telling how it had been a criminal offense to take a picture of the Zomo, but the minute the communists were ousted from power, he tracked this guy down and snapped his picture and carried it around as a prized trophy.
Sitting across the table from me, was the interpreter that had been at our meeting with Solidarity. I knew I would be able to talk with him, because he understood English, so I asked him where he had learned English: “Boston, Massachusetts,” he replied. “Oh!” I said, “did you live in America at one time?” “Yes,” he replied. Now he was just being clever: “I lived in America when I was born, up until the time I was a college student in Cambridge.” After I gave him a friendly scolding for his deception, he explained that he first heard about Solidarity when he was studying Russian in Moscow. Solidarity also existed in Russia, so he was in Russia when martial law was declared against Solidarity in Poland. He made his way into Poland then and there, learned Polish (like a native), and became Walesa’s liaison and interpreter from the beginning.
As an American citizen, he was probably politically immune from prosecution from his position as translator, but not persecution. He told us how the Zomo had approached him to spy on Walesa, and threatened him, saying that if he did not do so, they would go to Walesa and tell him that he was a spy, anyway. Of course, Bob did not fall for this, and got beat up a couple of times (which would explain his missing teeth) for not cooperating, but he would not compromise his convictions. The Zomo did not approach Walesa after all because they knew Walesa would never believe anything they told him anyway. In fact, telling Walesa that Bob was working for them, would only convince Walesa to the contrary.
ORDINARY HERO
As part of our trade mission itinerary, we had the opportunity to tour the Warsaw Ghetto on our way to the airport. Our guide and interpreter remembered how his family had hid a Jew during the Nazi occupation. This was an act that was punishable by death – yet his family knew it was the right thing to do. What a great example of ordinary people drawing that line in the sand and standing against evil. This kind of heroism was more prevalent than any of us could have known, but was beginning to emerge as normal behavior for these many ordinary people stuck in the throes of adversity. Our guide was old now, and thought himself so very fortunate that he was able to live long enough to see this day – this day when the Americans came to do business in Poland.
Warsaw was truly in a time-warp: It was like the Fifties (as one older gentleman in our group remembered his boyhood)just after the Forties. It was as though we had stumbled upon a hidden city from his memories, and was able to relive the sounds, tastes and smells of the good-old days (only it was the bad old days for the occupants).
Our next stop on the trade mission was Gdansk (known as Danzig when the Germans occupied it). We traveled to Gdansk by train. In March of 1990, the trains were still operated under the communist regime. This was probably a good thing for maintaining schedules and repairs. It also gave us an opportunity to experience how peasants that were given a bit of authority over-exercised it with anger and power, as they examined our tickets (just in case we were trying to pull a “fast one”), and constantly scolded us for taking video tape of the country side (they were afraid we’d discover their missile silos??).
Our bags were loaded on to the train, and then we boarded. It was an express train. In Poland at this time, there were express trains, and slow trains. Slow trains stopped in every single village, farm, outpost, or bench that happened to be next to the tracks. A slow train would take about 5 hours to get to Gdansk. Fast trains only took about 2 hours, because they didn’t stop until they got to Gdansk. There was a “diner” on the train, and some of the braver folk sampled the sausages that were being sold. I remembered reading in the trip material we were given before the mission that you could not buy a Polish ham in Poland. So I guess sausages would have to do.
We left early enough to see the beautiful countryside. There were vast fields of Saffron flowers that were accented with purple-flowering weeds. We could see old-world farms, very European gardens that city-dwellers owned and escaped to. There were a couple of castles along the way (the Poles pronounced “castles” as “cas-tells”). And there were huge Storks nesting on the roofs and chimneys of the little houses that seemed to cluster more and more as we got closer and closer to Gdansk.
Warsaw was truly in a time-warp: It was like the Fifties (as one older gentleman in our group remembered his boyhood)just after the Forties. It was as though we had stumbled upon a hidden city from his memories, and was able to relive the sounds, tastes and smells of the good-old days (only it was the bad old days for the occupants).
Our next stop on the trade mission was Gdansk (known as Danzig when the Germans occupied it). We traveled to Gdansk by train. In March of 1990, the trains were still operated under the communist regime. This was probably a good thing for maintaining schedules and repairs. It also gave us an opportunity to experience how peasants that were given a bit of authority over-exercised it with anger and power, as they examined our tickets (just in case we were trying to pull a “fast one”), and constantly scolded us for taking video tape of the country side (they were afraid we’d discover their missile silos??).
Our bags were loaded on to the train, and then we boarded. It was an express train. In Poland at this time, there were express trains, and slow trains. Slow trains stopped in every single village, farm, outpost, or bench that happened to be next to the tracks. A slow train would take about 5 hours to get to Gdansk. Fast trains only took about 2 hours, because they didn’t stop until they got to Gdansk. There was a “diner” on the train, and some of the braver folk sampled the sausages that were being sold. I remembered reading in the trip material we were given before the mission that you could not buy a Polish ham in Poland. So I guess sausages would have to do.
We left early enough to see the beautiful countryside. There were vast fields of Saffron flowers that were accented with purple-flowering weeds. We could see old-world farms, very European gardens that city-dwellers owned and escaped to. There were a couple of castles along the way (the Poles pronounced “castles” as “cas-tells”). And there were huge Storks nesting on the roofs and chimneys of the little houses that seemed to cluster more and more as we got closer and closer to Gdansk.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
LINE THEORY IN WARSAWA
We managed to distinguish one of the grey buildings near our hotel in Warsaw as a “department store,” so we all went shopping! We were able to observe that when people are assigned jobs that they might not normally choose on their own (as in a state-run market economy), the consequences to the product quality is disastrous. Products, such as clothing and furnishings were scarce enough, but when examining the possibility of purchasing a winter coat (for instance), there was only one style to choose from, but in a couple of colors (that resembled baby-poop green or dirty-scab red). Whoever was put in charge of dying the yarn for this cloth was clearly more suited to a machine-shop or smelting-type job.
It was here that I first learned about the “Line Theory.” Communist economics is based on lines. Goods could not be purchased without a line. All communist businesses were configured to accommodate lines (Disney could learn a few new things from the communists). A store would display its goods all along the perimeter of the store, behind counters that created a barrier between the customer and the goods. The center of the entire store was vacant, so that the lines could form like wheel spokes from the center of the store out to the clerks waiting behind the counters.
For example: When buying toothpaste in a nearby drugstore,
I had to stand in line to tell the clerk behind the counter what I wanted.
She then wrote out a little ticket and handed it to me.
I then had to stand in a line to pay for the item written on the ticket.
After waiting and paying for the toothpaste to a clerk behind the counter in the “payment” line,
I was handed another little ticket indicating that I had paid for toothpaste.
* This enabled me to stand in yet another line to actually acquire the toothpaste (hopefully, one that I wanted).
The Line Theory was ingenious, because it cut down on shoplifting, and created extra jobs where none were needed (there’s no such thing as unemployment in a communist economy).
One of the last things we did as a trade mission before going on to Gdansk was to attend a mass at St. John’s Cathedral in Stary Maesto (Old town), Warsaw. Here is where the second oldest European Constitution is housed as evidence to the free and democratic tradition the Poles had always aspired to, in spite of their history of being overrun, marched through, occupied and partitioned. It was adopted on May 3rd, 1791 the oldest constitution being the Magna Carta (1212). This was of great interest to me because my the ancestor in my mother's line, Saire deQuincy was one of the Barons that ran King John down on Runnymede and made him sign the Magna Carta, then went back later and forced the King to abide by it.
Studibert and his Lieutenant, Frank had created an itinerary for the trade mission that was fashioned after a Presidential Itinerary. It encompassed every detail of our activities while on the trade mission, including when to wake up, gather, have breakfast, travel to meetings, how long the meetings would be, when and where lunch was set up, how, when and where we had free time, and when to retire. The unattached men in our group never really went to bed. They would stay up all night and dink and dance at the “discos” wherever they could find one (I have the video). I thought it very nostalgic, because if ever anyone missed the “Disco Era,” they could go to Poland and find it alive and thriving in all its stobbing glory.
