Summit Magazine, September/October 1982
By Paul Babler *
*For the protection of the author, this is a ficticious name.
We came to a halt at a militia check point, one of the present state of emergency's by-products. It was like a small customs station with a red and white drop-bar barring our way. We produced our travel permits to a militia man with a machine gun. He looked bored and reminded me of pictures I had seen of Herman Goering. He seemed unsatisfied and started to grill a girl accompanying me. We were traveling to the resort village of Bukowina to do some skiing for the first time this winter. Fortunately, the girl was diplomatic, charming and very difficult to pin down, so after half an hour and a thorough search through our luggage, we were allowed to drive off, bewildered and relieved.
I opened the door of my bed-and-breakfast room and went out onto the balcony. Warm wind played among shapely log houses of the village below and along its deserted streets, normally thronged with great numbers of skiers and vehicles. In a distance a glittering panorama of Tatra sharp peaks dazzled and dominated green, wooded foothills, already swallowed by dusk. The mountains seemed to be so near and yet absolutely out of bounds. It was the beginning of March, 1982, and normally the peak of the season in the Tatra Mountains of Poland. This year, however, it was the season's very beginning, and we were one of the first visitors allowed in some well controlled areas of the restricted frontier zone. In the name of what the regime authorities called "the process of normalization," some of the restrictions and bans projected on sports and tourist activities were lifted, but one is still required to possess a special travel permit. Obtaining such a passport involves lots of formalities, including a leave certificate from one's employer. It is all very discouraging and time- consuming at a local government office where a long row of men in military uniforms sit behind tables. Each one had to read, approve, stamp, and sign each application.
The Tatra, however, remained intact this winter, and now I gazed at them regretfully and longingly, asking myself what the hell special milita troops had been doing there in one of the high valleys. The answer was to strike me some weeks later when a Solidarity underground-published list of regime-collaborators read two familiar names, accusing them of giving climbing training to the militia combat troops.
One night, back in town where I live, I visited the climbing club headquarters. Under the martial law no tourist or sports organizations were allowed to operate, even indoors, yet I discovered the club's rooms crowded and the atmosphere bearing an almost wartime conspiracy air. A particular News and Information Exchange was taking place. Illegal typescripts of political humor were handed around. Solidarity buttons were replaced with tiny electric resistance devices worn as a new symbol of the nation's passive resistance, the line recommended by Lech Walesa and Solidarity's less radical element. It seemed to be more a political party meeting than the club's evening gathering. And, indeed, most of the climbing fraternity in Poland have been devoted members of Solidarity, including Janusz Onyszkiewicz, the Union's press- mouthpiece and a well known alpinist, imprisoned under the new order. No wonder that a number of climbers found themselves in the detention camps.
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Together with some more distinguished names in the climbing world, I discussed the present situation and tried to have a look ahead. Things were not encouraging. The restrictions practically closed all the climbing areas, thus depriving the entire fraternity of any training. Also, the paralyzing of all the means of communication for the first several weeks of the state of emergency—phone and cable connections were cut off, all mail, and a part of transport stopped - greatly affected the club's activities. As a result, no expedition will take place in the pre-monsoon period.
"The process of normalization," that is to say— the junta maintaining their control over key sections of economy and political life, caused the government to approve the organization of three expeditions —Wanda Rutkieicz and Vojtek Kurtyka's K2 trip being one of them—on condition they will attempt problems equal in their hierarchy to world championships and will cover all their hard currency expenses with finances granted by sources abroad. Even the money acquired, other basic problems make these ventures very questionable. With the economy so ruined, practical chances for finding sponsors to obtain equipment, food and vehicles is not likely. Furthermore, the overall Polish situation resembles a pot of boiling water, with the martial law as a lid. If the unrest increases the lid will inevitably explode with the things slipping from the regime's control. Then the gears of the entire militia machine will be oiled again and an expedition, even already on wheels moving to the frontier, will be stopped. All this, combined with problems of everyday living, cause many to withdraw. One needs more than a lot of enthusiasm and determination to do anything in such conditions. No wonder that preservative attitudes prevail. In my own opinion, I fear the organization of any expeditions in such circumstances exposes the climbing party to a real danger of a moral split. The more one desires to achieve something, the more one invests into attaining it, the bigger one's temptation is, the more easily stuffed one becomes. C'est la vie, the end justifies the means.
