The Politics of Memory in Post-Authoritarian Transitions, Volume One : Case Studies [1 ed.] 9781443870009, 9781443817066

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The Politics of Memory in PostAuthoritarian Transitions, Volume One

The Politics of Memory in PostAuthoritarian Transitions, Volume One: Case Studies By

Joanna Marszałek-Kawa, Joanna Piechowiak-Lamparska, Anna Ratke-Majewska and Patryk Wawrzyński

The Politics of Memory in Post-Authoritarian Transitions, Volume One: Case Studies By Joanna Marszałek-Kawa, Joanna Piechowiak-Lamparska, Anna Ratke-Majewska and Patryk Wawrzyński This book first published 2017 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2017 by Joanna Marszałek-Kawa, Joanna Piechowiak-Lamparska, Anna Ratke-Majewska and Patryk Wawrzyński All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-1706-6 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-1706-6

CONTENTS

Introduction ................................................................................................. 1 Joanna Marszaáek-Kawa Chapter One ................................................................................................. 8 The Politics of Memory in Post-Authoritarian Transitions: The Case of Chile Anna Ratke-Majewska From Pinochet to systemic transition. A historical overview ................ 8 The pre-transition identity.................................................................... 17 The development of transition identity ................................................ 19 The exercise of power by new political elites ................................ 19 The presence of the representatives of the former regime in the public life ........................................................................ 22 The formula chosen to hold the apparatus of the authoritarian regime accountable (or not accountable) .................................. 24 Social costs of transformation, especially of the economic transition.. 26 The adoption of new, often culturally different, social and political standards ................................................................................... 28 Democratisation as the fulfilment of intergenerational contract and paying tribute to the victims of the previous regime and to repressed opposition ...................................................... 29 The historical need for national unity ............................................ 31 Membership in international organisations, alliances and economic and political groups .................................................................. 32 The assumed post-transition identity ................................................... 33 References............................................................................................ 34 Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 43 The Politics of Memory in Post-Authoritarian Transitions: The Second Independence of Estonia Joanna Piechowiak-Lamparska A historical overview ........................................................................... 43 Identity formation. The second Estonian national regeneration ..... 43 The singing revolution ................................................................... 45 Democratisation. The second independence .................................. 46

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The pre-transition identity. Homo Sovieticus? ..................................... 48 The development of transition identity ................................................ 49 The exercise of power by new political elites ................................ 49 The presence of the representatives of the former regime in the public life ........................................................................ 52 The formula chosen to hold the apparatus of the authoritarian regime accountable (or not accountable) .................................. 52 Social costs of transformation, especially of the economic transition......54 The adoption of new, often culturally different, social and political standards ................................................................................... 56 Democratisation as the fulfilment of intergenerational contract and paying tribute to the victims of the previous regime and to repressed opposition ...................................................... 57 The historical need for national unity ............................................. 58 Membership in international organisations, alliances and economic and political groups .................................................................. 59 The assumed post-transition identity. A modern European society? ... 60 References............................................................................................ 60 Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 65 The Politics of Memory in Post-Authoritarian Transitions: The Two-Stage Transition in Georgia Joanna Piechowiak-Lamparska A historical overview. Two stages of the transition: Two stages of the transition or two transitions?...................................................... 65 The first stage. The second independence ...................................... 67 The second stage. Democratisation ................................................ 73 The pre-transition identity. ............................................................. 77 The development of transition identity ................................................ 80 The exercise of power by new political elites ................................ 80 The presence of the representatives of the former regime in the public life ........................................................................ 81 The formula chosen to hold the apparatus of the authoritarian regime accountable (or not accountable) .................................. 82 Social costs of transformation, especially of the economic transition . 83 The adoption of new, often culturally different, social and political standards ................................................................................... 84 Democratisation as the fulfilment of intergenerational contract and paying tribute to the victims of the previous regime and to repressed opposition ...................................................... 85 The historical need for national unity ............................................. 86

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Membership in international organisations, alliances and economic and political groups .................................................................. 87 The assumed post-transition identity. A civil society?......................... 88 References............................................................................................ 89 Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 98 The Politics of Memory in Post-Authoritarian Transitions: The Case of the Republic of Poland Patryk WawrzyĔski From communism to democracy: a historical overview ...................... 98 Changing political identity: from Homo Sovieticus to the European nation............................................................................................ 111 The legitimization of new elites ......................................................... 118 The presence former elites ................................................................. 126 The transitional justice....................................................................... 128 Social costs of the transformation ...................................................... 131 New political standards ...................................................................... 133 Symbolic roles of the democratisation ............................................... 135 The need for national unity ................................................................ 137 The international integration .............................................................. 139 Summary ............................................................................................ 141 References.......................................................................................... 143 Chapter Five ............................................................................................ 161 The Politics of Memory in Post-Authoritarian Transitions: The Case of the Republic of South Africa Patryk WawrzyĔski From apartheid to democracy: a historical overview ......................... 161 Changing political identity: from racial separation to the Rainbow Nation........................................................................................... 174 The legitimization of new elites ......................................................... 182 The presence former elites ................................................................. 192 The transitional justice....................................................................... 198 Social costs of the transformation ...................................................... 204 New political standards ...................................................................... 208 Symbolic roles of the democratisation ............................................... 214 The need for national unity ................................................................ 219 The international integration .............................................................. 223 Summary ............................................................................................ 227 References.......................................................................................... 228

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Chapter Six .............................................................................................. 255 The Politics of Memory in Post-Authoritarian Transitions: The Case of the Republic of Spain Anna Ratke-Majewska From the civil war to the transition of the system. A historical overview ....................................................................................... 255 The pre-transition identity.................................................................. 262 The development of transition identity .............................................. 265 The exercise of power by new political elites .............................. 265 The presence of the representatives of the former regime in the public life ...................................................................... 267 The formula chosen to hold the apparatus of the authoritarian regime accountable (or not accountable) ................................ 269 Social costs of transformation, especially of the economic transition... 269 The adoption of new, often culturally different, social and political standards ................................................................................. 270 Democratisation as the fulfilment of intergenerational contract and paying tribute to the victims of the previous regime and to repressed opposition .................................................... 271 The historical need for national unity .......................................... 272 Membership in international organisations, alliances and economic and political groups ................................................................ 273 The assumed post-transition identity ................................................. 273 Appendix One.......................................................................................... 280 Table of detailed results of the remembrance policy in Chile Appendix Two ......................................................................................... 282 Table detailed results of the remembrance policy in Estonia Appendix Three ....................................................................................... 284 Table of detailed results of the remembrance policy in Georgia Appendix Four ......................................................................................... 286 Table of detailed results of the remembrance policy in Poland Appendix Five ......................................................................................... 288 Table of detailed results of the remembrance policy in South Africa Appendix Six ........................................................................................... 290 Table detailed results of the remembrance policy in Spain

INTRODUCTION JOANNA MARSZAàEK-KAWA

The two-volume publication “Remembrance Narratives and the Construction of Political Identities during the Post-Authoritarian Transition” is the result of the research project on the role of remembrance narratives in the process of the reconstruction of the state and society during democratisation. The study includes six different cases – Chile, Estonia, Georgia, Poland, South Africa and Spain – and uses them as a basis for the qualitative-to-quantitative comparative analysis of the use of remembrance during post-authoritarian transitions. The book is the first attempt ever to discuss cases of the transitional politics of memory in various conditions and contexts, as well as to establish a validated model of this phenomenon. It offers evidence that enables readers to understand how the government’s narratives on the past can be used as a powerful tool for the transformation of the state and society and includes a comparative analysis which presents democratisation and the reconstruction of the post-authoritarian national identity from a new perspective. Moreover, it proves that political science is able to answer the question how a government transforms remembrance narratives into pillars of a democratic society, and identify the sources of differences among transitional identity politics and their impact on citizens. The goal of the books is to present various aspects of relationships between remembrance, national identity and democratisation. Thus, the selection of the research sample offers a diverse perspective on political transformation in various socio-political conditions: • • • •

Chile as an example of transition from an authoritarian regime established after a military coup d’état, Estonia as an example of the first wave of post-Soviet democratisations, Georgia as an example of the second wave of post-Soviet democratisations, so called ‘colour revolutions’, Poland as an example of transition from a communist regime, aimed at fast integration with the West,

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•

•

South Africa as an example of post-colonial democracy and, at the same time, transition from a repressive racist regime based on the exclusion of a part of the society and on limiting human rights, Spain as an example of transition from an authoritarian regime established after a civil war.

All six countries have different political traditions; they represent different regions and civilizations, and differ in historical background, paths of democratisation, goals of transformation and visions of the postauthoritarian state and society. The selection of the research sample offers a broad perspective and complex insight into a relationship between narratives of memory and the reconstruction of a national identity in the transition period. Therefore, not only does the publication introduce new research evidence, but it also opens a new field of studies on democratisation. It is an innovative attempt to consolidate memory studies with more traditional branches of political studies: comparative politics, identity politics and political transformation. It fills a gap in the contemporary academic literature with a study based on a complex methodology, clear research design and a comparative analysis of six cases of transitional politics. What is the strength of the publication is its innovative and cross-cultural character, which enables readers to understand how governments use remembrance narratives for shaping national identity during transition with reference to various examples and different socio-political conditions. The study answers a question about similarities and differences in the government’s use of narratives of the past in the transition, as well as explaining what their origins and impact on democratisation are. In the first volume, it shows six different national models applied in various countries, while in the second one it presents a general model of the government’s transitional politics of memory and its influence on the reconstruction of the state and society. It offers a new perspective on political transformation and a new field for studying democratisation. Its aim is to refresh academic considerations of what makes these processes successful and how a government can mobilise the society during political transition. Moreover, it consolidates different fields of social and political sciences, and it offers an innovative approach to the transitional identity politics. It is also a very first step to establish a validated theory of the government’s remembrance policy. The publication builds the foundation for a new dimension of comparative politics. Both the individual case studies and the comparative analysis show that remembrance is crucial political stock during

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democratisation, which can be used for strengthening the process of the reconstruction of the state and society, or, if it is not applied, it may cause long-lasting conflicts and divisions within a society. The study presents the research evidence that proves the hypothesis that interpretations of national history can deeply influence the outcome of the government’s attempts to influence political identity. Moreover, it brings new dynamics to the academic discourse on democratisation, offering a new field for investigation. Contemporary political science requires innovation and the successful reconstruction of traditional perspectives. And this publication provides them. It shows that the government’s remembrance policy is the essential part of the transitional politics in the six cases under analysis. It presents a model of the relationship between remembrance narratives, identity politics and democratisation, based on a complex comparative analysis. Moreover, it proves that by studying narratives of the past we may understand better how political identity, political culture and political institutions are transformed during democratisation. It shows that it is possible to adapt traditional categories to a new perspective and – then – to present new answers. The volume includes a full description of the results observed in each case. All chapters are constructed in a similar way, which enables readers to conduct their own comparisons of remembrance policies. All six parts begin with a brief historical sketch of the authoritarian regime, the chosen path to democratisation and the post-authoritarian transition. Then, they include a comparison of authoritarian and democratic political identities, and discuss key components of these identities, main differences between them and a description of the role of memory as their constitutional factor. These introductory parts offer background for the main part of each chapter – the analysis of the government’s use of remembrance policy in identity politics during post-authoritarian transitions. The analytical part presents the results of the study with reference to eight research categories established in the research design: •

•

The role of remembrance narratives as the legitimisation of new elites, including the following aspects: the past as the legitimisation of new elites, their links with the history of the nation, the reconstruction of national symbols and of the pantheon of national heroes, the reconstruction of the landscape of memory (spatial sites of memory), the historical role of new elites in preventing internal conflicts and their leading role in national reconciliation. The role of remembrance narratives as the justification of the presence former elitess, including: the necessity of the participation