After the mass, we gathered to have lunch with the Ambassador in a beautiful restaurant in Stary Maesto. We were served Chateau-Briand, Roast duck (I never could get anyone to tell me if they roasted one of those white ducks, or a Mallard, or a Grebe, etc. . . . .), and baby potatoes and carrots, with salads, fruit juices, breads and creamy butter. Interestingly, all Polish food is garnished with cilantro. All of it!
As we sat and looked out over the old town square, I could remember reading about how the Russians had permitted the Poles to re-build this city in the 50’s. Being there made the cruelty of what happened there seem so incredible. But then, most of what happened under the communists turned out to be largely incredible (and not in a good way). When the Germans had been defeated by the Russians in WWII, and were forced to flee the city, they determined that they would leave nothing for the Russians, and consequently, the Poles. In the finest Nazi fashion, the Germans systematically blew up every ancient building in the square, leaving not one brick on top of the other. The worst of it is, the Russians hung back and allowed it to go on until it was finished before marching into town. What heroes.
This was probably in keeping with the Russian mindset, since they also took ten thousand Polish Officers out to the Katyn forest and executed every one of them. Neither the Nazis, nor the Russians had any respect for Polish life, and it was nothing to them to destroy them whenever possible. They had always viewed Poland as a country to march through in order to get to another country, or to occupy or partition it as they pleased. It amazed me how the Poles were able to remain 98% ethnic Poles, 95% Catholic, and retain their language and culture as though they had been isolated by the Alps for generations!
It was here that I first learned about the “Line Theory.” Communist economics is based on lines. Goods could not be purchased without a line. All communist businesses were configured to accommodate lines (Disney could learn a few new things from the communists). A store would display its goods all along the perimeter of the store, behind counters that created a barrier between the customer and the goods. The center of the entire store was vacant, so that the lines could form like wheel spokes from the center of the store out to the clerks waiting behind the counters.
For example: When buying toothpaste in a nearby drugstore,
I had to stand in line to tell the clerk behind the counter what I wanted.
She then wrote out a little ticket and handed it to me.
I then had to stand in a line to pay for the item written on the ticket.
After waiting and paying for the toothpaste to a clerk behind the counter in the “payment” line,
I was handed another little ticket indicating that I had paid for toothpaste.
* This enabled me to stand in yet another line to actually acquire the toothpaste (hopefully, one that I wanted).
The Line Theory was ingenious, because it cut down on shoplifting, and created extra jobs where none were needed (there’s no such thing as unemployment in a communist economy).
One of the last things we did as a trade mission before going on to Gdansk was to attend a mass at St. John’s Cathedral in Stary Maesto (Old town), Warsaw. Here is where the second oldest European Constitution is housed as evidence to the free and democratic tradition the Poles had always aspired to, in spite of their history of being overrun, marched through, occupied and partitioned. It was adopted on May 3rd, 1791 the oldest constitution being the Magna Carta (1212). This was of great interest to me because my the ancestor in my mother's line, Saire deQuincy was one of the Barons that ran King John down on Runnymede and made him sign the Magna Carta, then went back later and forced the King to abide by it.
Studibert and his Lieutenant, Frank had created an itinerary for the trade mission that was fashioned after a Presidential Itinerary. It encompassed every detail of our activities while on the trade mission, including when to wake up, gather, have breakfast, travel to meetings, how long the meetings would be, when and where lunch was set up, how, when and where we had free time, and when to retire. The unattached men in our group never really went to bed. They would stay up all night and dink and dance at the “discos” wherever they could find one (I have the video). I thought it very nostalgic, because if ever anyone missed the “Disco Era,” they could go to Poland and find it alive and thriving in all its stobbing glory.
After the mass, we gathered to have lunch with the Ambassador in a beautiful restaurant in Stary Maesto. We were served Chateau-Briand, Roast duck (I never could get anyone to tell me if they roasted one of those white ducks, or a Mallard, or a Grebe, etc. . . . .), and baby potatoes and carrots, with salads, fruit juices, breads and creamy butter. Interestingly, all Polish food is garnished with cilantro. All of it!
As we sat and looked out over the old town square, I could remember reading about how the Russians had permitted the Poles to re-build this city in the 50’s. Being there made the cruelty of what happened there seem so incredible. But then, most of what happened under the communists turned out to be largely incredible (and not in a good way). When the Germans had been defeated by the Russians in WWII, and were forced to flee the city, they determined that they would leave nothing for the Russians, and consequently, the Poles. In the finest Nazi fashion, the Germans systematically blew up every ancient building in the square, leaving not one brick on top of the other. The worst of it is, the Russians hung back and allowed it to go on until it was finished before marching into town. What heroes.
This was probably in keeping with the Russian mindset, since they also took ten thousand Polish Officers out to the Katyn forest and executed every one of them. Neither the Nazis, nor the Russians had any respect for Polish life, and it was nothing to them to destroy them whenever possible. They had always viewed Poland as a country to march through in order to get to another country, or to occupy or partition it as they pleased. It amazed me how the Poles were able to remain 98% ethnic Poles, 95% Catholic, and retain their language and culture as though they had been isolated by the Alps for generations!
MARCH MADNESS AT THE US EMBASSY
Warsaw and her people were so easy to fall in love with. They had a sense of humor far superior to any “Pollack” joke, and were more like Americans than any other culture I had encountered in my European experience. We immediately related to these people. In a briefing with the Minister of Agriculture, John – the cattleman – asked what kinds of cattle they raised in Poland: “Black and White” answered the Minister. Later that night, it was “March Madness” and as spoiled Americans, we were kind of put out that we would not be able to watch the basketball play-offs. So we arranged with the Ambassador to go to the Embassy to watch the play-offs. The instructions were to go to the Polish guard and have him ring up the Marine Guard to let us in. So, armed with the 5-digit extension number, we wandered over to the US Embassy and went into the Polish guard’s little room outside the gates. When we tried to give him the number for the Marine guard, it became clear that he did not speak any English (What? A guard at the American Embassy who doesn’t speak English??). So we showed him the numbers. Now, numbers are the same in both English and Polish, but the Poles write so differently, that the guard was not sure which numbers we were showing him. So five men from our group gathered around the phone and each pointed to a number on the dial (yes – it was a dial phone) for the guard to dial in succession, while Judd Blakely stood off to the side and muttered: “How many Pollock’s does it take to dial a phone?”
Well aren’t we funny! Just to be clear, Poles have their own jokes about themselves. One of the best jokes I heard came from Kuba. He told me a favorite Polish joke that really captured the Polish cultural view of their tumultuous history:
“The Polish Army has one test they administer to the new recruits to determine if they are officer material, or regular army: ‘If you find yourself fighting a Russian on one side and a German on the other, who do you shoot first?’
The correct answer for an officer is: ‘The German!' Every officer knows that business always comes before pleasure.”
Of course, this makes me laugh whenever I remember the time I was eating breakfast in the Maria hotel restaurant in Warsaw at a later date, and sitting at a table next to me was a contingency of German businessmen, telling jokes about Americans (we’re not funny!).
The universal lesson here, is
• The family of man is more alike than unalike, and
• No one is above a joke – earned, or not, and
• Pride might be the best target for those jokes.
ANYWAY – we finally got the Marine guard to let us in to the quarters upstairs, above the Embassy Offices. There was a “Pimp & Prostitute” party going on, and the Sergeant of the Guard was dressed up as a Prostitute. His costume and makeup was so good that some poor, drunk Marine tried to pick him up, until that girl (Sergeant) gave him an order. He was embarrassed back into sobriety!