Until December, the national expeditions organized under the wings of Polish Alpine Association used to receive their hard currency donations from a pool of the ministry concerned, and yet had to be backed up by some western donors like Mr. Julian Godlewski, a Polish millionaire living in Switzerland. These expeditions, however, were organized in a small number—usually one every second year. The recent Everest campaign or former K2 or winter Lhotse trips are an example. All other Polish expeditions - dozens of them on the go each season in the past decade—were organized independently by individual clubs and supported by the Association only in part. Poland then was the only country in the Soviet orbit whose citizens enjoyed absolutely unrestricted hard currency bank accounts, being allowed to import or export unlimited amounts in foreign funds, and this made the organization of the expeditions possible. There were also almost no passport restrictions.
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Now, after the introduction of new regulations, one is allowed to export a limited sum, an equivalent of U.S. $300, only on condition one has acquired one's passport. The rest of one's hard currencies banked may be obtained in special vouchers for purchasing goods in a network of sub- economy Pewex shops, where anyone with western funds can buy products—canned goods, spirits, detergents, TV sets, blue jeans—from the West. The new currency restrictions will result not only in paralyzing the independent clubs' expedition activities, but will also make most of the small ventures by individual members unfeasible. This may finally affect the development of climbing standards in the future, the more so because Poland manufactures practically no equipment of her own, and all the modern gear in use comes from abroad. Chances for launching any home production are nonexistant in the period foreseeable.
The other, no less important, problem is the passport question. Restrictions possible in this area are absolutely unpredictable. At the moment, under the pressures from the West and in the name of the "processes of normalization and liber- alization" already mentioned, the passports can be available to those who produce reliable letters of invitation confirmed by Polish consular authorities abroad, and who have not infringed the martial law or clashed into any collision with the officials, recently or before. They are issued also to persons going on official business trips, state signed and reapproved contracts or scholarships, and to various Polish representatives, as well as to sport teams and art groups. In most cases, a group's last return home is almost decimated by members seeking asylum, and if you want to discover what "a duet" really means, just ask a Pole and you will learn that "it is a Polish symphony orchestra back home after concerts abroad."
All this makes any prediction as to the future passport formalities and restrictions just a sheer sport of futurology. The government itself makes no clear statements on this subject, and the range of possibilities in this area is extreme, though the majority of public expresses more than moderate opinions and reticent expectations. Many believe that after some period of detente, the restrictions imposed will tighten again for the government's better control, as it has been already experienced in other communist block societies. Then, once the extreme, kremlin-fed hardliners prevail and maintain their iron grip, the climbing fraternity, already suffering from bad reputation by the government standards, is most likely to encounter restrictions particularly hard, with many of their top men deprived of any chances for climbing abroad. Speculating still further, one may easily imagine things getting even worse and climbing formalized to the extent already observed in the Soviet Union, China or Mongolia, for example.
Our evening session was coming to its end. For a good while now we had been glancing at our watches. The unpleasant moment of the curfew was approaching with alarming tick-tacks telling us to rush and take refuge of still our own homes.
The September/October 1982 Cover
Cover photo by Jack Tackle.
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Feature image: Winter in the High Tatras, Poland. Rysy (2,501 meters), the highest point in Poland, peeks through clouds in the background, with Nizne Rysy (Lower Rysy) in front. This photo was used for the title page of "Kacper's Last Climb" by Bernadette McDonald in SJ 323 / Photo: Marcin Kesek