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•

•

•

•

•

•

of former elites in the new political order, the presence former elitess as the legitimisation of democracy and pluralism, definitions of political pluralism and democratic diversity, the narrative justification for building a new political community and explanations of a limited range of transitional justice. The role of remembrance narratives in transitional justice, including: dealing with the past as the legitimisation of the democratic order and the rule of law, transitional justice as punishment and as a source of forgiveness, as well as causes for the limitations of the transitional justice procedures. The role of remembrance narratives as the explanation of social costs of change, including: a relationship between the past and present as the justification of social and economic costs of democratisation, the explanation of new attitudes and behaviours required in new conditions, historical sources of social stratification and justifications of a capitalist turn, or programmes of economic reconstruction. The role of remembrance narratives as a source of new political standards, including: the need for political change as the result of a historical process, the role of inter-generational cooperation and agreement, new heroes as role models for citizens, balance between tradition and modernisation, as well as new definitions of patriotism and their validation. The role of remembrance narratives as the evidence for the presentation of symbolic roles of democratisation, including: the necessity of political transformation, democratisation as a tribute to the victims of authoritarian repressions and to the fallen heroes of the struggle for independence, the pro-democratic selection of narratives, interpretations and national heroes, remembrance as a source of citizens’ participation. and a new calendar of national holidays (organisation of time). The role of remembrance narratives as the justification of national unity, including: reasons for national unity, reasons for reconciliation and forgiveness, the pluralisation of the landscape of memory, and the reconstruction of the pantheon of national heroes. The role of remembrance narratives as an aspect of the state’s identity in international politics, including: justifications for international integration and foreign policy, integration as a stage of democratisation, the state’s identity in international politics as part of the reclaiming of its proper position in international relations and the introduction of new standards caused by integration.

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Chapter one discusses issues connected with the government’s transitional remembrance policy in Chile, which began in 1988 – the year marking the end of Augusto Pinochet’s authoritarian military regime. In the text, we first of all deal with the issue of the influence of the forms of commemorating the past promoted by the government on the shape of the Chilean society’s political identity. Thus, the chapter is a multithreaded analysis of the transitional politics of memory, based on a compromise and values such as truth, justice and reconciliation. We also discuss the work of the National Commission for Truth and Reconciliation, which became the basis for forgiving guilt and for the unification of the nation. Chapter two concerns the application of remembrance narratives in the process of the development of the Estonian society’s new identity in the democratisation period. Apart from presenting the history of transition processes, involving the period of the second national rebirth, the singing revolution, and the second independence, it depicts the way that the Estonian society has gone from the typical attitude of homo sovieticus to a modern European community. The fact that the Estonian people settled accounts with the authoritarian regime played an important part in the process of shaping the post-transition identity, which shows that the potential of the government’s remembrance policy was used in a proper manner. Chapter three presents the process of transition from the authoritarian regime in Georgia. The analysis covers the period of the governments of Zviad Gamsakhurdia, Eduard Shevardnadze and Mikhail Saakashvili. We also show a gradual trend towards the development of the civil society in the Republic of Georgia, which, however, was not accompanied by the pursuit for transitional justice. Because of its length and specific character, Georgian transformation may serve as an example of ignoring issues connected with the politics of memory in public discourse. The chapter focuses on the identification of those tools of the government’s remembrance policy that were applied during transition. Chapter four discusses the application of the government’s remembrance policy for shaping new political identity during the transition in Poland. It spans the period from the establishment of the first post-communist government of Tadeusz Mazowiecki, through the times of the cabinets of Jan Krzysztof Bielecki, Jan Olszewski and Hanna Suchocka, to the first part of Lech WaáĊsa’s presidency. Referring to the construction of a democratic society and a turn from communism, the chapter provides an insightful analysis of the use of interpretations of the past for explaining a new political order and for the disintegration of the “Solidarity” camp. It is also a lecture that guides readers through the

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marginalised field of Polish transformation – the reconstruction of the vision of society and its links with historical experience and with the interpretation of Poland’s history. Chapter five is devoted to the remembrance policy pursued by Nelson Mandela’s cabinet in the Republic of South Africa from the historic election of April 1994 to the time when Thabo Mbeki came to power. It explains how interpretations of the past were used for overcoming the legacy of apartheid, unifying the nation according to the concept of the Rainbow Nation and promoting the policy of reconciliation that the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was the pillar of. The chapter depicts transitional policies in the Republic of South Africa the main component of which were the African National Congress’s efforts to create an inclusive, non-racial society, based on the traditional idea of Ubuntu. It also shows that the government’s remembrance policy may become a very important factor conducive to the democratisation of an authoritarian state. Chapter six discusses the politics of memory in Spain after the death of General Francisco Franco and the influence of the state’s interpretations of the past upon the new political identity of the Spanish society. The forms of commemoration discussed in the text were shown in the political, social and economic reality of the transition period in Spain, which served as a basis for a thorough analysis of the politics of memory in this country. In the chapter, we put special emphasis on two attitudes promoted in the period of changes, which set a direction for the state’s efforts in the field of the memory of the past. The first of them was a turn from the past, based on forgiveness and abandoning revenge. The other one, in turn, focused on future, which became the main pillar of Spanish policy both during the transformation and in the years that followed it. Each chapter ends with a discussion of the observed results and the verification of the main research hypothesis regarding individual cases. Thus, each case study identifies the degree of the influence of remembrance narratives on the process of identity reconstruction in transitional conditions. They also transform qualitative results into quantitative data, which are used in a comparative analysis, presented in the second volume. Each chapter offers a complex insight into democratisation from an innovative perspective, making it possible for readers to understand relationships between remembrance and national identity during political transitions. And it is a value that previous publications lacked. To conclude, the monograph is the result of studies conducted within the framework of the research project financed by the National Science Centre in Kraków, Poland (grant no. DEC- 2012/05/E/HS5/02722). The first volume provides a broad overview of transitional remembrance

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policies in selected countries, focusing not only on transitional justice, but also discussing some other significant aspects of the use of these narratives in the reconstruction of the state and society. We hope that it will be well received by readers, especially by those interested in the politics of memory during transformations. The second volume presents the applied research methodology, the theoretical framework and the results of the comparative analysis of the six cases.

CHAPTER ONE THE POLITICS OF MEMORY IN POST-AUTHORITARIAN TRANSITIONS: THE CASE OF CHILE ANNA RATKE-MAJEWSKA

From Pinochet to systemic transition. A historical overview The period of bloody authoritarian rule in Chile began with a coup d’état of a military junta led by general August Pinochet Ugarte, which took place on 11 September 1973. The putsch was a response to economic slump and political and social chaos in the country governed by a coalition of left-wing parties, the Popular Unity (Unidad Popular, UP), headed by Salvador Allende, who held the office of President in the years 1970-1973. The socialist reforms implemented by the Chilean authorities had led to enormous divisions within the society of Chile. It was the time when paramilitary organisations, both the ones existing before the left-wing government came to power and those established after 1970, intensified their activity. Moreover, the country was beset by strikes, street fighting and acts of sabotage. Not only were government reform programmes unable to pacify social unrest, but they also deepened an increasingly serious conflict with the opposition (see: Bernatowicz, Dobosiewicz, 1973, p. 130 cf.; Ensalaco, 2000, pp. 14-15; Harris, 1999, pp. 13-17; Martner 1988; Valenzuela, 1989, p. 143 cf.). Therefore, the atmosphere of tension and instability lay at the bottom of the coup d’état. The democratic Chilean government was overthrown by the junta, which was composed of: general Augusto Pinochet Ugarte – the commander-in-chief of the army, general Gustavo Leigh Guzmán – the commander-in-chief of the Air Force, admiral José Toribio Merino Castro – the commander-in-chief of the Navy, and General César Mendoza Durán – a representative of the country-wide police force (Carabineros de Chile)

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(Barros, 2004, p. 36; Edwards, 2013, p. 14; see also: Ministerio de Educación Pública, Departamento de Educación Extraescolar, 1974). The takeover of power by the army was intended to be a short-term solution to stabilise the situation in Chile, which was emphasised by the putsch members themselves in the decree establishing a governing junta no. 1 of 11 September 1973. In the document, they also declared that the putsch was an obligation of the Chilean military and law enforcement forces, which – having been established for the sake of defending the integrity and historical and cultural identity of the state and the values it represents – stood up to fight a threat posed by Marxist-Leninist ideology. Under the provisions of the decree, the takeover of power was not only an expression of faithfulness to national traditions, to the heritage of the Founding Fathers and to the history of Chile, but it was also the only way to restore order in the country and to ensure its development and progress. The junta was thus perceived as an exponent of the will of the nation, a defender and guardian of the law. The document also included provisions assuring that the principles of the Chilean constitution would be respected (Acta de constitución…, 1973). The views on the coup d’état and on the situation in the Republic of Chile presented in the decree were shared by a large part of the society. It soon became clear, however, that despite declarations that the constitutional order would be complied with, the authorities established as the result of the putsch would not give up their power,1 and terror used against their opponents would cement social divisions. Marcin Komosa expressed this opinion in the following words: “The coup d’état came as no surprise both for Chileans and for the international public opinion. For many citizens, it meant the end of the period of chaos and anarchy and gave hope for stopping the spiral of violence in the country. Taking into account social attitudes, statements of government members and opposition leaders, as well as the course of the Tanquetazo2 in June, the

1

This intention was clearly articulated in the provisions of the “Declaration of Principles of the Chilean Government” of 11 March 1974, in which the junta announced that its power would not be temporary as the reconstruction of the state requires long-term actions (See: Declaración de principios del gobierno de Chile. Santiago, 11 marzo de 1974, 1974). 2 El Tancazo or El Tanquetazo – the name used to refer to the failed coup attempt that took place on 29 June 1973. The aim of the putsch was to capture the presidential palace, arrest President Allende and force him to resign. The rebellion was incited by the 2nd tank regiment in Santiago led by lieutenant colonel Roberto Souper, and its main part was the storming of La Moneda palace by tanks – hence

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authors of the Amnesty International report of 1974 wrote: «It could be expected that the military intervention would involve some degree of violence» What was hard to predict, however, was the fact that violence would become institutionalised and that the junta, instead of handing power to constitutional organs, would keep it for the following 17 years. The coup froze social relations and left Chileans with deep trauma. The society became divided into the supporters of the left-wing government, including students, factory workers, peasants and people living in poor districts, on one side, and the representatives of the middle class, who displayed flags and drank champagne on the day of the coup, on the other.” (2005, p. 38) Beginning from the day of the putsch, Augusto Pinochet focused on increasing the scope of his power and on its institutionalisation. As early as on 11 September, he assumed the leadership of the junta, which was established as a collegial body. Initially, it was planned that this function would be fulfilled by all its members, but a few months after the coup – in June 1974 (under decree no. 527 adopting the Statute of the Government Junta) – Pinochet became the President of the Government Junta of Chile, governing the nation as the “Supreme Chief of the Nation.” Consequently, this document ruled out rotary chairmanship in the junta. Thus, Augusto Pinochet took up the most important position in the country with the absolute executive power. His ambitions were higher, though. On 17 December 1974, he was proclaimed the President of the Republic of Chile (Aprueba Estatuto de la Junta de Gobierno, 1974; Chinchón Álvarez, 2007, p. 408; Komosa, 2005, p. 42; see also: Adams, 2010, p. 228; Muñoz, 2008, pp. 60-80; Wirshing, 2009, pp. 19-20). Owing to this, as well as to the junta’s earlier decisions (such as the dissolution of the Congress and of the Constitutional Tribunal, suspending party activities, banning groups, associations and movements appealing to Marxism or operating in contradiction to the principles laid down in decree no. 1 of 11 September 1973, and granting the Government Junta the right to amend the Chilean constitution), Pinochet obtained almost unlimited power in the state (see: Declara disueltos los partidos…, 1973; Declara en receso todos los partidos…, 1973; Dicta normas sobre el ejercicio del Poder Constituyente, 1974; Disuelve el Congreso Nacional, 1973; Valencia Avaria, 1986, pp. 269-270).

the name of the event, el tanque means “a tank” in Spanish) (For more details see: Corvalán Luis, 2003, pp. 201-204; Magasich Airola, 2008, pp. 424-428).

