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Backed by the might of the occupying Red Army and the acquiescence of his wartime allies in the West, in 1945 Stalin simply moved the Polish state west, handing former Polish territory to the Soviet republics of the Uk-raine and Lithuania and handing the Poles the former German territories in East Prussia, Pomerania and Silesia. To tidy up his creation, the Soviet dictator ordered all ethnic Poles deported from the eastern territories to the lands in the west where he unceremoniously evicted the German population to make room for the deportees.
In so doing, he transformed Poland from a relatively diverse nation of Poles, Ukrainians, Lithuanians, Germans and Jews to an overwhelmingly Polish state — a Roman Catholic, Polish state.
Poland, which was barely 50 percent Catholic when it vanished from the map in 1773 and only 66 percent Catholic in 1921, was 96 percent Roman Catholic at the end of 1945.
"For the first time, Poland was a truly Catholic country," historian Norman Davies wrote, "and it was this supercharged Catholic society which was given an atheist, Communist government."
Not that Stalin cared. His empire was built on the unchallengeable might of the Red Army and the questionable economics of Lenin and Karl Marx. "How many divisions does the Pope have?" he wanted to know.
Yet nearly 60 years later, the Soviets are a bitter memory and the "Pope's divisions" are very much in evidence. They could be seen on an ordinary Thursday as two women knelt in the chilly vestibule of the Church of St. Martin in the cosmopolitan heart of downtown Warsaw — painstakingly rebuilt after being totally destroyed by the war.
Beyond the glass doors, a priest knelt facing the altar and at every space in the sanctuary, worshipers knelt, heads bowed, murmuring their responses in the ageless antiphon of the Holy Rosary.
This day was neither a time or a day that it would be hard to find a seat in virtually any church in the United States, but in Warsaw, arriving late for vespers meant having to pray in the lobby.
The quiet power of the Church was there again Sunday, in the rural village church of Holy Mary Magdalene in Ugoszcz, where standing parishioners line the walls for Sunday Mass to make room for their American guests. Without a hymnbook or missal they raise their voices in fervent song and response, leaving no doubt that this is a regular and vital part of their lives and that they haven't merely come to gawk at the tourists.
The power of the Black Madonna
On a cold rainy October afternoon, a steady stream of pilgrims arrives at the gates of the Jasna Gora monastery in Czestachowa, lining up patiently for a glimpse of the Black Madonna. They come from every corner of Poland to pray for themselves and for their nation before the icon of the Blessed Virgin, the Protectoress of Poland. The Polish nun who is our tour guide — "My name is of no importance," she insisted, as she covered her identification tag with one hand and blocked the camera lens with the other — spoke with fervor of the Pope's personal devotion to the Madonna, the devotion of the Polish people and the benefices "She" has bestowed on the nation and its people in return. "Miracles," she said, "happen here. They happen here every day.
"You have to have faith."
In the end, the faith of the Polish people worked what appeared to be a political miracle. The Catholic Church played a crucial role in the virtually bloodless revolution that brought down the Iron Curtain, the Berlin Wall and the Soviet Union itself.
A Soviet-style state
Communism was exceptionally ill-fitted to Poland. The pre-war Polish Communist Party was a tiny, ineffectual fringe group, subservient to Moscow with virtually no popular support. At war's end, Polish Communists had done nothing to burnish their reputation, but with the bayonets of the Soviet military behind them, their need for popular support would prove minimal.
The task before the post-war government, no matter what its political orientation might have been, was staggering. Physically, the country was in ruins — 80 percent of Warsaw was rubble, with other Polish cities faring not much better. The population was bled white, and in the new territories in the west the Red Army packed up entire factories in a wholesale looting of German property.
Tied economically to a Soviet Union that was itself devastated by the war, Poland struggled to feed, clothe and house a desperate population. The Marshall Plan poured American capital into Western Europe, but Stalin forbade his client states to accept aid from the capitalist west.
A Soviet-style state was imposed, guided by Polish Communists under the watchful eye of Moscow. Iron-fisted Soviet interventions in East Germany, Hungary and Czechoslovakia periodically reminded potentially dissident Poles where political control really lay.