To re-cap:
While in Warsaw, we set about to learn some new Polish words:
• The word for work is “robot;”
• The word for sky-cap is “bagazojev:” (We reduced this to “Bagazonie” because it was funnier)
• The word “Poland” means prairie: as in “the wind came sweeping down,” causing us to always land side-ways down the runway in Warsaw;
• Solidarity is “Solidarnosc;”
• The word for “businessman” is businessman; and
• The word for joint-venture, is joint-venture.
All the while, Studibert continued to bask in his own self-glory. Judd, who was the instigator of the trade mission, was beginning to grumble against Studibert along with the newsman from Hong Kong. I couldn't understand at the time, why they were unhappy with Studibert . . . I would soon find out.
Well aren’t we funny! Just to be clear, Poles have their own jokes about themselves. One of the best jokes I heard came from Kuba. He told me a favorite Polish joke that really captured the Polish cultural view of their tumultuous history:
“The Polish Army has one test they administer to the new recruits to determine if they are officer material, or regular army: ‘If you find yourself fighting a Russian on one side and a German on the other, who do you shoot first?’
The correct answer for an officer is: ‘The German!' Every officer knows that business always comes before pleasure.”
Of course, this makes me laugh whenever I remember the time I was eating breakfast in the Maria hotel restaurant in Warsaw at a later date, and sitting at a table next to me was a contingency of German businessmen, telling jokes about Americans (we’re not funny!).
The universal lesson here, is
• The family of man is more alike than unalike, and
• No one is above a joke – earned, or not, and
• Pride might be the best target for those jokes.
ANYWAY – we finally got the Marine guard to let us in to the quarters upstairs, above the Embassy Offices. There was a “Pimp & Prostitute” party going on, and the Sergeant of the Guard was dressed up as a Prostitute. His costume and makeup was so good that some poor, drunk Marine tried to pick him up, until that girl (Sergeant) gave him an order. He was embarrassed back into sobriety!
To re-cap:
While in Warsaw, we set about to learn some new Polish words:
• The word for work is “robot;”
• The word for sky-cap is “bagazojev:” (We reduced this to “Bagazonie” because it was funnier)
• The word “Poland” means prairie: as in “the wind came sweeping down,” causing us to always land side-ways down the runway in Warsaw;
• Solidarity is “Solidarnosc;”
• The word for “businessman” is businessman; and
• The word for joint-venture, is joint-venture.
All the while, Studibert continued to bask in his own self-glory. Judd, who was the instigator of the trade mission, was beginning to grumble against Studibert along with the newsman from Hong Kong. I couldn't understand at the time, why they were unhappy with Studibert . . . I would soon find out.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
MEETING WITH SOLIDARITY
At first it was really difficult to understand these Solidarity representatives’ English through their thick accents. Plus, we were still very tired. They were all dressed in shades of grey or brown slacks with sweaters over their shirts (Warsaw is about as humid as Los Angeles, so it feels colder than it actually is). Very few of them were wearing ties. I remember on a later excursion into Warsaw, going with Kuba (Jakub Zaborowski’s nick-name) to buy a tie. The beautiful silk ties with beautiful geometric patterns, or jungle scenes, etc. all came with instructions on how to tie them. Common workers, or archeologists like Kuba, had never owned a tie in their life let alone know how to tie them. Since I had 5 boys, I was glad to help. Kuba did own a suit, however, because he was married to a former Polish aristocrat’s daughter (Hannah or Hania), and he had borrowed his father-in-law’s suit (which had probably been around since before WWII). Kuba told me how he had learned to buy shoes 1 or 2 sizes too big so that he could walk great distances without hurting his feet on the very hard cobblestone streets and sidewalks. He never learned to drive because he would never be able to own a car as long as the communists were in power. This was partly due to the lack of cars available for purchase, and mostly due to the fact that he was a Solidarity leader who was black-balled like all others like him.
Eventually it occurred to me that Poles loved nick-names. “Kuba” for Jakub, “Jan” for Janick, “Hania” for Hannah, “Bashia” for Barbara, and “Kate” for Katherine. So, in spite of my best efforts to appear sophisticated and business-like, I was nick-named “Kate of America,” or just “Kate”. I liked the nickname, because it meant I belonged amongst the men and women of Solidarity and Poland – and I truly felt at home in this country.
As we sat in the large hall where we were listening to the business plans the Chamber of Commerce had constructed, Jan, or Dr. Stickiewicz (President of the National Chamber of Commerce) took out a Zloty and blew his nose! This was the best indication of how worthless Polish money was for the next few months after the collapse of communism.
Jan became a good friend, but gradually became very sick as the months went by. I’m not sure how he got sick, but I later learned about the common practice of “radiating” residences of Solidarity leadership by the communists in order to make them sick enough to go away, if not die. Jan had a tumor-looking growth on his forehead, and it got bigger every time I saw him, which was only saw him three more times after this initial meeting.
We spent the rest of the day with these Solidarity heroes who had extinguished communism, founded a new country, and brought down the Berlin Wall – yet here was an example of the kind of hero we met over and over again: the ordinary person who had the courage to do what he knew was right and align with the truth in all things. Courage was the word that applied, and the attribute that won freedom for Poland and all of Eastern Europe. From courage came confidence. Both were traits that I lacked in myself, and would need to develop in order to accomplish the things in my life that I needed to do.
Eventually it occurred to me that Poles loved nick-names. “Kuba” for Jakub, “Jan” for Janick, “Hania” for Hannah, “Bashia” for Barbara, and “Kate” for Katherine. So, in spite of my best efforts to appear sophisticated and business-like, I was nick-named “Kate of America,” or just “Kate”. I liked the nickname, because it meant I belonged amongst the men and women of Solidarity and Poland – and I truly felt at home in this country.
As we sat in the large hall where we were listening to the business plans the Chamber of Commerce had constructed, Jan, or Dr. Stickiewicz (President of the National Chamber of Commerce) took out a Zloty and blew his nose! This was the best indication of how worthless Polish money was for the next few months after the collapse of communism.
Jan became a good friend, but gradually became very sick as the months went by. I’m not sure how he got sick, but I later learned about the common practice of “radiating” residences of Solidarity leadership by the communists in order to make them sick enough to go away, if not die. Jan had a tumor-looking growth on his forehead, and it got bigger every time I saw him, which was only saw him three more times after this initial meeting.
We spent the rest of the day with these Solidarity heroes who had extinguished communism, founded a new country, and brought down the Berlin Wall – yet here was an example of the kind of hero we met over and over again: the ordinary person who had the courage to do what he knew was right and align with the truth in all things. Courage was the word that applied, and the attribute that won freedom for Poland and all of Eastern Europe. From courage came confidence. Both were traits that I lacked in myself, and would need to develop in order to accomplish the things in my life that I needed to do.
FREE ENTERPRISE IN POLAND
It was the Polish spirit of determination against all odds that later played a big part in my decision and ability to continue participation in the Polish Commerce uprising. But I had to acquire this mind-set before I could make that decision. As we walked out of the brand new Marriott Hotel in downtown, modern Warsaw, we observed the emergence of the Free Market. I was an eye-witness to what Sachs had started, and what I fervently wanted to see continue.
Free Enterprise was here in Warsaw. We were pleased to be instant millionaires by exchanging one-hundred U.S. dollars for 1 million Polish Zlotys (pronounced z’wah ties), and purchasing goods from everyone participating in this new economy. It seemed it had began with the people who still remembered what free enterprise was: the elderly. From this first encounter into Poland until the last in November, 1991, marketing progressed from old women selling flowers, old belts and shoes on dishtowels spread out on the sidewalks -- to electronics products; and eventually, the smashing and privatization of old communist monopolies (i.e. Pewex).
