A Guided Tour Through the Museum of Communism (10 page)

I ask you now, Sir, who is really harboring prejudices here, not to use the word discrimination or even racism for the view expressed by the judge? Should I have responded by demonstrating exactly the same kind of prejudice toward your own species and saying that he is only a
primate
!? I do have my feline pride, you know (although, as I mentioned before, some call it arrogance)! If this judge of yours were a true Polish gentleman in the first place, he would never have allowed himself to offend a lady.

But let us put this distasteful issue aside. After all, I am not the subject of this letter. I feel that it is my duty to tell you more about the General. So, let me tell you now, if I may, about the crucial moment in the General's life, about the moment of his decision of December 1981.

“Listen, Gorby,” he told me one evening in that agitated mood that sometimes overcomes him. “People should believe me that there was no other way; I did not have a choice in December 1981. It really was a matter of the lesser evil, as is often the case in politics. You, of all creatures, know how rarely I speak about that part of my life . . . I do not like to remember those moments—you call it suppression, no? Oh, if only you had been there, in Moscow on that December night when the Soviet comrades summoned me to a meeting of the Politburo, for ‘consultations,' as they called it. I still remember the tense, nervous atmosphere in the room. Leonid Brezhnev was sitting at the head of a long table with his bulldog face and beady eyes. He was already very ill, but no less dangerous for it. And Andropov was breathing down his neck. These comrades looked to me like a pack of dangerous dogs, ready to bite. Not much was said, but from their looks I understood the precarious situation Poland was in, with the Solidarity movement's demands undermining the entire Communist system. They were afraid that the ‘Polish pestilence'—as one of them put it—would spread if it was not ‘contained.' That reminded me of 1968, of the moment when we in Poland were forced to send our soldiers against our brothers in Prague. How I regret that today! And how sadly it ended there, how we crushed Dubček and his reforms!

“It should have been clear to me then what was clear to Brezhnev in 1981: that Communism was not a system that could be reformed, and that any such attempt would only bring it down. Gorbachev did not understand that either, unbelievable as it sounds. When, almost two decades later, it was Gorbachev's turn to try reform—how did it end? With the collapse of almost the entire Communist world. I admire that man for his brave attempt to do the impossible—but I do not understand why he didn't learn from the failure of the ‘Prague Spring' and from martial law in Poland? Was he so naïve? Or just a hard-core believer in Communism, like me?

“Anyhow, in 1981 Brezhnev was not naïve at all. He forced me to act, because he knew what we did not. There was no question of the Soviets leaving us in peace to slowly reform our Communism as we saw fit. They did not want another Aleksander Dubček. As Brezhnev-the-bulldog told me in no uncertain terms in his office before the meeting with the others: ‘How long do you intend to tolerate anarchy? Either you take care of your problems, or else we will.' His words were not open to interpretation, my friend. He did not suggest that, for example, I should resign if I didn't curb the protests or something as benign as that. It would have been an easy choice; I would have gladly done it. True, he never said what his threat really meant; he never mentioned the words ‘military interventionʹ—in that my opponents are right. The Soviet threat was never spelled out! However, there was not the slightest doubt as to what Brezhnev and all the rest really had in mind.

“You probably wonder if I was afraid. Later people asked me, did I feel physically threatened. I fought in the Second World War, Gorby. I know what fear is. No, this was not the fear of death that one feels in war. All soldiers feel it; it's only human. But when you are fighting, there is a certain moment when fear turns into indifference. Or, better said, into a reconciliation with one's destiny, acceptance of the consequences. You cannot fight and be afraid all the time. Therefore, you have to make peace with yourself—perhaps not consciously. I believe it is the survival instinct that makes us acknowledge death in order to live. What a beautiful contradiction, when you think of it!