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Illustration 1. The entrance to Londres 38 (Santiago de Chile). The author of the photograph: Anna Ratke-Majewska

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Illustration 2. Londres 38 (Santiago de Chile). The author of the photograph: Anna Ratke-Majewska

Illustration 3. A plaque at Londres 38 (Santiago de Chile). The author of the photograph: Anna Ratke-Majewska

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Ilustration 4. The National Stadium (Estadio Nacional) on the 42nd anniversary of the coup d’état. Santiago de Chile, 11 September 2015. The author of the photograph: Anna Ratke-Majewska

What was another aspect of the process of gaining power in Chile by Augusto Pinochet was the physical elimination of the enemies of the new system and the consistent eradication of all threats to the general’s dominance in the country. It was all done by way of terror spread by the political state apparatus obedient to him. The beginning was marked by the date of the coup d’état, after which mass arrests and executions followed. Repression affected not only the activists and supporters of left-wing groups (such as the Popular Unity or the Revolutionary Left Movement – Movimiento de Izquierda Revolucionaria, MIR), but also their families and other people suspected of having left-wing views.3 The number of detained people was constantly growing (it was estimated that as many as 50,000 people were arrested in the first days of the coup). As the existing jails did not have room for so many prisoners, they were first kept in 3

In order to justify mass arrests and tortures, in October 1973, the authorities published the White Book, which included a fabricated description of the alleged “Plan Z”, according to which the Popular Unity hit squads were supposed to incite a national uprising to eliminate the opposition and conduct an autocoup, and, consequently, to establish the Marxist system in Chile (Magasich, 2010; see also: Secretaría General de Gobierno. Republica de Chile, 1973).

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public buildings and facilities (including the National Stadium – Estadio Nacional, the Chile Stadium – Estadio Chile4). However, soon special centres adapted to tortures and arrests were established (secret DINA5 locations included, among others: the Villa Grimaldi complex, the „Venda Sexy” disco, and the buildings at José Domingo Cañas 1367 and Londres 38 in Santiago). Not only did the number of people killed rise, but also the number of detained and missing people, including women and children (Comité de Defensa de los Derechos del Pueblo, 1990; Historia; Su historia – Londres 38; Kornbluh, 2013, pp. 169-170; Komosa, 2005, pp. 40-73; Recinto DINA – „José Domingo Cañas” No 1367). The aim of Augusto Pinochet was not only to broaden the scope of his power and institutionalise it, but also to transform the political system of Chile permanently so that strong-arm government with principles promoted by the junta would become its inseparable element. On 9 July 1977, during the Chilean Youth Day in Chacarillas, the general delivered a speech, in which he outlined the future political system of the state. Chile was to become an authoritarian democracy, which would replace a degenerated, naive and ineffectual liberal democracy. In his speech, Pinochet presented an outline of the process of giving power to citizens. He divided it into three stages: restoration (the army was to have full authority then, which would make it possible to conduct necessary changes in the state), transformation (at this stage, which would take four or five years, the army would share power with citizens; Chile would also have a legislature chosen by the military authorities then), and normality or consolidation (where power would be handed over to new constitutional authorities, with a reservation, however, that the military forces would guard new order and national security). Moreover, Augusto Pinochet announced that a new constitution would be adopted by the end of 1980. He kept this promise. On 11 September 1980, a constitutional referendum 4 In 2004, the stadium Estadio Chile changed its name to Estadio Víctor Jara, after the name of the Chilean bard, poet, theatrical director, singer, guitar player and political activist, who was killed in September 1973 in that place (Surdel, 2009). 5 DINA (Dirección de Inteligencia Nacional) – the National Intelligence Directorate – a specialised intelligence unit, which performed operations against the political opponents of Pinochet’s regime. It was the Chilean secret police entitled to detain individuals and conduct house searches without court warrant and to carry out secret operational activity. It was responsible for numerous violations of human rights, a number of murders, coups, detainments and tortures. In 1977, DINA was disbanded and replaced with a newly established National Information Centre (Centro Nacional de Información, CNI. (See: Kornbluh, 2013, pp. 165-181; Komosa, 2005, pp. 48-73; Spyra, 2013, pp. 545-552)).

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was held in Chile. 67% of the voters voted for the new law, 30% were against, while the remaining votes were invalid. The new fundamental law entered into force on 11 March 1981. Under the newly adopted constitution, the system of protected and authoritarian democracy was established in Chile. It also introduced limited pluralism, excluding all parties connected with Marxist ideology from political life. Furthermore, it gave privileged status to the military forces, which, even after giving up power, were still entitled to control politicians and to guard the inviolability of the system they had built themselves. To this end, the fundamental law appointed a collegial body – the National Security Council (Consejo de Seguridad Nacional), which was composed of the president and commanders-in-chief of the army and police forces. The Council’s task was to present opinions on issues concerning the security and foreign policy of the state to all organs of constitutional authority. The system was also to be guarded by senators appointed and chosen from among former commanders-in-chief of the military and police forces, judges of the Supreme Court, Controllers General of the Republic, university presidents and former ministers. What is more, the army was given large autonomy from the state authorities. The president was granted the right to appoint commanders-in-chief for a specific period, but only from among five generals or admirals who held the highest rank, with no possibility of removing them from post before the end of the term of office. The parliament, in turn, was deprived of influence on the military forces. The fundamental law also introduced a very time-consuming and complicated amendment procedure, thanks to which the inviolability of the system was protected. What was important, however, was the fact that it included provisions concerning the way power could be given up by the government junta. An eight-year period of transformation – which was to be ended with a plebiscite in 1988 – was established. It was expected that Augusto Pinochet would remain to be the president and the junta would still have legislative power. What is more, the authors of the constitution assumed that decrees limiting civil rights and freedoms adopted in Chile after 1973, such as those violating the right of assembly, political refugees’ right to return to the country, the freedom of press, or the one granting the right to detain people without a court decision for three months, would remain to be a permanent part of the system (Spyra, 2013, pp. 524-525, 540-544; see also: Constitutions of Selected…, 2013). The plebiscite mentioned in the constitution was held as it had been announced. Its results were affected by events and processes which took place in Chile in the 1980s. The factors that influenced them included the condition of the economy, the situation among the ranks of authority,

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slightly broadened limits of civil liberties and changing social awareness. At the beginning of the 1980s, Chile plunged into a deep economic crisis. The deterioration of the living standard was at the same time a huge opportunity for the opposition, which was divided and exhausted with repression, having no precise political plans due to being banned for a long time. Although the new constitution allowed the existence of political parties, including those close to the opposition (with the exception of leftwing parties), it was the economic problems that finally spurred the society to act in order to introduce changes. Strikes, social unrest and manifestations made some representatives of the government elites think about the necessity of starting dialogue with the opposition (one of the main proponents of such an attitude was the minister of internal affairs Sergio Onofre Jarpa, who negotiated with opposition politicians for a few months – his activity, however, had no real political significance due to the lack of interest in those talks on the part of Pinochet and junta members). Despite political revival, the government camp was dominated by the opponents of concessions, who were convinced that only their way was right and would guarantee the strength and stability of the state and ensure permanent support for it (especially as the economic condition of Chile improved in the second half of the 1980s). It seemed that Pinochet not only controlled the situation, but he was also bound to succeed. Hence, no wonder that the results of the plebiscite of 5 October 1988 came as a complete surprise to government members and the society. Augusto Pinochet actually lost the poll (Schneider, 2013, pp.101-105; Spyra, 2013, pp. 599-622). In the first half of the 1980s, the consolidating opposition defied the provisions of the constitution of the Republic, recognising it as an illegal act. In the second half of the same decade, it decided to abandon its efforts and focused on fighting Pinochet with the use of a tool he had created himself. Thus, on 2 February 1988, a united, democratic movement was established. It was called Concertación de Partidos por el No (which could be translated as: the Coalition of Parties for NO; the name referred to the answer to the question that was to be asked in the announced plebiscite: whether Augusto Pinochet should remain to hold the office of the president of the Republic up to 1997). The Coalition members were so persuasive that 54.7% of the voters replied “no” (with 43% of people saying “yes”), thus determining the direction of political changes in Chile (Diálogos de Justicia y Democracia. Nº1: El Plebiscito del 5 de octubre de 1988, 1995; Instituto Nacional Demócrata para Asuntos Internacionales, 1989).

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The political transition in Chile was initiated on the basis of the formula established by Pinochet. Many people believe that it began with the adoption of the constitution or with the first talks with opposition politicians. What actually gave rise to transformation, however, was the junta’s failure in the plebiscite – it was then that the opposition gained a real chance to express its opinions. When did the political transition in Chile end? Some people indicate 11 March 1990, when the new president – Patricio Aylwin Azócar, who had won the election of 14 December 1989 – assumed the office. Many Chilean researchers, however, undermine the thesis that this date marked the end of the transition in Chile and emphasise that it was Aylwin himself who announced it was over. Opinions differ as to when exactly it happened. Some scholars quote the president’s words from August 1991, when he said at a press conference that the country had already entered the stage of democracy. Others find Patricio Aylwin’s another declaration more significant – the one he expressed in his speech in the Congress on 21 May 1992. He stressed again that Chile had already become a democratic state, although it still faced a lot of problems (Lazzara, 2007, p. 149; Loveman, Lira, 2000, p. 485; Mensaje Presidencial del 21 de Mayo de 1992, 1992; Otano, 2006, pp. 222-223; Velásquez, 2006, p. 204; Wilde, 1999, pp. 473-500).

