Introduction to the book Solidarity In Gdansk
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“I Called Him Leszek”
On a December night in 1980 I found myself in northern Poland at the Karlino oil field where fire was raging out-of-control due to an oil well blowout. Polish tanks and soldiers were on the scene as were men in fire retardant suits. Lech Walesa, the leader of the recently formed Solidarity trade union, had been called to this emergency to give his appraisal and see what he could do, if anything. How I came to be with him in this situation at this moment is an engaging story, a journey requiring some imaginative thinking and a bit of luck.
As an American photographer who had worked in Poland in 1975, 1978 and 1979, I could no longer receive a visa to enter Poland from the United States in the second half of 1980. Neither the Polish consulate in New York nor the Polish embassy in Washington DC would issue me, a known journalist, a visa due to the rise of Solidarity. The government did not want that type of publicity.
Working for Time magazine in Switzerland in November 1980, while in Bern, I knocked on the door of the Polish Embassy on a day it was closed. Speaking in German, the man who opened it said they were closed. I started speaking English and with a pleading face, saying, “American tourist…. visa…. only in Bern today”, he indicated for me to wait and closed the door. Eventually it opened and I was led in.
On a temporary tourist visa form I wrote “photos” as partial reason for entry. With all my camera equipment and film I didn’t want to be turned back after landing at Warsaw’s airport. Questioned as to what kind of photos, I replied “Zakapane, mountains, postcards, calendars….”. They asked more than once “no journalist?” I, of course, said no and looked taken aback, reiterating several times “mountains and calendars and pretty pictures”, gesturing with my hands as if flipping over pages of a big picture calendar every month. I received a 10-day tourist visa with a possibility of it being extended in Warsaw before the 10th day, if I wanted to stay any longer.
To meet and photograph Lech Walesa—this was my entire purpose for getting into Poland in 1980. I believed him to be the “man of the year”, a major historical figure, and I wanted to get to know and spend time with him if at all possible. (In fact, a year later Time magazine put Walesa on their cover as Time’s “Man of the Year”.) I informed both my agency in New York, Contact Press Images, and Time magazine that I was going to Poland to photograph Lech Walesa. I had laid out a plan and it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Time magazine accordingly informed people working for them in Poland that Fishman was going to be photographing Walesa, so they thought that I was “assigned” by Time, which immediately gave me credibility. Contact Press sent me b&w prints of pictures I had made of Walesa’s step-father a few months earlier at his home in New Jersey. Arriving in Warsaw I made my way up to Gdansk, and via French photographer, Arnaud de Wildenberg, I was introduced to a Solidarity interpreter at Solidarity headquarters. She spoke French better than English but enough to translate to Polish. With others milling about, we waited together in the outer room of Walesa’s office. It was very late afternoon when Walesa came out and everyone wanted time with him. Continuously standing amidst so many in the crowded space, the translator and I met with him there. She told him who I was and that I would be in Gdansk for the week. He was receptive. I offered him the pictures of his step-father which he very much appreciated. When he saw one with a woman in it and asked who she was, I told the translator it was his girlfriend. He liked that and laughed. We established a rapport. That’s when I told the interpreter to ask if I could go to church with him early the next morning. He replied “oczywicie!” (of course!). I was given his home address. We would go together.
Several international photographers were staying in a private flat of an older couple who were Solidarity supporters. There was room for me so I stayed there too. Well before dawn the next morning I awoke and in the dark of night, tried finding a taxi in the empty streets. I started walking in the direction of his apartment and eventually a car stopped for me. I gave him the address. We arrived, I indicated for him to wait, and I went in to get Walesa and his bodyguard. The taxi driver had no idea who was going to be stepping into his car. Walesa went straight into the front seat and I watched the taxi driver’s eyes bulge out of his head with disbelief. Off we went to church where my photography began. The taxi driver waited. From church we went back to Walesa’s apartment for breakfast where I was able to make private and exclusive pictures with his wife Danuta and family. She made us all ham and eggs. After breakfast and goodbyes, we were off to Solidarity headquarters with the same taxi driver. No one at Solidarity headquarters knew I had established a rapport with Walesa. I was an unknown to them and I had to immediately establish an “I’m with him” kind of thing and stay very close. We pulled up to the entry of the Solidarity building and Lech bolted out of the car followed immediately by his bodyguard. I quickly threw the taxi driver U.S. currency and ran after them, staying as close as I could. Everyone wanted to get close to Walesa and I had to be pushy not to lose my close proximity. After we had climbed the several flights of stairs to his outer office, we found several people waiting for him including photographers. He soon opened the door to his private inner office to step in alone. I looked at him from the doorway as he was about to close it, and, with non-verbal communication, asked if I could come in. He indicated yes. I was in. Just the two of us.
Over the course of the next week I was able to make pictures others could not. He knew I couldn’t speak or understand much Polish so he allowed me to be in on his private meetings with Solidarity leaders as well as private citizens, even when the people raised concerns about my presence. Many times I was not the only photographer in the room, and when he was out of the office there were often other photographers as well. One case in point was at the Karlino oil field fire where there were several photographers present, but when I was around, he allowed me access like no one else. I called him Leszek.
In one instance in his office, I was among other international photographers who were present when a secretary came in and handed him a box that had just been received via the post. It had a return address from a Scandinavian country, was wrapped in plain brown paper, and tied up with string. No one knew what might be inside that box. Leszek, behind his desk, started opening it. I looked back at the other photographers and we all had the same incredulous expression on our faces. We all started moving backwards. I don’t remember if he then stopped or continued opening the box. I strongly remember being quite alarmed and also marveled at his openness and apparent naïvete.
At another time, after others had left his office and it was just the two of us, he appeared to have a headache and was exhausted from the unrelenting weight of responsibility: the telephone calls and meetings, and the day-to- day operation of running Solidarity. Still smoking a cigarette, he lay down on a little bed to take a nap. I made a few pictures and waited until the cigarette was out before leaving him alone in his office to sleep, quietly closing the door behind me.
With my 10-day visa about to expire I needed to go back to Warsaw and try to extend it. I got lucky and received a one time only 10-day extension. Back to Gdansk I went.
There was little difference in the few days that I was gone — except that Leszek had gotten a haircut. Otherwise I still had the access he afforded me and was able to photograph events like the traditional Christmas offering and breaking of bread followed by kissing (oplatek) in his private office with his staff. I also photographed activities within Solidarity headquarters and life on the streets of Gdansk which included long lines of people waiting to purchase food. One undertaking I photographed in the headquarters “art department” was the making of Solidarity T-shirts. I still have mine and wear it on special occasions…. even if it now seems to be a little tight.
Chuck Fishman