As we wandered around the city for a few minutes, we came upon a little camping trailer that had “Hot Dogs” written on it, and as we approached the moving feast, we were surprised out of our minds to find that they were serving real hot dogs – “real,” meant to us snobs -- “American.” We all had to have one (and Studibert was the most gleeful about the find), and we spent a pleasant afternoon eating our hot dogs and exploring the old town (Stary Maesto).
I observed that all the buildings outside of Stary Maesto not only looked the same, but were non-descript just like I had seen in East Berlin. The exception was the much-hated “Wedding Cake” building that Stalin had built to look exactly like a building in Moscow. Even though it was ornate and architecturally interesting, the Poles hated it because they hated the builder who had dedicated it to the “Peoples of Poland:" the murdering Stalin.
The city had a very efficient transportation system of old, dirty trams and buses. Most of the people either walked or rode the public transportation. Very few people owned cars up until this time, and the ones they had were of the Traband genre. The streets were almost deserted except for a few brave souls trying to earn money for food by “garage-selling” their personal affects on dishtowels spread out on the sidewalks. There were assorted belts, shoes, handkerchiefs, flowers, and even some homemade sweaters made from very scratchy yarn. Fred didn't want to spend any money (even though he had more money in his pocket than these sellers earned in a year), so I went home without a scratchy swearter.
We were free to explore Warsaw when we weren’t in meetings with the Ministers of Agriculture and Commerce at the U.S. Embassy, and the Polish version of the Chamber of Commerce (Janick Stickiewicz), and Solidarity (Jakub Zaborowski). It was in these initial meetings that I discovered when introduced, a Polish man will kiss the hand of a woman and bow politely. I really enjoyed and encouraged this custom. These humble men confessed that they had learned English by listening to Beatle records, and reading Jack London novels (Jack London was a registered Communist). Although they had been forced to learn Russian in school – after school, they taught themselves English, but their humility for their economic circumstances in our presence sent a clear message that they meant business, and they would like to have our business.
Free Enterprise was here in Warsaw. We were pleased to be instant millionaires by exchanging one-hundred U.S. dollars for 1 million Polish Zlotys (pronounced z’wah ties), and purchasing goods from everyone participating in this new economy. It seemed it had began with the people who still remembered what free enterprise was: the elderly. From this first encounter into Poland until the last in November, 1991, marketing progressed from old women selling flowers, old belts and shoes on dishtowels spread out on the sidewalks -- to electronics products; and eventually, the smashing and privatization of old communist monopolies (i.e. Pewex).
As we wandered around the city for a few minutes, we came upon a little camping trailer that had “Hot Dogs” written on it, and as we approached the moving feast, we were surprised out of our minds to find that they were serving real hot dogs – “real,” meant to us snobs -- “American.” We all had to have one (and Studibert was the most gleeful about the find), and we spent a pleasant afternoon eating our hot dogs and exploring the old town (Stary Maesto).
I observed that all the buildings outside of Stary Maesto not only looked the same, but were non-descript just like I had seen in East Berlin. The exception was the much-hated “Wedding Cake” building that Stalin had built to look exactly like a building in Moscow. Even though it was ornate and architecturally interesting, the Poles hated it because they hated the builder who had dedicated it to the “Peoples of Poland:" the murdering Stalin.
The city had a very efficient transportation system of old, dirty trams and buses. Most of the people either walked or rode the public transportation. Very few people owned cars up until this time, and the ones they had were of the Traband genre. The streets were almost deserted except for a few brave souls trying to earn money for food by “garage-selling” their personal affects on dishtowels spread out on the sidewalks. There were assorted belts, shoes, handkerchiefs, flowers, and even some homemade sweaters made from very scratchy yarn. Fred didn't want to spend any money (even though he had more money in his pocket than these sellers earned in a year), so I went home without a scratchy swearter.
We were free to explore Warsaw when we weren’t in meetings with the Ministers of Agriculture and Commerce at the U.S. Embassy, and the Polish version of the Chamber of Commerce (Janick Stickiewicz), and Solidarity (Jakub Zaborowski). It was in these initial meetings that I discovered when introduced, a Polish man will kiss the hand of a woman and bow politely. I really enjoyed and encouraged this custom. These humble men confessed that they had learned English by listening to Beatle records, and reading Jack London novels (Jack London was a registered Communist). Although they had been forced to learn Russian in school – after school, they taught themselves English, but their humility for their economic circumstances in our presence sent a clear message that they meant business, and they would like to have our business.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
POLAND SACHED
From the very beginning, this was a magical country. I could feel the revolution and struggle still electrifying the air. Here is where the Berlin Wall began to fall. With the support of a strong U.S. President (Reagan), the Polish Pope, the legalization of Solidarity in 1989, and Balcerowicz’s plea to Jeffrey Sachs to come revamp the Polish economy in November, 1989, the end of the communist lie was about to commence. I felt like I had traveled back in time to the American Revolution of 1776.
Even as we were checking into the extraordinarily beautiful and brand new Marriott hotel – we discovered we weren’t the first to foray into the emerging economy. There in the lobby was Donald Sutherland and then Willem Defoe. I tucked the sight of these two actors into my memory for later-Gump references. The air was electrified with excitement – like the last day of school before summer vacation – and we were witnesses and participants in this modern miracle.
Sachs played such an important role in the collapse of communism. I developed a keen interest in Jeffrey Sachs’ economics because I had the opportunity to meet with and get to know his friend and implementer, Kevin McDonald later in Warsaw. While communist Poland was being pressured by Russia to hold on tight to control over the Poles through Martial Law -- Solidarity, Ambassador Davies, and the Intelligentsia led by Jacek Kuron were applying pressure that ultimately allowed groups like us through the impermeable membrane that had been created by Stalin.
Poland, like all of the Soviet Union was in financial collapse, which triggered the Shipyard strikes and Solidarity uprisings. While there had been many strikes, and many people had been massacred by the secret police (Zomo) and armies of Russian and Polish troops, it wasn’t’ until Kuron’s Intelligentsia united behind the workers that the strikes were effective (1980). The U.S. Ambassador (Davies) joined with Kuron and attended the trials of the Solidarity leaders in order to show a strong US presence that was monitoring of such illegalities.
(Later as I was ending my journeys into Poland I met a woman, a Joanna Woicjehovicz who had been jailed many times for her association with Solidarity. She shared with me a copy of her prison sentence. Interestingly enough, the sentence handed down on her paper was a dated few weeks before the actual trial date! Could the trials of the members of Solidarity under Gen. Jaruzelski have been “fixed?” But more about Joanna and the rest of Solidarity later).
Finally, after battling and persecuting Solidarity from 1980 to 1989, Balcerowicz, the Minister of Finance approached Jeffrey Sachs to fix their economy as he had Bolivia’s and Argentina’s in the mid to late 1980’s. Sachs tells his story to PBS:
“Nobody knew, of course, that even in Poland the kinds of events that had been seen in Latin America in the mid- to late 1980s would even have a chance of unfolding -- a turn towards democracy and market economy. I never would have dreamt it. When I was approached in January 1989 by a Polish government official, who had watched the Bolivian reforms and then had seen work I had done in Argentina and Brazil, and asked if he could come to Cambridge to discuss Poland's situation, I thought it would be interesting but I didn't think it was going to lead, practically, any place.
“We had a quite fascinating discussion about Poland's financial bankruptcy, what seemed to be a tendency towards utter economic collapse, and so forth. And he finally asked me would I go to Poland and help? And I thought for a moment, how I could best put it? And I finally told him very straightforwardly that I have a lot of concern with what he told me, but I could not work for a communist regime, especially one that had Lech Walesa under arrest and where the Solidarity movement was illegal and repressed. But I left [the door open]. I said, ‘Look, I'm very interested in Poland. If Solidarity is legalized some day, I would be happy to travel to Poland if I could meet not only the government, but also the Solidarity leadership. I think that there are issues that would be worth both sides hearing, and I would be very happy to be part of a constructive process if I could, helping some reconciliation and change. But only if I could meet with Solidarity.’ He gulped and said he understood, and maybe someday.