“I remember I went to the men's room. There was a mirror there. I looked at myself. I felt calm, just like in 1943 when I was sure I would be killed by the Germans in a battle. So, then and there, in the toilet of the Kremlin palace, I made my decision: Poland would be saved from invasion! I was ready to sacrifice my reputation rather than the lives of my people. Let me make this clear to you: I was well aware of the price I would personally have to pay for such a decision, and, as my mother would say, I was ready to bear my cross. But back then I thought that one day, when the crisis of Communism was over (imagine how trusting I was!), my people would realize that my decision had been necessary in order to save their lives. Back in the conference room I told our Soviet comrades that they need not worry; we Poles would take care of our ‘problems' ourselves. I could not, of course, repeat the word ‘pestilence.' Brezhnev stood up, slapped me on my back, and grinned unpleasantly. That was it.”

This is what the General himself confessed to me. Therefore, the problem of this trial, as I see it now, is that it will be his word against those who say that there was no Soviet invasion planned. Indeed, lately even some documents were found in support of this. But who could have known that then?

To all this I could add a few conclusions about his character: The General is a serious person. You rarely see a photo of him smiling, only in family photos perhaps. Usually he is somber, his dark glasses adding to his gloom, showing that he carries a heavy weight on his shoulders. Although he is not without a sense of humor! He is a man of principles, even if these principles are different from yours or mine. As an illustration, I will only tell you that he did not enter the church at the funeral of his mother, an ardent Catholic. No, not even in plain clothes. He waited in front of the church until the service was over.
ʺA Communist army general does not go to church under any circumstances!
” he told me later on. Even if you don't believe this anecdote, I can vouch that for him duty is above all else. This—permit me to say—is not a very catholic value. Besides, he proved to be intelligent and capable of grasping the new situation and adapting to it. A complex personality . . . Which is precisely my reason for writing this letter, in my capacity as both a specialist in human psychology and his friend. Do I even need to tell you that Napoleon, when I told him about my intention to write this letter, dismissed it sneeringly, calling you “a bloodsucker”? But that is his level, I am afraid.

In spite of his—not my!—low opinion of you, Sir, I would like to trust you. I already said that my name is Gorby, after Gorbachev. I am well aware that you—like many others before you—might be puzzled by my name. The General himself gave it to me, although, considering my female gender, it would have been more appropriate, wouldn't it, to have named me Raisa, after Gorby's wife, whom he loved so dearly. It seems like a paradoxical twist that the General (my pet human) should name his pet cat after somebody who dismantled Communism and therefore should be his enemy. But, believe me, he had his reasons. He admired Gorby—almost like Napoleon (the man, not the dog, of course). The mere fact that he named me after Gorby should tell you a lot about the General himself.

The great absurdity of Gorby's life (not mine!) was that
the collapse of Communism was the result of his own attempt to reform it
, to perfect it, as he himself said. Isn't that a sad destiny, to live to see exactly the opposite of what you intended? To have the whole world admire you for something that you did not want to achieve? To see people applaud you for the mistake you made? In hindsight it looks like a comedy, but it is a tragedy! So, they
both believed in the possibility of saving Communism
, one way or another, and they both ended up losers. Gorby is almost like a character from a comedy of errors. Think about it: The outstanding political change of the twentieth century happened, in fact, by mistake!

Gorby was, no doubt, a believer. The General was a believer, too. “A faith is not acquired by reasoning . . . Reason may defend an act of faith—but only after the act has been committed, and the man committed to the act,” wrote Arthur Koestler. I think that for the General—as for many other believers—the main problem was the difference between theory and practice: Obviously, for him, in theory Communism looks good. So let us suppose, for the sake of argument, that you are a true Communist (you acquired a faith) who early enough became aware of the “deviations” in practice. You are part of the power structure. You think that you could do better. What do you do? You reach for, shall we say, unethical means in order to achieve your aim. You act brutally in order to save your beloved Poland from the invasion, in accordance with the principle of the end justifying the means. That is, you make a pact with the devil, in this case, Moscow. But—and this is not an excuse, only a clarification—you act as a man of faith. Later on you understand what the consequences of what you have done are and you regret it—only, it is too late. Can you be redeemed? Do you deserve pity? Well, that depends upon the circumstances, I suppose you would say.