Through the years, the Polish church was the only institution that managed to maintain even a degree of independence from state control. Claiming at least the nominal allegiance of virtually all Poles and the fervent devotion of many, the state and party did not dare challenge the church directly. Charismatic churchmen like Cardinal Sephan Wysznski and Karol Wojtyla overshadowed the gray party bosses in the hearts of the people. When Wojtyla was elevated to the papacy in 1978, the Polish church was further emboldened to take a leading role in the political life of the nation.
The emergence of Solidarity
Economic frustrations bubbled up in a series of strikes in the 1970s, were quelled, then reemerged as Solidarity. Led by a Gdansk shipyard worker, a young electrician named Lech Walesa, with the support of the Church and Pope John Paul II, Solidarity would weather the imposition of martial law and, in 1989, topple the Communist regime, a line of political dominoes that wouldn't stop falling until they reached the Kremlin itself.
In 1990, the old Polish Communist party was declared a criminal organization. Two years later, the Party Headquarters building in Warsaw reopened as Eastern Europe's first stock exchange.
Better, but not yet the best
Though they might treasure their political freedoms and the economic opportunities that have come with the end of the Communist system, Poles aren't entirely dismissive of the accomplishments of the era.
"You are rich. You are richer than we are" university student Slawomir Lach said. Viewing Poland through American eyes could give a distorted picture, he cautioned.
In Bytòw, Piotr Dziekanowski bristled a bit at criticism of the blocky, concrete architecture that dominates much of Poland. After the war, people needed places to live, they needed places to work, and there was little money. That need was met — in time, everyone had a place to live, every one had a job. "That is not true now," he said.
Ewa Szczepanska remembers life under the red regime. As a tour guide, she enjoyed a privileged position in the Polish People's Republic. Well educated, not only was she allowed to travel abroad and have contact with foreigners, it was her job. She had access to shops and goods that were restricted to foreigners and the party elite and was allowed to maintain her own bank account in dollars.
Communism offered security, she said, but at a price.
For working people, daily life had its own challenges. Having a job and a paycheck was a good thing, but too often there was nothing to spend the zlotys on.
"People would take off during the day to stand in line to buy whatever they could find," she recalled. People might have zlotys, but the only goods available were in the restricted shops where only dollars, Deutsch marks or other hard currencies were accepted. But ordinary Poles were not permitted to possess foreign currency.
This, of course, led to a lively black market in dollars. "People always came up to me with dollars, asking me to go to the dollar stores to buy something for them," Szczepanska said.
Currency restrictions came to an end with the end of Communism. Money exchanges — Kantors — are open all over the country, offering the official exchange rate to all comers.
She remembered the years of martial law in the 1980s as a particularly difficult time.
The announcement was sudden and stunning, she said.
"We woke up one morning, and it was all that was on the radio and TV." Solidarity and other political organizations were banned, a curfew was imposed, and travel was severely restricted. "The borders were closed for months," she said.
The economic situation deteriorated. Rationing was imposed, yet the shops were bare. To supplement the meager rations sporadically available, people with friends or relatives in the country began dealing directly with small farmers. "We'd buy a pig or half of a cow to put in the deep freeze," Szczepanska said. "We got along not too bad."
Not all of the changes since 1989 have been for the better, she said. "Drugs and crime are our new problems. Yes, we used to have bad things, but not these."
A young child at the time, Slawomir Lach has few memories of the difficulties of the Communist era. "Thanks to my parents, I couldn't see the bad things in Communism."
"Many people say it was better with Communism — everybody had a job, everybody had something to eat — but that is over, and we won't go back. I hope the new system will work out."
He said he and other young people are frustrated by the economic difficulties their country faces. Lach said he wants to live and work in Poland after he earns his degree, but is concerned that a suitable job might not be available.
"Compared to the European Union it is hard to find work here," he said. "My studies are my only chance in life. I want to be the best of the best.
"I want the same for my country."