The pre-transition identity One of the main aims of the government junta in Chile after the coup d’état was to build a new political identity of the Chilean society. The authorities tried to accomplish it, firstly, by means of the state’s interpretation of reality, including the presentation of the future and present day; secondly, through establishing the catalogue of goals that the society should pursue; and, thirdly, with the help of new legislation, which would determine both the shape of the state and its legal order, as well as citizens’ rights and obligations that would become an inseparable part of the new identity. All those efforts were crowned by the adoption of the Constitution of the Republic of Chile in 1980. Its objective was to firmly establish the new political identity created by the junta, irrespective of personal changes at the helm of state authority (See: Marszaáek-Kawa, Ratke-Majewska, WawrzyĔski, 2014, pp. 156-168). What was to become the foundation of the political identity of the Chilean society was the acceptance of the putsch as an act of heroic combat against evil, an expression of love for the home country, the day of liberation and a deed done by the hand of God (Pinochet, 1979). As the authorities wished to strengthen this image in social awareness, they held

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grand celebrations of consecutive anniversaries of the coup in the authoritarian period. Augusto Pinochet was the central figure of those celebrations – perceived as a national hero, whose deeds and conduct began to assume the proportions of a myth. The general – depicted as a symbol of the state, and a defender of its existence and dignity – was at the same time made a great Chilean statesman, ranked equally with distinguished historic leaders and politicians in Chile, such as Bernardo O’Higgins or Diego Portales (See: Jara, 2011, p. 158; Joignant, 2007, pp. 31-63; Wilde, 2013, pp. 60-61). The creation of Pinochet’s image was thus based on the indisputable concept that he was a liberator, who was fighting evil. That evil was Marxist ideology, the followers of which included any person with leftist views or in any way connected with the left-wing. Such an attitude to the issue of terror exempted the apparatus of repression – which got permission from the authorities to combat the enemies of the state – from moral responsibility for the crimes it had committed. Hence, Pinochet found the UN resolution condemning the constant violation of human rights in Chile (see: Protection of human rights in Chile, 1977) to be an act of hostility towards the Chilean state and a sign of weakness of the West when it came to fighting communism. Consequently, he presented himself as the mainstay of the battle against the Communist threat. Jarosáaw Spyra described this issue in the following words: „The difficulties that Chile went through in the sphere of international relations paradoxically contributed to the strengthening of Pinochet’s power. (…) The president took advantage of the foreign criticism of Chile to bring out nationalist sentiments among some of his compatriots, thus attracting them to the junta’s policy” (Spyra, 2013, s. 583). The memory of the victims of the military regime was out of the public discourse at the time of its rule. It does not mean, however, that it was not cherished in the private sphere or expressed in an oblique way by artists.6 Although it was the individual memory, sustained by cultural and social initiatives, it became the memory of larger communities, feeling a bond with people with the same experiences and emotions, which could not be expressed openly and respected. It must be noted, here, that it was the efforts of human rights protection organisations in Chile that were a particularly important factor determining the pre-transition identity. Their activity, which lay in stark contrast to the rhetoric of the governing elites, influenced social expectations and awareness, which became one of the 6

We should mention here the works of such artists as Elías Adasme or Lotta Rosenfeld (See: Hinojosa, 2013; Lotty Rosenfeld (Santiago, 1943)).

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driving forces of later changes. Among those organisations there were two that deserved special attention: the Cooperation Committee for Peace in Chile, existing in the years 1973-1975 (Comité de Cooperación para la Paz en Chile) and the Vicariate of Solidarity (Vicaría de la Solidaridad), active from 1976 to1992 (Organizaciones en defensa de los derechos humanos; Richard, 2013, pp. 185-193; Stern, 2013). It should be added that crucial elements shaping political identity during the declining years of Augusto Pinochet’s regime appeared in 1988, shortly before the plebiscite. The opposition, which had gained access to mass media, had an opportunity to address issues ignored by the authorities – the memory of the tortured, murdered and missing after 1973. The media published accounts (not extensive, though) of cruel persecution and terror, while the election leaflets of Pinochet’s opponents expressed opposition to repression and tortures. The emphasis on this aspect of Chile’s past affected social awareness, making issues of memory a part of the political transition (Comas, 1988; Plebiscito del 5 de octubre de 1988).

The development of transition identity The exercise of power by new political elites The opposition’s victory in the plebiscite meant the beginning of fundamental political changes in Chile. After years of the military regime, the new civil authorities – gathered around democratic institutions elected by voters – assumed power in the country. Moreover, they gained this opportunity thanks to the law created by the junta. The new political elites were thus legitimised both by the past – as they were the continuation of the civil authorities from before the army took over power – and by the decisions of the previous authorities, which enabled this discussion under the provisions of the fundamental law. However, it did not change the fact that 43% of Chilean citizens had voted for Pinochet. It meant that after 15 years in power, the junta still had huge social support, which could not be neglected. Thus, any changes had to be the result of a compromise between the supporters and opponents of the general. The newly arisen democracy was still fragile, the army enjoyed enormous influence, while Pinochet himself stirred up the atmosphere of distrust to the civil authorities, insinuating in his comments that the new elites were burning with the thirst of revenge and may be aiming to destabilise the situation in the country. In such circumstances, civilian politicians had to remain extremely cautious in all their moves. Their decisions had to be a trade-off between

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the desire for radical changes and the fear of the army, which – once if felt its interests were threatened – could once again violate the democratic order. Therefore, what the Concertación saw as its primary objective after 1988 was to take over as much power as possible in order to prevent the democratisation process from being impeded and the junta from regaining the rule in the state. What was crucial for the accomplishment of these goals was – firstly – the cooperation within the framework of the Coalition (which, after the plebiscite, was transformed into the Coalition of Parties for Democracy – Concentración de Partidos por la Democracia – and announced it would have one common candidate in the presidential election), and, secondly, the formulation of the strategy of peaceful coexistence with the structures of the leaving military regime. What constituted a huge test for the unstable balance was the issue of changes to the constitution. The Concertación put forward the reform proposal, demanding the removal of controversial provisions putting constraints on democracy. Although the negotiations were far from being smooth, they finally led to the introduction of a number of amendments. They were adopted in yet another plebiscite, which was held on 30 July 1989. 85.7% of the voters were for the revision of the fundamental law as proposed by the new authorities. The amendments concerned, among other things, abandoning the provision which limited political activity for ideological reasons (article 8 banned communist and socialist parties in Chile), simplifying the procedure of introducing changes in the constitution, increasing the size of the Senate, and changing the principles of voting bills. Moreover, the powers of the National Security Council became limited, and the term of office of the president was shortened to four years (Arceneaux, 2001, s. 103-107; El plebiscito de 1989; Modifica la Constitución Política de la República de Chile, 1989). It was neither possible nor desirable to carry out radical changes in the sphere of national symbols and to completely reconstruct the landscape of memory at the turn of the 1980s and 1990s since the elites of the previous regime (still supported by a large part of the society!) were still present in the public and political life. What turned out to be an important element of change as far as symbols and spatial forms of commemoration were concerned was the appearance of Salvador Allende in social space. It served the purpose of the legitimisation of the new civil authorities, but it was also an act of reconciliation with the order rejected by the junta, emphasising the form of the political system this order represented rather than its ideological burden.

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Illustration 5. General Secretary (Santiago de Chile) – Salvador Allende’s grave. The author of the photograph: Anna Ratke-Majewska

In 1990, thanks to the support of President Patricio Aylwin Azócar’s government, the Salvador Allende Foundation (Fundación Salvador Allende) was established. It was created at the initiative of the late president’s family and its first task was to organise the official state funeral of the president, who, having committed suicide on the day of the coup d’état, was buried namelessly in Viña del Mar, in the grave of the Grove family he was related to. He lay there for the whole period of Pinochet’s rule. President Patricio Aylwin and Eduardo Frei Ruiz-Tagle

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(the son of Eduardo Frei Montalva, the president of Chile from 1964 to 1970) took part in the funeral ceremony, which was held on 4 September 1990 at the General Cemetery in Santiago. Among the guests were representatives of various sides of the political scene, including members of left-wing groups, irrespective of the fact whether they supported the form of the ongoing political transition and the Concentración, or whether they were inclined to follow other solutions, often much more serious ones. It is thus evident that, despite the fact that the representatives of the military forces were absent, both the allies and opponents of Salvador Allende participated in the funeral. Therefore, the presence of people having such diverse views was a symbolic gesture of reconciliation, an expression of tribute to a democratic head of state and a man who died in the defence of his values (El último adiós de Allende, 2003; Historia de la Fundación; Spyra, 2013, pp. 626-627; StasiĔski, 2011, pp. 9).

The presence of the representatives of the former regime in the public life Not only was Augusto Pinochet surprised to lose in the plebiscite, but he also felt embittered. On the night of 5 October 1988, when the result of the referendum was already known to the junta, people surrounding the general felt uncertain on the one hand, but on the other hand, they were also ready to act in case he ordered troops to walk out of barracks. Pinochet accepted the results of the plebiscite, though. It did not mean, however, that he resigned himself to the loss and was willing to leave the public life. He was first of all protected by the constitution, which obliged the military forces to guard the institutions and legal order of the state even after handing over power to civilians. What is more, the number of his supporters confirmed that the representatives of the old regime may still play an important part in the country. Pinochet was aware of that and that is why he often emphasised his role as the guarantor of the lack of social conflicts which might result from too hasty steps in the democratisation process. In an interview from 1989, he said: „I could easily retire. I could be a perpetual senator... But I have people in the army, people, who may be humiliated. I know that when politicians get into trouble, they always set double standards; they usually say «We are not to be blamed. This calls for justice»”7 (Correa, Subercaseaux, 1989, p. 141). In this way, the general implied that the new authorities intended to take revenge on those who had supported the regime. Consequently, only 7

Translated from Spanish by the author.

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the presence of the elites from the period of his rule in the public life could guarantee peace and would be an expression of democratic equality and consensus. Hence, political pluralism and democracy could not be built without the element which was so important for a part of the society. Pinochet, by displaying his strength and presenting threats connected with restoring democracy on the basis of a model other than the one he preferred, accomplished two basic goals. Firstly, owing to the stance he had adopted he forced the formula of the negotiated transition (transición pactada), in accordance with which the opposition leaders – if they wanted Chile to have a democratic system – had to start a negotiation process with the representatives of the authoritarian government of the previous era, no matter how lengthy and difficult they would be. Secondly, the general made sure that both he and the representatives of the junta state apparatus would be well-secured for the future.8 Thanks to him, they had a chance of becoming a part of the new system of state authority, not fearing that anyone would negate their position or the role they had played in stabilising the situation in the country. Thus, he guaranteed that the elites of his regime would participate in the construction of a new, shared political identity of the Chilean society (Spooner, 2011, pp. 13-81; Uggla, 2009, pp. 160-162). It must be pointed out that in the period of more than ten months between the plebiscite and the day President Aylwin assumed his office, Pinochet considerably increased his influence. He made some decisions, which to a large degree helped to guard the order he had established. For example, he pushed through some organic laws, such as: the laws on the reorganisation of the military forces and on the financing of them (under these provisions, 10% of the income from the export of copper was to be spent on the army, the air force and the navy), the law on the organisation and administration of the judicial authorities, the law on the Central Bank, the law on education, and the law on the complete ban on abortion. In accordance with the constitution, laws of this kind could be changed only by the majority of three fifths of the votes. The new electoral system made it almost impossible for any party to gain a majority of votes in the Congress, which in turn made it difficult to change the law the junta had established. It was not the end of Pinochet’s activity, though. Between 1988 and 1990, the general wrote off the tax debt of the press supporting him, made the officials appointed by him under a separate law irremovable from their post, introduced changes at Chilean diplomatic posts (doing this, he used up the budget for the whole year 1990), changed the 8

Until 1998, Pinochet had fulfilled the function of the commander-in-chief of military forces, after which he became a senator, protected by immunity (see: Stern, 2009, p. 37).

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composition of the Constitutional Court, and appointed his devotees for the members of the Supreme Court. He also implemented some changes of the economic and political nature – he privatised the state energy and telecommunication sectors, and gave a number of public buildings to the army. What turned out to be crucial for the later course of events was the fact that he handed over all CNI archives to the army and disbanded this institution in October 1989, after which all secret police agents joined the Military Intelligence Directoriate. Owing to this, although he handed over power to the opposition, he actually still enjoyed a considerable amount of authority, thus being able to have an impact on the situation in the country. In later years – after Patricio Aylwin assumed his office – Pinochet never hesitated to put pressure on the government, often threatening it with the intervention of the military forces (Spyra, 2013, pp. 623-625, 631-632).