In both my feline—that is, subjective—and professional views, the General is perhaps an even more tragic person than Gorbachev. He lost the battle to improve Communism by ruthless means and
destroyed his moral credibility
, which was not the case with Gorbachev. The General is tragic for another reason, too: because he has admitted publicly that he was defeated. He claims that he believes Communism failed, that he is now a social democrat, and, moreover, that he likes Poland as it is today. Yet,
he has never repented for martial law
! He has never admitted that his decision to impose it was wrong. On the contrary, he still maintains that it was a necessary measure to save Poland . . . In other words, the General did not do the single, most important thing that would have saved him from being put on trial: He did not repent for his decision. And that is unforgivable—at least for half of the Polish citizens. He is not to be forgiven for standing up for his belief. He has to pay for his sins!

This attitude, in the time of a moral decay, is, you have to admit, rather brave, I'd say.

Napoleon comments, “Your justice in just a few words: an eye for an eye.” Being a cat, I don't trust dogs, and I can't believe in such primitivism on the part of democratic Poland. Please, Sir! I am aware that I sound pathetic now, but the General must be given a chance to redeem himself. In your religion, everyone must be given this chance. You must have considered whether there is something to say in his defense. Correct me if I am wrong, but it was the General who made possible the first free elections that Solidarity won. You could claim that, in a way, he was forced to the roundtable talks in the spring of 1989—or to invite Solidarity to enter the coalition government. He also stepped down from the presidency. The General considers Solidarity's later triumph to have been made possible by the decisions he made during and after the imposition of martial law.

However, something like a Solidarity-generation complex still runs very deep in this society. I mean that participants in the roundtable negotiations with the General are themselves being treated as traitors. Politics is the art of compromise, and compromise (enabled by the General) brought about the change of power. Yet political compromise, dialogue, and consensus—even if they played a great role in the nineties—are not sufficiently part of this culture. This is not difficult to understand in view of the past: What could you humans learn about compromise when you were living in a totalitarian society? But this complicates the case of the General even more . . .

I know, Mr. Prosecutor, that justice is needed, but I ask you: What is justice in the case of the General? Going back to where I started: Does he really have to be tried in a criminal court like an ordinary criminal or Mafioso? Are you sure that this trial will satisfy the principle of justice? Some authorities in the field of law, for example, have expressed their doubts that the charges stand. Is the trial going to be useful—or maybe even harmful to the society? The General himself is not opposing a trial, because it gives him yet another chance to say what he considers to be the truth in his own words, since he cares about his role in history and he wants to set the record straight.

Napoleon, predictably, unquestioningly believes every word the General says. He is, you know, very much a soldier type. I, on the other hand, think that my duty as a feline intellectual is to ask the right questions. The main question is, What is the purpose of this trial? Is it to achieve symbolic justice, or is it a case of belated retribution? Is he being tried as a person or as a symbol? Formally he was put on trial for illegally imposing martial law. It is expected to be a ritual of exorcising the evil spirit of Communism and, as such, to help society mentally step out of its past. In that sense, perhaps it would be wise to hold a trial. But if you are honest, you must admit that, so far, this looks like an act of revenge for decades of Communist rule, no more and no less. Vengeance, however, is a bad motive. Your office should not take part in something like that. What would you achieve? Are you sure that you are not looking for a scapegoat, not knowing how to deal with the problematic past?

Besides, it should be taken into consideration that the General has expressed regret for the pain his decision has brought to many of his fellow humans. I do not need to remind you, of all human beings, that only a person with an ethical code could do that. This is no small matter. “I am sorry. I regret mainly the social costs of this dramatically difficult decision and those cases where particular people suffered,” he said. A man needs to be a strong character to be able to say this, you have to give him that!