APRIL 15, 2022 – I’d reached the convention center by unconventional means. On my way to a bus stop where I’d been told I could find a public ride, I saw a bus parked along the street. The vehicle was bedecked with signs—including Solidarity posters. Its passengers stood on the sidewalk beside it, and I stopped to meet them. Several spoke English and told me they were convention delegates who’d chartered their own bus from Elbląg. When I said I as well was headed there, they offered me a ride.
The delegates were delighted to have a random “amerykański” on board to see their history-making. They shared newsletters and more posters and gave me an earnest history lesson, condensed to, “German Nazis bad; Russian Communists, just as bad.” After the short journey, the delegates gave me a set of souvenir Solidarnosc pins and a sign, which they autographed. The sign blasted the Soviets’ pact with Hitler in 1939 (the “Ribbentrop Pact”)—another reminder of the connection between Polish history and current Polish political consciousness. In return, I gave them chocolate—a rare commodity in Poland. Upon arriving at our destination, I raised my arms overhead, clasped my hands and said, “Cwała Solidarność!” [Glory to Solidarity!] Everyone gave me a hearty handshake as I disembarked.
In the course of the bus ride I learned that the formal opening session of the convention was scheduled for the following day. Ahead of that, the delegates would gather in the archcathedral in Oliwa, the northern district of Gdansk, for a church service led by Archbishop Jósef Glemp, leader of the Polish Catholic Church—and strong supporter of Solidarity.
The next morning I rose early to reach Oliwa in time for the scheduled service. Despite my punctuality, the cathedral and surroundings were already a mob scene. The cathedral itself was bursting with congregants, and onlookers stood shoulder to shoulder outside and on the rooftops and upper story window openings of buildings within sight of the church; more people climbed boulevard trees for a better view. Through the street crowd, I squeezed toward the grand entrance of the cathedral, but my progress was soon halted by the density of the throng.
At the appointed time, the service commenced. The vast majority of “attendees” heard it by way of loudspeakers mounted throughout the vicinity outside the cathedral. After the service concluded, Archibishop Glemp and the church hierarchy, followed by Lech Wałesa and Solidarity leadership, proceeded into the open air. Like the Red Sea parting, the crowd outside divided to create a pathway for their heroic leaders. At a dignified pace, the standard bearers, their faces made famous by front-page photos in newspapers and TV reports around the world, approached where I was standing—the middle of a street swallowed up by the sea of Polish humanity.
Their course then turned, and the sea continued to open ahead in perfect timing with the pace of the procession. Lech Walesa passed within 10 feet of me. Ready this time, I snapped a (grainy) photo. I then joined the procession to see where it would lead. (Cont.)
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