The formula chosen to hold the apparatus of the authoritarian regime accountable (or not accountable) President Aylwin was a political realist, who put responsibility above his own beliefs. According to him, the art of governance was based on what was possible in given conditions rather than on doing what one wants. He considered the choice of lesser evil to be true courage. Such an attitude shaped the president’s policy, affecting the rules of the Concertación. Aylwin’s aim was to conduct gradual changes in the system, which was in fact based on the concept created by the military authorities, without inciting social conflicts. That is why the president was far from using the rhetoric of settling accounts. Despite Augusto Pinochet’s accusations, he never wanted to create the impression that he aimed at retaliation and that he desired to crush the representatives of the previous government. His approach is reflected by the speech he delivered during his official visit to Sweden in 1992. It was then that Patricio Aylwin said – in response to charges levelled by Chilean political emigrants, dissatisfied with the fact that Pinochet’s regime had not been made responsible yet – that one needs to stop being a prisoner of history and should look in the future (Correa et al., 2001, pp. 331-345; Spyra, 2013, pp. 628-630). Thus, the president did not push through the formula of settling accounts. However, the fundamental values of his policy included: truth, justice and reconciliation. He believed that all instances of the violations of human rights must be revealed and all harm done to people by the junta must be compensated for, because those were the foundations of agreement. Nevertheless, truth should be sought and compensation offered within the framework of the existing possibilities. Patricio Aylwin thus took into

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consideration sentiments of the circles former elitess. The military forces were convinced of their victory and felt they had rendered considerable services to the country. That meant that they rejected any efforts to evaluate their past activity and come to terms with the past (Aylwin, 2005, p. 21; Spooner, 2011, p. 81; Stern, 2010, pp. 32-33). On 24 April 1990, the new president of the Republic of Chile appointed the National Commission for Truth and Reconciliation (Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación). Its objective was to find truth about the most serious violations of human rights in the period of military government. The Commission was composed of eight people who had considerable standing in the Chilean society. It included equal numbers of the representatives of the former opposition and of the supporters of the previous regime. Its chairman was Raul Rettig, a lawyer and former diplomat. The goal of the Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación was to study all human rights abuses after 1973, finding out about their causes and circumstances. The Commission dealt with such problems as: the identification of fatalities, discovering what happened to missing people, the presentation of social implications of human rights violations and of compensation proposals, as well as recommending precautions of a legal and institutional character (including the suggestion that appropriate educational strategies should be formulated and the cultural background should be changed). The Commission had limited competence, though. It did not have judicial powers, so it could not reveal the perpetrators’ names. It did not have the right to formulate proposals concerning the punishment of the guilty or to issue investigation orders. What is more, it did not deal with the cases of tortured people (if those tortures did not lead to their death) and with the cases of political prisoners and refugees. The Rettig Commission report was published in 1991. It included the names of 2,298 people9 who lost their lives during the rules of the junta (Informe de la Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación (Informe Rettig), 1991; Komosa, 2005, pp. 90-94). For President Aylwin, the activity of the Commission and the results of its work were to become the basis for forgiving guilt and for the unification of the nation.10 In his television speech of March 1991, he 9

The report originally included some minor miscalculations – the number of victims was calculated at 2,279 people (See: Stern, 2010, p. 413). 10 The successor of the National Commission for Truth and Reconciliation was the National Corporation for Reparations and Reconciliation (Corporación Nacional de Reparación y Reconciliación), the task of which was – apart from further research work – to fulfil the recommendations of the previous Commission, which concerned the issue of the establishment of a system of care for the victims’ families (Komosa, 2005, p. 94).

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presented to the society the contents of the report and the details of action to be taken. He emphasised that the fact that the decree on amnesty of 197811 was still valid could not be an obstacle for conducting court trials, and that the suffering of those related to missing people had to be over. He ended his speech calling for understanding instead of confrontation, and at the same time asking the victims’ families for forgiveness (Americas Watch, 1991, pp. 501-502; Aylwin, 1991, pp. 126-136; Ferrara, 2015, pp. 44-48). The representatives of the army with Pinochet as its head construed the work of the Commission in an entirely different way. What made them outraged was first of all the final report, which they found to have distorted the historical truth. They claimed that it was based on the sources which were selected in a biased manner, and that it ignored human rights abuses before the coup d’état and was thus valueless. The army, as Augusto Pinochet stated, would not be taken to court for rescuing Chile and there was no need for members of the the military forces to ask for forgiveness. At the same time, he accused the Commission of triggering violence and creating the atmosphere of hatred. Therefore, the issue of human rights, addressed by Aylwin “within the framework of the existing possibilities,” was not free of pressures exerted by the elites of the old regime. It constituted another layer of difficult relations between the state and the army (Robben, 2010, pp. 193-194; Spooner, 2011, pp. 80-81).

Social costs of transformation, especially of the economic transition The transition of the political system in Chile was not connected with the transformation of the economic system of the country. The Concentración 11

Under the amnesty decree of April 1978, amnesty was declared for people who committed criminal acts in the years 1973-1978 (excluding such crimes as infanticide, drug smuggling, embezzlement, or bribery) or who were sentenced by war tribunals. This way, Pinochet’s regime exempted from legal responsibility not only the defenders of human rights, but also members of the military forces or DINA functionaries, because their acts were not among the ones excluded from the scope of the decree. That is why the amnesty of 1989 became at the same time the auto-amnesty for the crimes of the regime. What is important, the adopted transformation formula made it impossible for Particio Aylwin to annul the document. Yet he tried – as much as he could – to pursue the policy of justice and reconciliation through revealing the truth about the victims, at the same time complying with the provisions of the law. For example, apart from the designation of the National Commission for Truth and Reconciliation, he granted a presidential pardon to political prisoners sentenced during the years of Pinochet’s dictatorship (Komosa, 2005, pp. 76-77; Spyra, 2013, p. 630).

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retained the neoliberal model of the Chilean economy, supported by entrepreneurs, the right-wing, and the army. What became the main goal of the new authorities from 1990 was the elimination of extreme poverty among large groups of citizens, particularly by way of promoting fair and sustainable development. It was equally important for Aylwin’s government to trigger economic growth by developing the private sector and to conduct regulatory activity in the sphere of social economy. In order to ensure the stability of economy, the authorities focused on fighting unemployment, exclusion and educational barriers on the one hand, and on reducing inflation and increasing the volume of Chilean export on the other. Thus, the initiatives of the Concentración government did not do away with the economic assumptions adopted in Chile during Pinochet’s rule, but they improved them. The new authorities’ efforts brought results – inflation considerably dropped, while national income increased (El gobierno de Patricio Aylwin Azòcar. 1990-1994; Gobierno de Patricio Aylwin, 2007; La transformación económica chilena entre 1973-2003; Patricio Aylwin (1990-1994); Spyra, 2013, pp. 632-634). The fact that the economic model did not change during the period of transformation in Chile did not mean, however, that the society did not bear any costs of transition. What was the primary social cost was a compromise. For the sake of national unity – although the truth about the regime’s victims was to be disclosed and their families were to be compensated – history could not be made the central point of the transformation. It was not what a large number of people harmed in the times of the junta’s government had expected. Many people thus raised doubts about the transformation process based on silent agreement with the former authorities.12 The new Chilean government, which had been chosen in democratic elections, was aware of it, as well as it realised what consequences could be if it strengthened its policy concerning the elites of the previous regime. Patricio Aylwin brought up this issue at the outset of his presidency, noting that despite a temptation to settle accounts with the 12 One of the groups which strongly opposed the adopted form of transformation was the radical Left. To show their lack of approval for a compromise with the previous regime, it resorted to acts of terror committed by the militants of the Revolutionary Left Movement and the Manuel Rodriguez Patriotic Front (Frente Patriótico Manuel Rodríguez) against the former elites of Pinochet’s government. In 1990, the ex-member of the junta Gustav Leigh was assaulted, while a year later the ideologist of military authorities Jaime Guzmán was murdered. The activity of extremist groups posed a great threat to the new democracy and could become a pretext for the intervention of the military forces in the country (See: Spyra, 2013, pp. 636-637).

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past, one had to remain cautious and should not reopen old wounds. (See: El discurso con que Patricio Aylwin reinauguró la democracia, 2014; Spyra, 2013, pp. 634-637).

The adoption of new, often culturally different, social and political standards National reconciliation – which was necessary for the consolidation of revived democracy – required adopting and strengthening new social and political standards. This issue was often raised by President Aylwin, but it was fully addressed in the final report of the Rettig Commission, in the section on the recommendations concerning the prevention of human rights abuses. According to the Commission, it was necessary to create a cultural environment in which human rights would be fully protected. To this end, values connected with the respect for these rights had to be incorporated in the society so that people could adopt them as their own. As a result, the citizens would begin to respect principles of peaceful coexistence, which would make it possible for people with different views to agree with each other. The Commission recommended a number of ways of developing the cultural background that would be conducive to national unity – from changing the system of formal education, through unofficial education within the framework of the activity of social organisations, to informal educational efforts of mass media. What became the fundamental assumption was the consolidation of values, attitudes and standards of behaviour connected with the respect for a human being and with citizens’ rights and liberties. Thus, new standards were to be adopted at various levels by all age and social groups. The changes in Chile were not based on the dialogue of the representatives of different approaches to the past and present. Those differences were to be overcome through reconciliation (Informe de la Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación (Informe Rettig), 1991). What is important, the view according to which the attitudes essential for the unification of the nation are rooted in the past played a key role in the creation of new social and political standards. The memory of the Founding Fathers and the values they represented, such as love of freedom, abandoning all forms of oppression, the rules of law instead of lawlessness, tolerance and aversion to conflicts, and the ability to look for solutions and to pursue reconciliation at the same time, was to become an inspiration for the Chilean citizens, participating in the construction of democracy and in the creation of common future. The nation was to be unity, committed to general interest, and such an attitude fell into a new

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definition of Chilean patriotism (See: El discurso con que Patricio Aylwin reinauguró la democracia, 2014).

Democratisation as the fulfilment of intergenerational contract and paying tribute to the victims of the previous regime and to repressed opposition The essence of Chilean democracy is best reflected in the words of the first speech delivered by President Patrico Aylwin in front of the Congress on 21 May 1990. His statement “We live in democracy again” was the central theme of the speech. According to the president, Chile – owing to the appointment of authorities through democratic elections – entered the road of human coexistence in conformity with wisdom, civilization progress and the Chilean national character. He considered democracy to be a factor contributing to the creation of homeland, rooted in the history of the nation and constituting a significant element of the country’s prestige in the future. From this perspective, the restoration of democratic government (regaining democracy) became historical necessity. He pointed out, however, that the newly arisen system had to be constantly consolidated and improved so that the climate of peace, respect and search for agreement could become an inseparable part of the situation in Chile. It was the new government’s primary task to reach national unity. In order to achieve this goal, all resentment and distrust had to be overcome and the fundamental principles of coexistence had to be respected. That is why the memory of the victims of the previous regime needed to be cherished. Democratisation was thus a kind of tribute to people harmed by the junta. It does not mean, however, that Aylwin’s government wanted to discredit the memory of the regime or exclude it from discourse. Being aware of the fact that replacing one memory with another would not serve the purpose of reconciliation, justice and truth, he emphasised that his actions would express respect for all citizens, regardless of their views or political stance. What he found a significant element of democracy was the freedom of opinion and openness to discussion, without depreciating views other than our own. This approach was actually reflected in reality. First forms of the commemoration of Salvador Allende – as the president chosen by the nation in democratic elections, a representative of the system which was reviving in Chile at the outset of the 1990s – appeared in the public space. In 1991, at the General Cemetery, at Patio 29 quarter, bodies of the victims of the regime began to be exhumed. At the same time, in 1992, the monument of general Carol Urzúa, killed in a coup organised by the Revolutionary Left Movement in 1983, was rebuilt (the

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Illustration 6. General Secretary (Santiago de Chile) – Patio 29. The author of the photograph: Anna Ratke-Majewska

monument was destroyed in 1989).13 No changes were made in the calendar of national holidays either – 11 September remained to be celebrated as the Day of National Liberation (Día de la Liberación Nacional).14 For the sake of democracy, narratives on the past and models promoted by the catalogues of heroes could not be selected for the benefit of only one part of the society. History was to be democratic in order to create a community based on the principles of democracy (Aniversario de la Liberación Nacional; Aguilera, 2013; Bustamante, Ruderer, 2009; Discurso del Presidente de la República, Patricio Aylwin Azócar, al 13

One of the recommendations included in the report of the National Commission for Truth and Reconciliation concerned the issue of commemoration. The Commission stated that symbols which create divisions among Chilean people should be removed, but they should not be replaced with the ones which could cause the same effect. The report implied that memory in Chile should be based on the recognition that apart from the crimes of the old regime, acts of terrorism committed by extreme leftist groups in Chile were also the violations of human rights (See: Informe de la Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación (Informe Rettig), 1991). 14 This holiday was established by the military authorities in 1981 (see: Aniversario de la Liberación Nacional).

