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free medical care.
The political dissidents who opposed this system were
remarkably brave and talented. They played an essential
role in keeping the embers of independent life, belief and
thought alive. But they were almost all outliers — intellectu-
als, clerics, poorly educated firebrands — who made little
connection with the general public.
That all changed in 1980, when an unknown, uneducated
electrician clambered over the iron gates of the Lenin
Shipyard in Gdansk, Poland, to rally the workers there who
were demanding the formation of a union without official
oversight. That was the beginning of Lech Walesa’s rise to
lead the Solidarity movement — Solidarnosc, in Polish —
which spread rapidly that fall and became a parallel center
of power to the official Communist Party organs.
By the winter of 1981, Solidarity was demanding both
stable prices and higher wages, a circle that was impossible
to square. The situation had become untenable: Factories
across the country were on perpetual strike. Farmers were
refusing to sell produce for an increasingly worthless
currency. Supply shortages were outstripping the govern-
ment’s ability to ration essential foodstuffs. Citizens were
reduced to selling their belongings at impromptu flea
markets that popped up all over the country.
On the night of Dec. 13, 1981, Polish general Wojciech
Jaruzelski, who had taken power that October, imposed
martial law. All domestic and international telephone and
telegraph lines were cut. Walesa and thousands of other
Solidarity officials and allies were arrested. A strict 9 p.m. to
6 a.m. curfew was imposed, and military units set up
checkpoints at major intersections. The military took over
supervision of significant economic institutions, and the
junta imposed a six-day workweek and price increases that
resulted in a 20 percent drop in real wages.
And yet, Poles coped. Alcoholism initially surged, but
most people found ways to survive and to keep their dignity.
Journalists who refused to bow to the army found other
work. One of Poland’s best-known TV hosts became a taxi
driver. A remarkable underground press published not only
diatribes against the regime but also educational tracts on
economics and politics. Because these were forbidden, the
public soaked them up, and over time Poles became one of
Europe’s best-informed citizenries.
Inspired by the Polish-born Pope John Paul II, who hadThe officials in charge of handling the few prying journal-
ists admitted from the West were very good at arranging
visits to the Potemkin villages they had created and equally
adept at thwarting any efforts to peer behind the facade of
the Workers’ Paradise. This was particularly true for photo-
journalists — and even more so for videographers. But the
best of the visual journalists applied their talent for observa-
tion and their patience to see past that outer layer of
enforced conformity.
You could read volumes and not gain as much insight
about what it was like to live through those times as you will
from exploring these photographs by Arthur Grace from his
new book, “Communism(s): A Cold War Album.” These
images capture the damage that Russian occupation did to
these countries and to the mental and spiritual well-being of
the tens of millions who suffered under that horrific mis-
rule.
The passage of time has clouded our collective memories
of that era. If people today think about what life was like in
the Soviet bloc, they imagine the political repression and the
economic deprivation, the uprisings and the inevitable
crackdowns. But those images leave us with an incomplete
history.
There was little illusion that these regimes were demo-
cratically elected, but most wrapped themselves in a con-
cocted national identity and did their best to deliver eco-
nomic benefits and much-desired social stability. The lead-
ers offered the public an implicit social contract: We will
provide jobs, food, housing, education, medical care and a
modicum of entertainment. You will stay silent.
Although there were violent uprisings — East Germany
in 1953, Hungary in 1956, Czechoslovakia in 1968, Poland
in 1970 — for most citizens, for most of the time, that
compact was grudgingly accepted. Life wasn’t great, but it
could be almost comfortable and, as long as you were
apolitical, relatively stress-free. The proof is that there are
to this day people in the former Soviet bloc who long for the
good old bad days when e veryone had a job and a home andO
ne of the few rays of hope that have shown
through the horrific events in Ukraine has been
the selfless sacrifices made by thousands, per-
haps tens of thousands, of people in the countries
bordering that besieged land. In Poznan, Poland,
hundreds of cars lined up to deliver food, clothing and other
essentials to collection centers. Individual Poles are driving
across their country to offer a lift to Ukrainian refugees
stuck in camps just over the border; others are opening their
homes to the displaced. Poland, of course, is not the only
nation where people have generously supported Ukraini-
ans, but their commitment has gone far beyond what might
be expected. One explanation might be found in the region’s
not-so-distant history of rule by the Soviet Union.
