"We Will Not Go Back"

By Thomas A. Sancton

As talks falter, workers and farmers launch a new round of protests

In the Baltic seaport of Gdansk, sirens wailed to signal the start of a four-hour "warning strike" that interrupted public transport and shut down more than 800 plants. In Warsaw, red-and-white Polish flags fluttered defiantly over idle buses and streetcars as drivers joined workers from some 60 local factories and offices in a related half-day stoppage. On the outskirts of Bydgoszcz, 140 miles northwest of the capital, police turned back columns of angry tractor drivers who were seeking to stage a demonstration in the middle of the town. The snowballing protest climaxed on Saturday, when millions of workers observed a nationwide job boycott ordered by Solidarity, the independent union federation. Across Poland last week, workers once again served notice that they would bitterly resist any attempt to roll back the rights they had won through a summer of crippling strikes.

The latest recurrence of labor turmoil centered on two volatile issues: the workers' insistence on a five-day work week and the farmers' demand for recognition of their own independent union, Rural Solidarity. But the protests also raised a broader complaint: the government, the unions claimed, has failed to carry out a number of promises contained in the historic agreements signed last summer not only in Gdansk, but also in Szczecin and Jastrzebie. Among them were pledges to increase Solidarity's access to the press, free political prisoners and reduce censorship. As Union Leader Lech Walesa put it to a throng of followers last week: "Let's not fight for local goals. Let's fight for wider goals. We will not go back one step."

It was increasingly obvious that the government had no intention of retreating either. Party Boss Stanislaw Kania had already begun to harden his policy toward the fledgling labor movement. Two weeks ago, Kania publicly denounced some of Rural Solidarity's advisers as "counter-revolutionaries," thereby casting serious doubt on any chance for the farm union's legalization. Riot police were sent to break up sit-ins in Nowy Sacz and Ustrzyki Dolne. Though authorities stopped short of ousting the 400 workers and farmers occupying the old official union offices in Rzeszow, they refused to enter into any negotiations with the protesters that might resolve the tense local standoff (see box).

There were also ominous new signs of an impending crackdown. At week's end the government expelled a number of Western journalists, including the representatives of TIME and the three major U.S. television networks. The object of such expulsions, said one Bonn analyst, appeared to be simply "to close the windows as much as possible."

Warsaw's hardening line was countered, in turn, by increasingly bold labor militancy. After a heated ten-hour debate last week, Solidarity's national commission in Gdansk adopted a tough, two-pronged resolution. First, it called for direct talks with the government about the carrying out of all points in last summer's agreements. Second, it declared that the promise of work-free Saturdays contained in last summer's Jastrzebie agreement applied nationwide, and that workers should therefore boycott further Saturday labor until the government agreed at least to enter into negotiations on the issue. The commission also proclaimed Jan. 28 a day of fraternal action--presumably to consist of work stoppages and demonstrations in support of Rural Solidarity.

Some observers saw the resolution as a setback for the moderate Walesa, who was known to oppose open confrontation over the Saturday issue. Indeed, several delegates openly criticized their leader for failing to consult the national commission before his surprise meeting with Premier Jozef Pinkowski the day before.

But Walesa was clearly in control. Standing on the rostrum during the Solidarity meeting, he listened calmly and smoked his pipe like a battle-weary statesman. Then he answered his critics with characteristic spunk. Said Walesa: "If we took any decisions that are contrary to those of the national commission, then throw me out." No one rose to challenge his leadership. Having thus reasserted his personal authority, Walesa went along with the majority rank-and-file demand to bring the Saturday issue to a head. In the end he sounded as militant as anyone, describing Solidarity as "10 million people with whom talks should be conducted, and who shall not be split."

Next day Walesa led a union delegation to Warsaw to begin talks with the government. But the stormy six-hour meeting, held in the gray stone Council of Ministers building, ended at midnight in a dangerous deadlock. "We did not achieve anything," Walesa grimly announced. The union reportedly proposed a five-day, 41 1/2-hour work week, actually only one hour less than the government's offer of five 8 1/2-hour days. When the government side turned this down, Solidarity retreated to its original position that a 40-hour week was currently in effect. At that point the talks broke down, rendering Saturday's nationwide strike inevitable.

Even as those negotiations were in progress, the government stepped up its public campaign in an effort to dramatize how the Polish economy, at present groaning under a $23 billion foreign debt, could not support a 40-hour week. In a widely published interview, Deputy Labor Minister Piotr Karpiuk claimed that the elimination of all Saturday labor would cut the national income by $2.5 billion a year. He said that consumers would be deprived, among other things, of 10,000 cars, 10 million meters of cotton fabric, and 30,000 washing machines each year.

Most labor leaders are skeptical of such figures. At the same time, they say they are willing to take the country's economic problems into account and make necessary sacrifices--but only after the government negotiates with them as equals.

Their main complaint is that the government failed to consult the unions before decreeing last December that only two Saturdays a month would be free. Said one Solidarity delegate in Gdansk last week: "We're on the same horse as the government. If the government explains what the nation can do, how much it will cost, then we can consider going along with that."

That sort of dialogue may yet develop. Late last week Warsaw proposed a joint union-government commission to study the economic impact of ending Saturday labor. Government Spokesman Jozef Barecki, meanwhile, suggested the government might take up some of Solidarity's current demands--though he insisted authorities would not bow to an "ultimatum" from the workers. In spite of the week's bluster and turbulence, therefore, there still appeared to be some small chance for compromise--a chance neither side could afford to lose. The alternative was a mounting spiral of confrontation that could ultimately tempt the Soviets, who have 55 divisions still poised within striking distance of Poland, to impose their own brand of order on the country's bold experiment. --By Thomas A. Sancton.

Reported by Barry Kalb/Warsaw

With reporting by Barry Kalb

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