“He left the office -- this was the end of January 1989 -- and it wasn't four weeks later when he called me up and to my astonishment said, ‘Well, we're going to legalize Solidarity. Now will you come to Poland?’ I don't think they were doing it for me! But it was an incredible coincidence, of course, in timing, and I jumped at the chance and arrived in Poland on April 5, 1989, which was the day of the signing of the round-table agreement between the regime and Solidarity. And that was a round-table agreement, which legalized Solidarity and gave me the opportunity to start to discuss economic reform issues with not only the government but also with those who would very soon be the government,” (Sachs, Jeffrey, June 15, 2000; Commanding Heights, PBS Interview; Retrieved October 10, 2005 from http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/commandingheights/shared/minitextlo/int_jeffreysachs.html#11
It was the legalization of Solidarity, incited by Jeffrey Sachs – that gave Hungary the courage and ability to open their borders to fleeing East Berlin/German refugees – which spelled the demise of The Wall. So it was the almighty dollar/ Free market system and Poland's trades union of Solidarnosc that contributed to the fall of The Berlin Wall.
Even as we were checking into the extraordinarily beautiful and brand new Marriott hotel – we discovered we weren’t the first to foray into the emerging economy. There in the lobby was Donald Sutherland and then Willem Defoe. I tucked the sight of these two actors into my memory for later-Gump references. The air was electrified with excitement – like the last day of school before summer vacation – and we were witnesses and participants in this modern miracle.
Sachs played such an important role in the collapse of communism. I developed a keen interest in Jeffrey Sachs’ economics because I had the opportunity to meet with and get to know his friend and implementer, Kevin McDonald later in Warsaw. While communist Poland was being pressured by Russia to hold on tight to control over the Poles through Martial Law -- Solidarity, Ambassador Davies, and the Intelligentsia led by Jacek Kuron were applying pressure that ultimately allowed groups like us through the impermeable membrane that had been created by Stalin.
Poland, like all of the Soviet Union was in financial collapse, which triggered the Shipyard strikes and Solidarity uprisings. While there had been many strikes, and many people had been massacred by the secret police (Zomo) and armies of Russian and Polish troops, it wasn’t’ until Kuron’s Intelligentsia united behind the workers that the strikes were effective (1980). The U.S. Ambassador (Davies) joined with Kuron and attended the trials of the Solidarity leaders in order to show a strong US presence that was monitoring of such illegalities.
(Later as I was ending my journeys into Poland I met a woman, a Joanna Woicjehovicz who had been jailed many times for her association with Solidarity. She shared with me a copy of her prison sentence. Interestingly enough, the sentence handed down on her paper was a dated few weeks before the actual trial date! Could the trials of the members of Solidarity under Gen. Jaruzelski have been “fixed?” But more about Joanna and the rest of Solidarity later).
Finally, after battling and persecuting Solidarity from 1980 to 1989, Balcerowicz, the Minister of Finance approached Jeffrey Sachs to fix their economy as he had Bolivia’s and Argentina’s in the mid to late 1980’s. Sachs tells his story to PBS:
“Nobody knew, of course, that even in Poland the kinds of events that had been seen in Latin America in the mid- to late 1980s would even have a chance of unfolding -- a turn towards democracy and market economy. I never would have dreamt it. When I was approached in January 1989 by a Polish government official, who had watched the Bolivian reforms and then had seen work I had done in Argentina and Brazil, and asked if he could come to Cambridge to discuss Poland's situation, I thought it would be interesting but I didn't think it was going to lead, practically, any place.
“We had a quite fascinating discussion about Poland's financial bankruptcy, what seemed to be a tendency towards utter economic collapse, and so forth. And he finally asked me would I go to Poland and help? And I thought for a moment, how I could best put it? And I finally told him very straightforwardly that I have a lot of concern with what he told me, but I could not work for a communist regime, especially one that had Lech Walesa under arrest and where the Solidarity movement was illegal and repressed. But I left [the door open]. I said, ‘Look, I'm very interested in Poland. If Solidarity is legalized some day, I would be happy to travel to Poland if I could meet not only the government, but also the Solidarity leadership. I think that there are issues that would be worth both sides hearing, and I would be very happy to be part of a constructive process if I could, helping some reconciliation and change. But only if I could meet with Solidarity.’ He gulped and said he understood, and maybe someday.
“He left the office -- this was the end of January 1989 -- and it wasn't four weeks later when he called me up and to my astonishment said, ‘Well, we're going to legalize Solidarity. Now will you come to Poland?’ I don't think they were doing it for me! But it was an incredible coincidence, of course, in timing, and I jumped at the chance and arrived in Poland on April 5, 1989, which was the day of the signing of the round-table agreement between the regime and Solidarity. And that was a round-table agreement, which legalized Solidarity and gave me the opportunity to start to discuss economic reform issues with not only the government but also with those who would very soon be the government,” (Sachs, Jeffrey, June 15, 2000; Commanding Heights, PBS Interview; Retrieved October 10, 2005 from http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/commandingheights/shared/minitextlo/int_jeffreysachs.html#11
It was the legalization of Solidarity, incited by Jeffrey Sachs – that gave Hungary the courage and ability to open their borders to fleeing East Berlin/German refugees – which spelled the demise of The Wall. So it was the almighty dollar/ Free market system and Poland's trades union of Solidarnosc that contributed to the fall of The Berlin Wall.
Monday, March 10, 2008
WARSAW (WARSAWA)
The next day, we flew out of Berlin and into Warsaw, Poland on Lufthansa. While in flight, the pilot got on the intercom and gave us orders in English:
“Achtung! Ve are flyink at 40-tousant feet, und dis arhcravt veighs fifty-tousant tons! Now! Take out your flight booklet und follow mit me on pages forty-tree to forty-neun! (long pause) – I vill vait (long pause – I hurried and opened the booklet, because I assumed I was the one holding up the whole drill). Do you all half your books open to dees pages? Ya? Den, put your fingr on “Poznan!” und follow along die flight root. Ve are now flyink over Poznan, und den ve vill be flyink straight in to Varschau.” And so on (the Poles loved it when I imitated the Germans in this manner – can’t imagine why!). I remember this because on subsequent flights to Poland out of Frankfurt, I got this pilot a couple of times, and this was his constant "spiel" (so to say).
Of course we landed side-ways down the runway (the wind must have been blowing). But since the word “Poland” means “Prairie,” I suppose wind would be expected to be "sweeping down the plains." Landing sideways for me, was not expected, and I was a little concerned about dying this far from home. But we managed to come to a stop without an explosion of any kind and de-planed on the tarmac. We braved howling winds as we schlepped into the little customs shack to fill out more papers, have our visas examined, declare the amount of money we would be bringing into the country, and what we would be doing while we were in the country. Then we got a stamp in our passport, and were let through the turnstile to claim our luggage.
The moment I stepped off the plane to the enthusiastic greetings from the Polish customs officials, my perspective shifted once again. I immediately realized that the people in this neck of the world were not the enemies I had grown up with, but victims that had been enslaved by the communist over-lords that I had feared as a child. Their renewed enthusiasm for the possibilities of life exuded from the Bagazojevs (baggage handlers) to the school children. They were free, and the economy was free and open for all the potential anyone could imagine. These people were not my enemies, but my brothers, and my heart was broken for what they had been forced to endure for 50+ years. I was outraged and committed to the determination to somehow help this nation thrive in freedom.