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firmar proyecto de decreto que crea la Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación, 1990; Mensaje Presidencial del 21 de Mayo de 1990, 1990; see also: CHILE: Pinochet negoció derogación de feriado del golpe de 1973, 1998).

The historical need for national unity For Patricio Aylwin, national unification was the issue of utmost importance. He often emphasised that he wished to be the president of all Chileans and wanted to unite the home country in democracy. What was significant was the fact that he indicated Chilean history and traditions, such as tolerance, freedom, respect for law and rejecting lawlessness and oppression, as the foundations of this unity. Therefore, qualities of the Chilean nation, which originated from the past, were to justify both national unity and the reconciliation and forgiving guilt which determined this unity. This direction of Aylwin’s policy was evident from the very beginning of his presidency. In his speech delivered on 12 March 1990 at the National Stadium in Santiago, he announced the advent of a new era in Chile – the country for which so many people had sacrificed their lives in history, and which, thanks to the sovereign decision of the nation (the nation of brothers), could finally become free, fair and democratic. For the new president, the victory of the democratic system was thus an expression of the will of the society committed to the construction of national unity and to the search for ways of reconciliation based on respect, law and order, and justice. What is more, Aylwin definitely dissociated himself from hatred and violence among brothers – members of one nation. He believed that the reconstruction of democracy according to the values of the Founding Fathers was a joint obligation of all citizens. He also appealed to the Chilean soul, which would help to restore the atmosphere of trust and turn the country towards future. At the same time, he called for cooperation and patience (El discurso con que Patricio Aylwin reinauguró la democracia, 2014; Discursos del Presidente de la República don Patricio Aylwin Azócar, 1990, pp. 1-6). What is important, the assumptions presented on that day became an inseparable element and basis of his later actions. As it was mentioned before, one of the foundations of national unity was the gradual (and far from radical) transformation of the landscape of memory from the regime into pluralist one, where forms of the commemoration of Pinochet’s victims appeared next to symbols important for the supporters of his government. This diversity was to serve the

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purpose of the coexistence of various groups within one nation, which would unite in the implementation of the common good. What became the main objective was to combine forces in order to perform tasks important for the home country and to focus on its future development. Thus, the new authorities did not try to change everything that belonged to the previous regime. Such a stance was represented by President Aylwin, who claimed that for the good of the nation and state, good solutions must be retained, while those which are bad must be improved. At the same time, however, one cannot ignore the achievements and experiences of past generations (Aguilera, 2013; El discurso con que Patricio Aylwin reinauguró la democracia, 2014; Memoriales de Derechos Humanos en Chile. Homenajes a las víctimas de violaciones a los derechos humanos entre 1973 y 1990, 2007).

Membership in international organisations, alliances and economic and political groups The problem of international relations became a very important element of the Concentración policy. The direction of changes the Chilean state intended to pursue in the international environment under the rules of the authorities chosen by the nation in democratic elections was based on a few basic issues. The main task was to get actively involved in all spheres of international cooperation. Chile, seeking a new position at the global scene, aimed to tighten its relations with other countries. Moreover, what became an important part of the construction of the new position of the country was the emphasis on the fact that the new democratic Chilean state intended to encourage the growth, democratisation and integration of Latin America. Chile also wanted to contribute to the development of the international community, to the building of peace and stable global order, and to the protection of human rights in the world. The Republic of Chile was thus to be seen as a model for other countries struggling for democracy. Therefore, the prestige of the state had to be increased so that it could play a significant role both on the continent and – in selected areas – beyond its borders. In other words, Chile – through democratisation – was to gain the place it deserved in the international community. One of the fundamental objectives of the Chilean foreign policy was to develop export, particularly by finding new markets for the economy of Chile. The return to democracy was to make this task easier to accomplish.15 It 15 Jarosáaw Spyra described Chile’s foreign policy in the following way: „In 1990, Chile was going out of international isolation and its foreign policy needed to be

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should be noted, however, that while aiming at the intensification of international cooperation, Chile did not openly declare that it would join any specific global organisations or groups. Although Pinochet’s regime was ostracised in the international arena, it maintained relations with other countries. During the authoritarian rules, the Chilean state was still a member of international organisations; what is more, it joined some new ones. Thus, democratic changes in Chile were not revolutionary for this sphere of the state’s activity. However, they made it easier to establish relations with new countries, at the same time strengthening the existing ties, which was in conformity with the Chilean national interest (El discurso con que Patricio Aylwin reinauguró la democracia, 2014; Sarkis, 2004, pp. 67-80; Spyra, 2006, pp. 130-143; Wilhelmy, Durán, 2003, pp. 273-286).

The assumed post-transition identity The political post-transition identity was to be based on a few foundations. The main of them was the national identity which resulted from reconciliation. The discourse on the past was to consist in revealing the truth about the crimes of the military regime, restoring the memory of the victims, while being aware of the acts of terror – aimed at people connected with Pinochet’s government – committed by radical leftist groups. What is more, instead of settling accounts with the representatives of the previous regime, the formula of forgiving guilt and compensating

adapted to the new circumstances on the global stage. […] Pursuing its national interests, Chile is guided by the following principles in its foreign policy: x universalism – defined as aiming at maintaining relations with all countries on the basis of equality and mutual respect for sovereignty; Chile seeks balance in this respect and refuses to ally with any bloc of countries on a permanent basis if this is against its interests […]; x non-intervention and supporting international cooperation – Chile is against any forms of one country’s interference with internal affairs of another […]; x responsibility - it means that a country not only agrees to take advantage of the positive results of its policy, but it is also ready to bear responsibility for the negative effects of its activity […]; x the respect for international law and peaceful dispute settlement - Chile considers itself to be a country with clearly specified borders; it does not accept other countries’ claims concerning its own land […]; x open regionalism – Chile stresses the need for the construction of a broader bloc of Latin American countries […]. (Spyra, 2006, pp. 132-135).

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the victims’ families was promoted, which was an expression of responsibility and justice in a democratic state that renounced revenge. To counteract divisions, the new authorities sought compromise instead of making claims. As they aimed to accomplish the goal of the stabilisation of the state, they needed to become free of the conflicts of history. Discussions about the past and resentments were supplanted by the pursuit for bright future, for the development of the country and for the improvement of people’s living standard. That is why the society understood that what became an inseparable part of its identity were the principles of democracy, the respect for human rights and the recognition that the interest of the Republic of Chile and its citizens prevailed over the issues that divide the nation. After the transition of the system, the political awareness of Chileans became democratic, pluralist and focused on the social and economic progress. It must be added that the implementation of such a consistent strategy brought considerable results in the sphere of the society’s political identity in the post-transition period. Disappointment with the transformation on the one hand, and the reorientation to the future on the other led to the decrease of the citizens’ involvement in politics in the mid-1990s. The young generation of Chileans also lost interest in the events of the times of the junta’s government (See: Spyra, 2013, p. 636). However, the situation radically changed at the outset of the 21st century as Augusto Pinochet was arrested in London in 1998 upon the motion of a Spanish judge, Baltazar Garzón (For more details see: Komosa, 2005; Stern, 2009).

References Monographs, studies and published sources Adams Jerome R. (2010), Liberators, Patriots and Leaders of Latin America: 32 Biographies, McFarland & Co, Jefferson, NC Americas Watch (1991), Human Rights and the „Politics of Agreements”: Chile during President Aylwin’s First Year, [in:] Transitional Justice: How Emerging Democracies Reckon with Former Regimes. Volume II: Country Studies (1995), [ed.] Neil J. Kritz, United States Institute of Peace Press, Washington Arceneaux Craig L. (2001), Bounded Missions: Military Regimes and Democratisation in the Southern Cone and Brasil, The Pennsylvania State University Press, University Park Aylwin Azócar Patricio (1991), Al dar a conocer a la ciudadanía el Informe de la Comisión de Verdad y Reconciliación, Santiago, 4 de

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marzo de 1991, [in:] Idem (1992), La transición chilena: discursos escogidos, marzo 1990-1992, Editorial Andrés Bello, Santiago Aylwin Patricio (2005), Verdad, justicia y reconciliación [in:] Derechos humanos y reparación: una discusión pendiente, [eds.] E. Lira K., G. Morales F., LOM Ediciones, Santiago Barros Robert (2004), Constitutionalism and Dictatorship. Pinochet, the Junta, and the 1980 Constitution, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Bernatowicz GraĪyna, Dobosiewicz Zbigniew (1973), Chile. Rewolucja parlamentarna?, PaĔstwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, Warsaw Bustamante Javiera, Ruderer Stephan (2009), Patio 29. Tras La Cruz De Fierro, Ocho Libros Editores, Santiago Chinchón Álvarez Javier, (2007) Derecho Internacional y transiciones a la democracia y la paz: Hacia un modelo para el castigo de los crímenes pasados a través de la experiencia iberoamericana, Ediciones Parthenon, Madrid Comité de Defensa de los Derechos del Pueblo (1990), Todas íbamos a ser reinas. Estudio sobre nueve mujeres embarazadas que fueron detenidas y desaparecidas en Chile, Quimo Impresores, Santiago Constitutions of Selected Countries after the Transition from Authoritarian Regimes Collection of Legal Acts, Vol. 2: Chile, Spain, South Africa (2013), [collected by] J. Marszaáek-Kawa, J. PiechowiakLamparska, A. Ratke-Majewska, P. WawrzyĔski, European Educational Centre, ToruĔ Correa Raquel, Subercaseaux Elizabeth (1989), Ego sum Pinochet, Empresa Editora Zig-Zag, Santiago Correa Sutil Sofía, Figueroa Garavagno Maria Consuelo, Jocelyn-Holt Letelier Alfredo, Rolle Cruz Claudio, Vicuña Urrutia Manuel (2001), Historia del siglo XX chileno: balance paradojal, Editorial Sudamericana, Santiago Corvalán Luis (2003), El gobierno de Salvador Allende, LOM Ediciones, Santiago Diálogos de Justicia y Democracia. Nº1: El Plebiscito del 5 de octubre de 1988 (1995), [ed.] M. Tagle D., Corporación Justicia y Democracia, Santiago Discursos del Presidente de la República don Patricio Aylwin Azócar (1990), Secretaría de Comunicación y Cultura, Ministerio Secretaría General de Gobierno, Santiago Edwards James Rolph (2013), Painful Birth. How Chile Became a Free and Prosperous Society, University Press of America, Lanham, MD