It has been just three decades since the fall of the Berlin
Wall and the collapse of one of the most dehumanizing
forms of government the modern world has known. The
Soviet method of governance, known as Marxism-Lenin-
ism, promised its citizens a predictable if boring life in
return for their acquiescence, if not support. The threat of
imprisonment, or loss of work and the accompanying
benefits, made it possible to enforce an atomization of the
population in which even good friends feared sharing their
inner thoughts. The result was a highly regimented, mono-
chromatic society that was easy to categorize, oversimplify
and, eventually, forget.
The reality of the Soviet bloc was far more complex and
difficult to penetrate. The official version was cartoonlike
propaganda: posters, films, songs, mass meetings and
military parades, accompanied by heartwarming scenes of
the proletariat devoting themselves to their work for the
state and living lives of limited but relative comfort.Gazing behind the Iron Curtain
Photojournalist Arthur Grace looked past the propaganda
and found the humanity, says Richard Hornik, who reported
on life in the Soviet bloc as it waned
C lockwise from top left: A young couple in a Warsaw park, 1982. Factory workers in Krakow, Poland, on a lunch break, 1989. A blacksmith pauses
for a cigarette near Krakow, 1989. The factory doctor at Lenin Steel Works in Krakow, 1989. A model poses for a painting class in Warsaw, 1982.
Counterclockwise from top right: Two medics keep watch during the annual May Day parade in East Berlin, 1977. A security agent observes a
Warsaw military parade, 1989. A woman sells flowers from her car in Warsaw, 1989. An artist in Warsaw hopes to make a sale, 1982.been elected in 1978, the Catholic Church became a center of
national resistance. On Good Friday in 1982, Polish church-
es turned their traditional displays of Christ’s tomb into
political statements by, for example, drawing outlines of
dead bodies to represent protesters killed during a protest
at a coal mine.
On the 13th of each month, demonstrations marking the
imposition of martial law exploded across the country. The
junta deployed tear gas, water cannons and paramilitary
police with long white truncheons (or “blondes”) to sup-
press demonstrators in running skirmishes. And Poles
carried out small acts of defiance, like ostentatiously taking
a stroll every night at the precise time when the government
broadcast the official evening news program.
Over time, Poles began to understand that, as the Czech
dissident and eventual president Vaclav Havel wrote, “Hope
is not the conviction that something will turn out well but
the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how
it turns out.” That understanding not only enabled Poles to
survive the deprivation and depression of the 1980s, it also
prepared them to lead the Soviet bloc out of communist
repression in 1989.
Poland’s transition from an impoverished police state to
one of Europe’s most vibrant economies and democracies is
often cast as some miraculous intervention by John Paul II
and/or Ronald Reagan. In reality, it was a result of hard work
and great courage by political leaders and ordinary Poles.
Tragically, their accomplishments are in danger of possi-
bly fatal backsliding toward a 21st-century version of soft
authoritarianism. Part of the reason for the degradation of
Poland’s democracy is the amnesia many Poles have devel-
oped about just how dehumanizing their country was before- Perhaps selflessly providing desperately needed aid
and comfort to their Ukrainian neighbors will awaken Poles
from that willful forgetfulness, and help them confront the
realities of the past by actively remembering them.
Twitter: @RHornik
Richard Hornik covered Eastern Europe for more than 20 years,
including as Time’s Warsaw correspondent from 1981 to 1983.
He is now an adjunct senior fellow at the East-West Center.
Arthur Grace s pent five decades as a photojournalist, including
for UPI, Time and Newsweek. “Communism(s): A Cold War
Album” is his fifth book.