“Achtung! Ve are flyink at 40-tousant feet, und dis arhcravt veighs fifty-tousant tons! Now! Take out your flight booklet und follow mit me on pages forty-tree to forty-neun! (long pause) – I vill vait (long pause – I hurried and opened the booklet, because I assumed I was the one holding up the whole drill). Do you all half your books open to dees pages? Ya? Den, put your fingr on “Poznan!” und follow along die flight root. Ve are now flyink over Poznan, und den ve vill be flyink straight in to Varschau.” And so on (the Poles loved it when I imitated the Germans in this manner – can’t imagine why!). I remember this because on subsequent flights to Poland out of Frankfurt, I got this pilot a couple of times, and this was his constant "spiel" (so to say).
Of course we landed side-ways down the runway (the wind must have been blowing). But since the word “Poland” means “Prairie,” I suppose wind would be expected to be "sweeping down the plains." Landing sideways for me, was not expected, and I was a little concerned about dying this far from home. But we managed to come to a stop without an explosion of any kind and de-planed on the tarmac. We braved howling winds as we schlepped into the little customs shack to fill out more papers, have our visas examined, declare the amount of money we would be bringing into the country, and what we would be doing while we were in the country. Then we got a stamp in our passport, and were let through the turnstile to claim our luggage.
The moment I stepped off the plane to the enthusiastic greetings from the Polish customs officials, my perspective shifted once again. I immediately realized that the people in this neck of the world were not the enemies I had grown up with, but victims that had been enslaved by the communist over-lords that I had feared as a child. Their renewed enthusiasm for the possibilities of life exuded from the Bagazojevs (baggage handlers) to the school children. They were free, and the economy was free and open for all the potential anyone could imagine. These people were not my enemies, but my brothers, and my heart was broken for what they had been forced to endure for 50+ years. I was outraged and committed to the determination to somehow help this nation thrive in freedom.
EAST BERLIN -- MARCH 1990
From actively tearing down The Wall to passively listening to the turn of events, our trade mission first met with the U.S. Mission in West Berlin (The US Embassy was on the East side of The Wall) for a briefing with the economic attaché on the changing economy of Germany, and what the impacts might be to the global economy if Germany were to re-unite.
• Would there be a WWIII (because every time Germany was united in the past, a world war broke out, i.e. WWI & WWII)?
• Would Germany’s economy surpass that of the United States with a re-unification? The Deutschmark was rapidly gaining on the U.S, Dollar.
There was a lot to ponder in my jet-lag stupor.
We then boarded a bus to cross through The Wall where it was still in tact with the guns, cameras, bars, razor-wire, and armed, humorless guards: Check-point Charlie . After being carefully processed by a member of the East German all-male woman’s’ swim team, we drove through this very depressed portion of the city to meet with the U.S. Embassy’s Economic Attaché.
East Berlin was the “showcase” of the communist world as the most successful economy on the planet. But after I got past the huge telephone tower (that looked like a Las Vegas Casino ride), I stared out of the window with my mouth open as we watched armed policemen stopping as many pedestrians as they could (they were almost all pedestrians), on every corner, to check their paper work. I had my passport with me, and I’ve nearly always had a current passport since I was 16, along with a driver’s license – but I have never been stopped by a policeman who just wanted to “check” my papers. I marveled at what an intrusion this seemed to be.
The buildings were indistinguishable one from the other. I could not tell if I was looking at office, apartment, government or commercial buildings. They all looked alike. The cars were the same: Trabans were perfectly symmetrical block-like cars that looked the same coming and going. They ran on lawn-mower fuel, so were highly polluting, and people were on 13-year waiting lists for these beauties. After the fall of the Wall however, every other car in abundance on the planet rendered them obsolete.
I admit I fell asleep half way through the economic presentation – but I had not had any sleep for over 24 hours. I woke up when everyone was leaving. I had managed to stay awake long enough, however to understand that West Germany had to face re-unification with it’s sibling (East Germany)who was now retarded and deprived of 50 years worth of economic, technological and sociological advancements.
Later that night, we all went out to a dinner-meeting with the U.S. Mission’s Charge’ d’Affairs and the European Market representatives. This is where I first learned of the Euro, and that the West Germans regarded the East Germans as their “Indians,” (what’s that supposed to mean?). I could tell a reunification would be as rough on the Germans as it might be on the rest of the world.
I was served “swine-jungen” – or baby pig. From my experience of living in Zurich, I was not terribly fond of German cuisine – but this was the best food I had ever eaten! We all made “pigs” of ourselves that night while we settled in to hear how the political climate weighed in on the economic future of this burgeoning nation and its impact on the rest of the Common Market.
As the various Common Market representatives gave their presentations, I was astonished the I honestly enjoyed the briefings and was eager to soak up anything they had to say. I may have forgotten most of it now, but that’s only because almost all of it became irrelevant within weeks of having met with them. But the overall impact was to open my mind up to how business might be done at this opportune moment in time.
All the while this was going on, Studibert sat back, and patted himself on the back for this great and auspicious meeting. Frank skulked silently in the corner of the room, keeping an eye on everyone. At the time, I thought Studibert was being a naturally self-effacing man, and that Frank was genuinely tired. Later, I found I had misjudged these two.
• Would there be a WWIII (because every time Germany was united in the past, a world war broke out, i.e. WWI & WWII)?
• Would Germany’s economy surpass that of the United States with a re-unification? The Deutschmark was rapidly gaining on the U.S, Dollar.
There was a lot to ponder in my jet-lag stupor.
We then boarded a bus to cross through The Wall where it was still in tact with the guns, cameras, bars, razor-wire, and armed, humorless guards: Check-point Charlie . After being carefully processed by a member of the East German all-male woman’s’ swim team, we drove through this very depressed portion of the city to meet with the U.S. Embassy’s Economic Attaché.
East Berlin was the “showcase” of the communist world as the most successful economy on the planet. But after I got past the huge telephone tower (that looked like a Las Vegas Casino ride), I stared out of the window with my mouth open as we watched armed policemen stopping as many pedestrians as they could (they were almost all pedestrians), on every corner, to check their paper work. I had my passport with me, and I’ve nearly always had a current passport since I was 16, along with a driver’s license – but I have never been stopped by a policeman who just wanted to “check” my papers. I marveled at what an intrusion this seemed to be.
The buildings were indistinguishable one from the other. I could not tell if I was looking at office, apartment, government or commercial buildings. They all looked alike. The cars were the same: Trabans were perfectly symmetrical block-like cars that looked the same coming and going. They ran on lawn-mower fuel, so were highly polluting, and people were on 13-year waiting lists for these beauties. After the fall of the Wall however, every other car in abundance on the planet rendered them obsolete.
I admit I fell asleep half way through the economic presentation – but I had not had any sleep for over 24 hours. I woke up when everyone was leaving. I had managed to stay awake long enough, however to understand that West Germany had to face re-unification with it’s sibling (East Germany)who was now retarded and deprived of 50 years worth of economic, technological and sociological advancements.
Later that night, we all went out to a dinner-meeting with the U.S. Mission’s Charge’ d’Affairs and the European Market representatives. This is where I first learned of the Euro, and that the West Germans regarded the East Germans as their “Indians,” (what’s that supposed to mean?). I could tell a reunification would be as rough on the Germans as it might be on the rest of the world.
I was served “swine-jungen” – or baby pig. From my experience of living in Zurich, I was not terribly fond of German cuisine – but this was the best food I had ever eaten! We all made “pigs” of ourselves that night while we settled in to hear how the political climate weighed in on the economic future of this burgeoning nation and its impact on the rest of the Common Market.
As the various Common Market representatives gave their presentations, I was astonished the I honestly enjoyed the briefings and was eager to soak up anything they had to say. I may have forgotten most of it now, but that’s only because almost all of it became irrelevant within weeks of having met with them. But the overall impact was to open my mind up to how business might be done at this opportune moment in time.