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Ensalaco Mark (2000), Chile Under Pinochet. Recovering the Truth, University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia Ferrara Anita (2015), Assessing the Long-Term Impact of Truth Commissions: The Chilean Truth and Reconciliation Commission in Historical Perspective, Routledge, New York Harris Robin (1999), A Tale of Two Chileans: Pinochet and Allende, Chilean Supporters Abroad, London Instituto Nacional Demócrata para Asuntos Internacionales (1989), La Transición Chilena hacia la Democracia. El Plebiscito Presidencial de 1988, Instituto Nacional Demócrata para Asuntos Internacionales, Washington, D.C. Joignant Alfredo (2007), Un día distinto. Memorias festivas y batallas conmemorativas en torno al 11 de septiembre en Chile 1974-2006, Editorial Universitaria, Santiago Komosa Marcin (2005), Sprawa Pinocheta. OdpowiedzialnoĞü za naruszenia praw czáowieka, Oficyna Wydawnicza ASPRA-JR, Warsaw Kornbluh Peter (2013), The Pinochet File: A Declassified Dossier on Atrocity and Accountability, The New Press, New York Lazzara Michael J. (2007), Prismas de la memoria: narración y trauma en la transición chilena, Editorial Cuarto Propio, Santiago Loveman Brian, Lira Elizabeth (2000), Las ardientes cenizas del olvido: vía chilena de reconciliación política 1932-1994, LOM Ediciones, Santiago Magasich Airola Jorge (2008), Los que dijeron „No”. Volumen I. Historia del movimiento de los marinos antigolpistas de 1973, LOM Ediciones, Santiago Marszaáek-Kawa Joanna, Ratke-Majewska Anna, WawrzyĔski Patryk (2014), Konstytucja a nowa toĪsamoĞü polityczna w tranzycji demokratycznej, [in:] Studia nad wspóáczesnymi systemami politycznymi. Instytucje i mechanizmy rywalizacji politycznej. Tom II. KsiĊga dedykowana Profesorowi Andrzejowi Antoszewskiemu, [ed.] R. Alberski, W. Jednaka, D. SkrzypiĔski, Wydawnictwo Adam Marszaáek, ToruĔ, pp. 156-168 Martner Gonzalo (1988), El gobierno del Presidente Salvador Allende. 1970-1973. Una evaluación, PEDNA y Ediciones LAR, Santiago Muñoz Heraldo (2008), The Dictator’s Shadow: Life Under Augusto Pinochet, Basic Books, New York Otano Rafael (2006), Nueva crónica de la transición, LOM Ediciones, Santiago

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Pinochet Ugarte Augusto (1979), El dia decisivo: 11 de septiembre de 1973, Editorial Andrés Bello, Santiago Richard Nelly (2013), Arte en Chile desde 1973, [in:] Golpe 1973-2013. Volumen 1, [ed.] R. Aceituno, R. Valenzuela, Ediciones y Publicaciones El Buen Aire, Santiago Robben Antonius C.G.M. (2010), Testimonies, Truths, and Transitions of Justice in Argentina and Chile, [in:] Transitional Justice: Global Mechanisms and Local Realities after Genocide and Mass Violence, [ed.] A.L. Hinton, Rutgers University Press, Piscataway Schneider Carlos Ruiz (2013), La democracia en la transición chilena y los límites de las políticas de derechos humanos, [in:] Golpe 19732013. Volumen 1, [ed.] R. Aceituno, R. Valenzuela, Ediciones y Publicaciones El Buen Aire, Santiago Spooner Mary Helen (2011), The General’s Slow Retreat: Chile After Pinochet, University of California Press, Berkeley–Los Angeles– London Spyra Jarosáaw (2006), Polityka zagraniczna Chile, [in:] Polityka zagraniczna paĔstw Ameryki àaciĔskiej, [ed.] M.F. Gawrycki, Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, Warsaw Spyra Jarosáaw (2013), Chile, Wydawnictwo TRIO, Warsaw Stern Steve J. (2009), Recordando el Chile de Pinochet: en vísperas de Londres 1998. Libro Uno de la trilogía La caja de la memoria del Chile de Pinochet, Ediciones Universidad Diego Portales, Santiago Stern Steve J. (2010), Reckoning with Pinochet. The Memory Question in Democratic Chile, 1989–2006, Duke University Press, Durham Stern Steve J. (2013), Luchando por mentes y corazones. Las batallas de la memoria en el Chile de Pinochet. Libro Dos de la trilogía La caja de la memoria en el Chile de Pinochet, Ediciones Universidad Diego Portales, Santiago Uggla Fredrik (2009), „For a Few Senators More”? Negotiating Constitutional Changes During Chile's Transition To Democracy, [in:] Latin American Democratic Transformations: Institutions, Actors, Processes, [ed.] W.C. Smith, University of Miami, Miami Valencia Avaria Luis (1986), Anales de la República : textos constitucionales de Chile y registro de los ciudadanos que han integrado los poderes ejecutivo y legislativo desde 1810, Editorial Andrés Bello, Santiago Valenzuela Arturo (1989), El quiebre de la democracia en Chile, Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales, Santiago Wilde Alexander (2013), Un tiempo de memoria: los derechos humanos en la larga transición chilena, [in:] Las políticas de la memoria en

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Chile: desde Pinochet a Bachelet, [ed.] C. Collins, K. Hite, A. Joignant, Ediciones Universidad Diego Portales, Santiago Wirshing Irene (2009), National Trauma in Postdictatorship Latin American Literature: Chile and Argentina, Peter Lang Publishing, Inc., New York

Articles in scientific journals Jara Hinojosa Isabel (2011), Graficar una “segunda independencia”: el régimen militar chileno y las ilustraciones de la Editorial Nacional Gabriela Mistral (1973-1976), „Historia” nr 44, vol. 1 Sarkis Miguel Ortiz (2004), La política exterior de la Concertación 19902002, „Revista Enfoques: Ciencia Política y Administración Pública” no. 2 Velásquez Rivera Edgar de Jesús (2006), La transición a la democracia en Chile según la der echa, „Estudios Políticos” no. 29 Wilde Alexander (1999), Irruptions of Memory: Expressive Politics in Chile’s Transition to Democracy, „Journal of Latin American Studies” no. 31 Wilhelmy Manfred, Durán Roberto (2003), Los principales rasgos de la política exterior chilena entre 1973 y el 2000, „Revista de Ciencia Política” vol. XXIII, no. 2

Press articles StasiĔski Maciej (2011), Czy Salvador Allende popeániá samobójstwo?, „Gazeta Wyborcza” no. 123

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http://www.mac.uchile.cl/educacion/coleccion_arte_experimental/lotty _rosenfeld.pdf [accessed: 15.08.2015] Magasich Jorge (2010), „Plan Z”, najlepsze faászerstwo w historii Chile, Lewica.pl, http://www.lewica.pl/?id=22398 [accessed: 06.08.2015] Memoriales de Derechos Humanos en Chile. Homenajes a las víctimas de violaciones a los derechos humanos entre 1973 y 1990 (2007), Programa de Gobernabilidad, FLACSO – Chile, http://www.flacsochile.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/Memorialesde-Derechos-Humanos-en-Chile.pdf [accessed: 24.08.2015] Mensaje Presidencial del 21 de Mayo de 1990 (1990), Historia Política Legislativa del Congreso Nacional de Chile, http://historiapolitica.bcn.cl/mensajes_presidenciales [accessed: 21.08. 2015] Mensaje Presidencial del 21 de Mayo de 1992 (1992), Historia Política Legislativa del Congreso Nacional de Chile, http://historiapolitica.bcn.cl/mensajes_presidenciales [accessed: 09.08. 2015] Ministerio de Educación Pública, Departamento de Educación Extraescolar (1974), Biografía de los miembros de la Junta de Gobierno. General Augusto Pinochet Ugarte, Almirante José Toribio Merino C., General Gustavo Leigh Guzmán, General César Mendoza Durán, Memoria Chilena – Biblioteca Nacional de Chile, http://www.memoriachilena.cl/archivos2/pdfs/MC0053665.pdf [accessed: 04.08.2015] Modifica la Constitución Política de la República de Chile (1989), Biblioteca del Congreso Nacional del Chile, http://www.bcn.cl/leychile/Navegar?idNorma=30201 [accessed: 17.08 .2015] Organizaciones en defensa de los derechos humanos, Memoria Chilena – Biblioteca Nacional de Chile, http://www.memoriachilena.cl/602/w3article-98136.html [accessed: 15.08.2015] Patricio Aylwin (1990-1994), Memoria Chilena – Biblioteca Nacional de Chile, http://www.memoriachilena.cl/602/w3-article-92974.html [accessed: 24.08.2015] Plebiscito del 5 de octubre de 1988, Memoria Chilena – Biblioteca Nacional de Chile, http://www.memoriachilena.cl/602/w3-article96594.html [accessed: 17.08.2015] Protection of human rights in Chile (1977), General Assembly Resolutions, the United Nations,

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http://www.un.org/documents/ga/res/32/ares32r118.pdf [accessed: 16. 08.2015] Recinto DINA – „José Domingo Cañas” No 1367, Memoria Viva. Archivo digital de las Violaciones a los Derechos Humanos por la Dictadura Militar en Chile (1973-1990), http://www.memoriaviva.com/Centros/00Metropolitana/recinto_DINA_j ose_domingo_canas.htm [accessed: 06.08.2015] Secretaría General de Gobierno. Republica de Chile (1973), Libro Blanco del cambio de gobierno en Chile. 11 de Septiembre de 1973, Editorial Lord Cochrane, Santiago, Biblioteca del Congreso Nacional del Chile, www.bcn.cl/obtienearchivo?id.../10221.../Libro_Blanco...Chile.pdf [accessed: 06.08.2015] Su historia – Londres 38, Londres 38, espacio de memorias, http://www.londres38.cl/1937/w3-propertyvalue-32013.html [accessed: 06.08.2015] Surdel Tomasz (2009), Victor Jara pochowany po raz drugi, Tierralatina.pl, http://www.tierralatina.pl/2009/12/victor-jara-pochowany-po-razdrugi/ [accessed: 06.08.2015].