All the while this was going on, Studibert sat back, and patted himself on the back for this great and auspicious meeting. Frank skulked silently in the corner of the room, keeping an eye on everyone. At the time, I thought Studibert was being a naturally self-effacing man, and that Frank was genuinely tired. Later, I found I had misjudged these two.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
THE WALL
What can I say about what happened to me at The Berlin Wall? To see it was to feel it. It was ridiculous and deadly. It was an eye-sore of graphiti and rusty barbed/razor wire. It was a relic of a long, unfinished war; and a monument to the humanity and inhumanity of men. We read the crosses and signs placed around The Wall, and although not all of us could read German, we could make out the names of the people and the dates they died trying to escape to freedom: family, friends, and life. It brought tears to my eyes to know with stark-raving reality that these ordinary men, women and children all had heroic stories that might be left untold; that there was a price for freedom and they had all paid that price. How could I ever comprehend people who would sacrifice their very lives against that Wall? I was finally comforted to know that every last one who attempted to break through this barrier succeeded in gaining that freedom prize – whether by living through the ordeal, or by dying in the attempt.
I could only take the hammer and chisel we were given and chip away at The Wall by Brandenburg Gate. It was tough-going, but none of us wanted to stop. We wanted to be a part of tearing down that embarrassment. We all wanted to be the ones who freed a little bit of stone in order to free a nation of people. We wanted to be a part of the solution, the movement, democratic process, and the emerging free market economy. We wanted to erect a monument of green grass and blue sky, without idealogical, visual or physical obstruction. We wanted to erect a monument to free agency for all men. We wanted to somehow be associated with those murdered, martyred souls that we never knew, and wanted to avenge them with every strike of hammer to chisel on that wall of shame. None of us wanted to stop the clanging-chipping away, but we were compelled, and so vowed to return and finish the job if ever there was one piece left.
I could only take the hammer and chisel we were given and chip away at The Wall by Brandenburg Gate. It was tough-going, but none of us wanted to stop. We wanted to be a part of tearing down that embarrassment. We all wanted to be the ones who freed a little bit of stone in order to free a nation of people. We wanted to be a part of the solution, the movement, democratic process, and the emerging free market economy. We wanted to erect a monument of green grass and blue sky, without idealogical, visual or physical obstruction. We wanted to erect a monument to free agency for all men. We wanted to somehow be associated with those murdered, martyred souls that we never knew, and wanted to avenge them with every strike of hammer to chisel on that wall of shame. None of us wanted to stop the clanging-chipping away, but we were compelled, and so vowed to return and finish the job if ever there was one piece left.
BERLIN
It was March 20th, and I was reunited with Fred and the rest of the Trade Mission at the customs gate in Frankfurt. As we flew over East Germany and into West Berlin, I was both excited and afraid of the place that had ruled my childhood with “drop-drills,” national emergency sirens every Friday morning at 10:00AM (in Southern California, these sirens had continued into the ‘70’s), and the general threat of a Communist take-over.
Flying over Berlin, I could see The Wall snaking its way through the countryside, forming a very white, crooked circle – no -- a polygon. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This stupid thing was real! The Wall was the most ridiculous structure I had ever seen. It just seemed childish from the air: “This is my half of the room, and that’s your half!” Down on the ground however, it was the most formidable foe I had ever encountered.
I was reminded as I flew over East Germany of the Pan American Pilot who dropped candy to the children in West Berlin after the East German’s had built The Wall and placed an embargo on the island of West-Berliners who were stranded by The Wall. It was Colonel Halvorsen -- the “Candy Bomber,” as he is known -- that made it possible for Pan Am to be the only American airline allowed to fly over East Germany (GDR) into Berlin.
We landed in West Berlin, excited and anxious all at once. We were all tired, but could hardly believe we were there in that historic and very important city. We stopped in between the airport and our hotel at a “Burger King” restaurant, where the men went and foraged for Coca-Cola drinks (traveling always increases the thirst-factor). They were laughing as they returned with drinks in hand – the cokes were warm, and there were no ice cubes to be found. I knew this from my Zurich days, but still found it funny, especially since these sophisticates were totally bewildered by the cultural disdain for cold drinks that the Europeans had always displayed.
After we settled into our hotel rooms (I was bitten by bed-bugs) we congregated to travel over to the Reichstadt. The bullet holes from WWII remained un-repaired as a reminder of why Berlin was divided and occupied. Just down the street was the Brandenburg Gate, where we were given hammers and chisels to do our part in tearing down The Wall. As I hammered away I began to understand what had really been going on behind the scene of my childhood nightmares. The Wall had opened in November, 1989, and the last person to be shot trying to escape from East Berlin was a woman, shot in July, 1989.
Flying over Berlin, I could see The Wall snaking its way through the countryside, forming a very white, crooked circle – no -- a polygon. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This stupid thing was real! The Wall was the most ridiculous structure I had ever seen. It just seemed childish from the air: “This is my half of the room, and that’s your half!” Down on the ground however, it was the most formidable foe I had ever encountered.
I was reminded as I flew over East Germany of the Pan American Pilot who dropped candy to the children in West Berlin after the East German’s had built The Wall and placed an embargo on the island of West-Berliners who were stranded by The Wall. It was Colonel Halvorsen -- the “Candy Bomber,” as he is known -- that made it possible for Pan Am to be the only American airline allowed to fly over East Germany (GDR) into Berlin.
We landed in West Berlin, excited and anxious all at once. We were all tired, but could hardly believe we were there in that historic and very important city. We stopped in between the airport and our hotel at a “Burger King” restaurant, where the men went and foraged for Coca-Cola drinks (traveling always increases the thirst-factor). They were laughing as they returned with drinks in hand – the cokes were warm, and there were no ice cubes to be found. I knew this from my Zurich days, but still found it funny, especially since these sophisticates were totally bewildered by the cultural disdain for cold drinks that the Europeans had always displayed.
After we settled into our hotel rooms (I was bitten by bed-bugs) we congregated to travel over to the Reichstadt. The bullet holes from WWII remained un-repaired as a reminder of why Berlin was divided and occupied. Just down the street was the Brandenburg Gate, where we were given hammers and chisels to do our part in tearing down The Wall. As I hammered away I began to understand what had really been going on behind the scene of my childhood nightmares. The Wall had opened in November, 1989, and the last person to be shot trying to escape from East Berlin was a woman, shot in July, 1989.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
REAGAN, GORBACHEV & ME: THE FORREST GUMP ADVENTURES OF AN ORDINARY HOUSEWIFE
I finally boarded my lonely flight and as usual, was put into business class. As a non-revenue passenger, I was not allowed to travel First Class over the water, but I had no complaints, especially since International Business Class was the same as Domestic First Class. Flying to Europe always takes place in such a way that I’d lose a whole night’s sleep, so I’d always try to eat, then sleep as much as possible on the flight. However, I was seated next to a young man who was the band manager for Fleetwood Mac (yet, another Forrest Gump moment).
The young man’s name was Jason, and he was business-minded and very talkative. His ultimate destination was Amsterdam, where he planned to meet up with his fiancée. She was one of Europe’s top models (don’t remember her name), and they had been engaged for over a year. They had planned to get married as soon as he got in to town. He was too excited to sleep, so I obliged him by chatting.
He then talked on and on about the band, and where they had toured, etc. We talked for the entire flight. At one point he wanted to know what I was doing, and I told him about the trade mission. I also mentioned that it was my 3rd son’s birthday. He was turning 17. How I missed being with him on this day! I also mentioned how he had a set of drums and was taking lessons. Without another word, Jason produced 5, 8” x 11” Glossies of Mac Fleetwood. They had been autographed by Mac, but Jason added: “To Joe. Happy Birthday.” It was just the beginning of the trip, but I was wishing it were the end already so I could rush these to him, and give him a great big kiss!!! Oh well, it would be a nice surprise for him when we got home.
As I was explaining to Jason what I was going to do in Eastern Europe, a great sense of purpose came over me as I spoke. I had felt this ever since I had uttered the words: “I want to go to Poland!” This was a pilgrimage, or quest. In my mind I was on this mission to help tear down the Berlin Wall, and bring in Western Investors to help stabilize the Eastern European economy in order to make the world safe for democracy. I knew this was why I was on this trade mission. I wasn’t sure how I was going to accomplish this, but I knew exactly how important this was – to me – and to the people we would be meeting.
The flight was over before I knew it, and before I got to sleep. Jason and I were sad to say good-bye, because we had become good friends on that 7-hour flight. We knew almost everything about each other, and we knew we would never see each other again. But we did ultimately part. I stepped out of the plane in the awful realization that I had no idea where I was going, except that it was suppose to be on Pan Am’s flight to Berlin – wherever that was.
Finding my way through Customs, the maze of concourses, escalators, and gates was no easy feat in my exhausted physical state. However, since Frankfurt was still an occupied country (occupied by the Allied forces from WWII), I was not required to stand in a long customs lines, but was waived on through when I flashed my American Passport. Germans along with other Europeans, were stuck standing in lines to get into their own country.
I was able to get direction to my flight because the Pan Am ground personnel spoke great English and more than made up for my poor Swiss-German. I had attended high school in Zurich Switzerland in my Junior year -- the American High School of Zurich -- and picked up some Swiss German – enough to get around, and as it turned out – enough to make my way around Poland (specifically, Gdansk).
The young man’s name was Jason, and he was business-minded and very talkative. His ultimate destination was Amsterdam, where he planned to meet up with his fiancée. She was one of Europe’s top models (don’t remember her name), and they had been engaged for over a year. They had planned to get married as soon as he got in to town. He was too excited to sleep, so I obliged him by chatting.
He then talked on and on about the band, and where they had toured, etc. We talked for the entire flight. At one point he wanted to know what I was doing, and I told him about the trade mission. I also mentioned that it was my 3rd son’s birthday. He was turning 17. How I missed being with him on this day! I also mentioned how he had a set of drums and was taking lessons. Without another word, Jason produced 5, 8” x 11” Glossies of Mac Fleetwood. They had been autographed by Mac, but Jason added: “To Joe. Happy Birthday.” It was just the beginning of the trip, but I was wishing it were the end already so I could rush these to him, and give him a great big kiss!!! Oh well, it would be a nice surprise for him when we got home.
As I was explaining to Jason what I was going to do in Eastern Europe, a great sense of purpose came over me as I spoke. I had felt this ever since I had uttered the words: “I want to go to Poland!” This was a pilgrimage, or quest. In my mind I was on this mission to help tear down the Berlin Wall, and bring in Western Investors to help stabilize the Eastern European economy in order to make the world safe for democracy. I knew this was why I was on this trade mission. I wasn’t sure how I was going to accomplish this, but I knew exactly how important this was – to me – and to the people we would be meeting.
The flight was over before I knew it, and before I got to sleep. Jason and I were sad to say good-bye, because we had become good friends on that 7-hour flight. We knew almost everything about each other, and we knew we would never see each other again. But we did ultimately part. I stepped out of the plane in the awful realization that I had no idea where I was going, except that it was suppose to be on Pan Am’s flight to Berlin – wherever that was.
Finding my way through Customs, the maze of concourses, escalators, and gates was no easy feat in my exhausted physical state. However, since Frankfurt was still an occupied country (occupied by the Allied forces from WWII), I was not required to stand in a long customs lines, but was waived on through when I flashed my American Passport. Germans along with other Europeans, were stuck standing in lines to get into their own country.
I was able to get direction to my flight because the Pan Am ground personnel spoke great English and more than made up for my poor Swiss-German. I had attended high school in Zurich Switzerland in my Junior year -- the American High School of Zurich -- and picked up some Swiss German – enough to get around, and as it turned out – enough to make my way around Poland (specifically, Gdansk).
THE FORREST GUMP ADVENTURES OF AN ORDINARY HOUSEWIFE
We were all grouped at different tables with 6 other people: There was a couple from California who made their fortunes in Truck Stops. Beside them sat Jim and his wife representing American Express International. Across from us were two gentlemen by the names of John Browning and George Banning. They obviously knew each other, and were good friends. In striking up a conversation, I learned that George owned all of the Wendy’s Franchises in Florida north of Orlando, and John was the largest Beef supplier to Wendy’s. George and John had been friends for quite a few years, and knew Studibert and Frank from Presidential fund-raisers and arranged fishing trips for President Bush. Other assorted folk included Florida real estate devlopers, news reporters, Adelphi Cable, writers, etc.
Fred and I were the only low-life’s in the bunch (excluding the Cable guy) – and no one knew that the only reason we were there was because Studibert wanted us there (and we had free air travel, and hotel discounts through the airlines). Fred led all of these elite businessmen and press people to believe that he was somehow representing Delta Airlines. This played right into the charade that Studibert had concocted to make people think he, too was more important than he really was (I believed he was)!
Lunch included a briefing from the Department of Commerce, and The State Department. We were all there for one purpose – to explore the emerging and untapped marketplace that was Eastern Europe. We were driven by the almighty dollar, but also paid the almighty dollar to go and learn, and to see what we could offer in the way of stabilizing these new free markets, and thereby making the world safe for democracy.
Fred and I flew over to Berlin on Fred’s non-revenue airline passes. It’s always risky, because all too often the flights are too full and we just simply don’t get on. This was the case on this very important day. Fred had me take a flight separately from the rest of the trade mission because the flight with the trade mission was full. The plan was to go through Atlanta, catch the flight to Frankfurt, and meet up with everyone before going on to Berlin.
This was very intimidating for me, but I had no choice. Fred was going to stay and get on the flight with the rest of the group (my hero). I was not happy with this decision because he would be traveling with everyone, and I would be alone, and could only hope to meet up with the group in Frankfurt.
Fred and I were the only low-life’s in the bunch (excluding the Cable guy) – and no one knew that the only reason we were there was because Studibert wanted us there (and we had free air travel, and hotel discounts through the airlines). Fred led all of these elite businessmen and press people to believe that he was somehow representing Delta Airlines. This played right into the charade that Studibert had concocted to make people think he, too was more important than he really was (I believed he was)!
Lunch included a briefing from the Department of Commerce, and The State Department. We were all there for one purpose – to explore the emerging and untapped marketplace that was Eastern Europe. We were driven by the almighty dollar, but also paid the almighty dollar to go and learn, and to see what we could offer in the way of stabilizing these new free markets, and thereby making the world safe for democracy.
Fred and I flew over to Berlin on Fred’s non-revenue airline passes. It’s always risky, because all too often the flights are too full and we just simply don’t get on. This was the case on this very important day. Fred had me take a flight separately from the rest of the trade mission because the flight with the trade mission was full. The plan was to go through Atlanta, catch the flight to Frankfurt, and meet up with everyone before going on to Berlin.
This was very intimidating for me, but I had no choice. Fred was going to stay and get on the flight with the rest of the group (my hero). I was not happy with this decision because he would be traveling with everyone, and I would be alone, and could only hope to meet up with the group in Frankfurt.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
THE JOURNEY
I’d like to make a very important point here: The title of this huge blog is “Reagan, Gorbachev and Me: The Forrest Gump Adventures of an Ordinary Housewife,” because I am truly just some schmuck, mediocre person that got caught up as a kind of “fly-on-the-wall” of history in the making without really any effort or ambition. I am not some specialized international relationship expert; at the time I had no degree; and I was politically unwise – unspoiled. But I volunteered, showed up, and was willing; and that, I believe is the key to participation in all of life’s adventures.
The day finally arrived when Fred and I embarked on this great journey to
While we ate, a member of the State Department briefed us on the importance of this mission and the pitfalls of traveling in these Eastern European Countries. I was so busy looking around at everyone, and trying to imagine who they were, and how we’d interface during the next 10 days. I really didn’t pay much attention to who was speaking, or what was being said.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)