CHAPTER TWO THE POLITICS OF MEMORY IN POST-AUTHORITARIAN TRANSITIONS: THE SECOND INDEPENDENCE OF ESTONIA JOANNA PIECHOWIAK-LAMPARSKA

A historical overview Identity formation. The second Estonian national regeneration The formation of the contemporary identity of the Estonian people began in the mid-19th century. However, the Estonians commenced their struggle for their own country as late as at the beginning of the 20th century. From the 13th century on, the Estonian territory was occupied by Swedes, Danes, Germans and Russians (see: MaryaĔski, 1993; Spilsbury, 2012). The history of the Estonian Republic began at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, during the first national regeneration (see: Lewandowski, 2001). The national movement led to the proclamation of independence on 24 February 1918. Another success was the adoption of the constitution on 15 June 1920, and the new authoritarian constitution on 28 July 1938 (see: Rauch, 1974). The end of the first independence period was marked by the signing of the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact in Moscow on 23 August 1939, which resulted in the incorporation of the Estonian territory into the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics on 6 August 1940 (see: MaryaĔski, 1993; Spilsbury, 2012; Kahk, 1997; Misiunas and Taagepera, 1983). The transition from the authoritarian system to the democratic one in Estonia was of a stable character. The Estonian democratic and dissident movement shared a lot of similarities with the actions undertaken in the other Baltic Sea or Central and Eastern Europe republics (see: Vesilind, 2008). The roots of the Estonian state and its legal and international tradition continue the twenty years of the existence of the Estonian Republic between the two world wars (see: Rauch, 1974). Yet, without

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that first independence there most likely would not be Estonia in its present-day form. Jan Lewandowski (2008, p. 48) notes that “during the fifty years prior to the outbreak of World War One, some principal transformations took place in the social, political and cultural sphere. Despite limitations, due to the foreign rule and the politics of Russification, the Estonian nation was already well organised, with its own national elites in politics, economy and culture.” Like in the rest of the Soviet Union, some significant social and political transformations intensified after Mikhail Gorbachev’s announcement of the launch of a package of reforms dubbed perestroika (English: reconstruction), uskoreniye (English: acceleration of economic development) and glasnost (English: openness). Following the policy of revealing some historical facts and the truth about the condition of the economy, the Estonians incited mass protests against the publicised plans of the construction of more phosphorite mines in the Kabala-Toolse region. The protests gave rise to the establishment of the environmental Green Movement (Est. Roheline Likumine), whose members signalled, apart from the environmental pollution issues, the difficult situation following the mass influx of settlers of Russian origin and the previous resettlements of native Estonians (see: Spilling, 2010; Kasekamp, 2010; Lewandowski, 2001; Hanhinen, 2001; Raukas, 1997). Another significant event which showed the increased activity of the opposition and independence movement was the establishment of the Estonian Group on Publication of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact (Est. Molotov-Ribbentropi Pakti Avalikustamise Eesti Grupp). The result of the Group’s work was protests at Hirve Park in Tallinn. The initiative to reveal the secret protocol to the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact involved the most prominent representatives of the anticommunist opposition: Lagle Parek, Erik Udam, Tiit Madisson, Enn Tarto, or Mart Niklus (see: Lewandowski, 2001; Spilling, 2010; Kasekamp, 2010; Ruutsoo, 2002; Narusk, 1995). Due to the lack of any serious reprisals against the organisers and participants of the protests, numerous local organisations for the protection of historical monuments and national heritage (primarily, historical monuments of the first independence period, as well as literature and art) began to spring up. This led to the registration of the Society for the Protection of Estonian Historical Monuments (Est. Eesti Muinsuskaitse Selts) headed by Trivimi Velliste (see: Jeffries, 2004; Mole, 2012; Spilsbury, 2012). The 1970s and the 1980s were a certain prelude to the social revolution which commenced in 1988. Students’ protests, dissident movement, samizdat (English: self-published) publications, actions aimed at protecting

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human rights and human dignity, as well as attempts to stir up interest of the West in the social and political situation in Soviet Republics – all of this led to the outbreak of a smooth and bloodless revolution.

The singing revolution The second stage of the formation of the Estonian national identity referred to the events of the singing revolution. The singing revolution is a phrase used to name a series of episodes, independence aspirations, and the process of the redefinition of relations within the communities of the Baltic Sea region: the Estonian SSR, the Lithuanian SSR, and the Latvian SSR (see: Ginkel, 2002; Thomson, 1992). In the years 1988-1991, the Baltic republics became sovereign states. The phrase “singing revolution” was coined by the Estonian artist Heinz Valk, who was inspired by spontaneous mass night-time patriotic singing demonstrations (which continued national tradifion from the 19th Century). In the Estonian SSR, the beginning of the singing revolution was marked by the registration of the Estonian National Independence Party (Est. Eesti Rahvusliku Sõltumatuse Partei) in January 1988, and the People’s Front (Est. Rahvarindel) in April 1988 (see: Lewandowski, 2001). June 1988 saw several hundred thousand strong demonstrations which were an organised protest against the authoritarian system, oppression, and the deepening economic crisis (see: Vogt, 2005; Ginkel, 2002; Thomson, 1992). They led to a change in the position of the first secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Estonia, and a great number of – mainly symbolic – changes which were adopted by the Supreme Council on 23 June 1988. The most significant of those included the restoration of the three-colour national flag (blue-blackwhite), the reinstatement of the name Kuressaare to the town of Kingissepp, and the release of the last political prisoner, Mart Niklus, who had been sentenced to ten years in prison, (see: Lewandowski, 2001; Vogt, 2005; Lieven, 1995). Following the demonstrations which took place in September 1988, on 16 November the Supreme Council of the Estonian SSR adopted the Declaration on the Sovereignty of the Estonian SSR (Est. Deklaratsioon Eesti NSV suveräänsusest), which put the Estonian law before the law of the USSR (see: Frankowski and Stephan, 1995; Walker, 2003; Miljan, 2004). 1989 saw the clash of two camps: the pro-Soviet and prodemocratic one. Finally, the event which is considered to be the most symbolic one was, on 23 August, the formation of “the Baltic Way” (Est. Balti kett) by the nations of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania – a protest

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which brought together an estimated two million people (see: Lewandowski, 2001; Vogt, 2005; Lieven, 1995). Six months later, on 24 December, the Supreme Council of the USSR considered illegal the actions taken under the provisions of the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact, which made it possible for the Baltic republics to start the procedure of regaining independence. Obviously, the achievements of the Estonian opposition were possible owing to the political and economic crisis in the Soviet Union – it would not have been feasible to carry out peaceful actions, had the Soviet authoritarian system not been debilitated.

Democratisation. The “second” independence The “second” independence began on 30 March 1990 with the adoption by the Supreme Council of the interim period aimed at restoring full independence (see: Taagepera, 1993). On 8 May, the name of the country was changed back from the Estonian Soviet Socialist Republic to the Republic of Estonia (Est. Eesti Vabariik). Indeed, the interim period was a time of transformation, primarily in the political and social sphere. The Baltic republics, facing the challenge of regaining independence, had to overcome their own internal divisions which did not allow them to assume a homogeneous standpoint on leaving the Soviet Union and establishing independent states (Lewandowski, 2001; Vogt, 2005; Lieven, 1995). On 3 March 1991, a general referendum was held on restoring independence to the Republic of Estonia. It must be emphasised that it concerned the restoration, rather than proclamation, of sovereignty. It referred to the resolution of 30 March 1990 on the State Status of Estonia. It was due to, among other things, the efforts of Estonian Citizens’ Committees (Est. Eesti Kodanike Komiteed), which aimed at the international legal acknowledgement of the continuity of the 1918-1940 Estonia (see: Miljan, 2004). The result of the referendum showed the nation’s huge support for independence aspirations – nearly 78% of those who took their vote opted for the restoration of the status of the Republic of Estonia as it had been before the incorporation into the USSR. Almost at the same time, on 17 March 1991, the citizens of Estonia boycotted the second referendum, this time on maintaining the status quo, i.e. the continued existence of the USSR (see: Taagepera, 1993; Lewandowski, 2001). Despite the Moscow coup d'état, headed by General Gennady Yanayev, on 20 August 1991, the Supreme Council proclaimed the restoration of independence of the Republic of Estonia. Estonia’s sovereignty was acknowledged by the Soviet Union on 6 September, and by the United

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Nations on 17 September. Parallel to the endeavours towards being internationally recognised, the Estonian state was undergoing significant internal transformations. What was of particular importance was the fact that as early as on 23 August a law was passed which prohibited the activity of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) and the KGB (the USSR Committee for State Security) in Estonia. The ban marked the beginning of the long-drawn process of settling accounts with the Soviet regime and bringing in democratic principles (see: Lewandowski, 2001; Frankowski and Stephan, 1995; Raun, 2001). Another important step in the process of regaining the sovereignty of the Estonian state was an attempt to face the issue of the Russian-speaking citizens. On restoring independence on 6 September 1991, the Act on Estonian Citizenship was restored, too. The act posed serious problems to the immigrant population as regards acquiring Estonian citizenship, to the settlers from the USSR in particular, and it ruled out the possibility to acquire Estonian citizenship by the functionaries or collaborators of the Soviet security services and professional soldiers of the Soviet Army. This brought about protests of the communists circles, yet the nationalist fraction’s work on the act came to a successful end. At the same time, some intense efforts were being put in the preparation of the new fundamental law, which was based on the documents in force during the interwar period of the Estonian statehood. They were, namely, the Declaration of Independence of 24 February 1918, and the authoritarian Constitution of Estonia of 28 July 1938. On 28 June 1992, another referendum was held, this time on the adoption of the proposed draft constitution. The project gained acceptance on the part of the voters – it was backed by 91% of them (see: Lewandowski, 2001). The Constitution came into force on 3 July 1992, i.e. a few days after the general referendum took place. The document regulated, among other things, such issues as: the separation of powers, the powers of the parliament, the powers of the president, civil rights and liberties, as well as the electoral system (see: Marszaáek-Kawa, Piechowiak-Lamparska, Ratke-Majewska and WawrzyĔski, 2014). The process of the transition of the system was complemented by the parliamentary election of 20 September 1992 (see: Electoral Results in 1992 Riigikogu Elections) and the presidential election (see: President of the Republic of Estonia Elections). The parliament (Estonian: Riigikogu) was inaugurated. As many as nine parties and electoral blocs won seats in the parliament, which confirmed the admission of the multi-party system and pluralism (see: Lieven, 1993; Marszaáek-Kawa, PiechowiakLamparska, Ratke-Majewska and WawrzyĔski, 2014).

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What was a particularly important issue in the Estonian public debate was the problem of settling accounts with the outgoing Soviet regime and reparations for the victims of the oppressions. However, as Joanna Hyndle (Centre for Eastern Studies, 2002, p. 22) points out, “the key issue in the lustration procedure is not the faulty form of laws on which it is based, but the scarcity of archival documents saved in Estonia. Therefore, there are not enough sources for determining in a reliable and incontestable way the fact of a person’s collaboration with the Soviet security services. Consequently, the process relied mainly on voluntary acts of admission. Despite the dissolution of the KGB in Estonia and the efforts of many politicians aimed at disclosing former and present agents, the influence of Russian security services is still visible in this country.” We must stress that the politics of memory in the transition period was implemented consistently almost on a par with the reforms of economy or foreign policies. Still, most of the postulates failed to be realised during the transition period. However, those actions were carried on and developed in the post-transition period. As early as in 1992, the Estonian State Commission on Examination of the Policies of Repression was established. The outcome of its work was the book published in 2005 - The White Book. Losses Inflicted on the Estonian Nation by Occupation Regimes. On 6 June 1995, the parliament passed a law on the registration and publication of the names of the officials and collaborators of the security services of the countries which occupied Estonia. The names of those who failed to abide by the adopted law were made public for the first time on 1 April 1997. 1998 saw the launch of the Estonian International Commission for Investigation of Crimes against Humanity, also called the History Commission or Max Jakobson Commission (Estonian: Inimsusevastaste Kuritegude Uurimise Eesti Rahvusvaheline Komisjon), which in 2008 was transformed into the Estonian Institute of Historical Memory (Est. Eesti Mälu Instituut). Its members include: Tiit Sepp (chairman), Leon Glikman, Rein Kilk, Jaan Manitski and Hannes Tamjärv.

The pre-transition identity. Homo Sovieticus? The pre-transition identity of the Estonians is characterised by all the properties typical of the nations of the Soviet Union. Being part of the Soviet project of building one nation resulted, on the one hand, in the demoralisation of the whole society, and on the other hand, in the individualising of those few elites that were concerned with nationalist ideas.

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For the Estonian society, throughout its fifty-year dependence on the USSR, the biggest problem seemed to be the isolation from the achievements of the societies of Western Europe. One of the burning issues was the inhomogeneous ethnic structure brought about by the deportations of the Estonians deep inside the USSR, forced migrations, and the presence of the Russian-speaking immigrants. This was a consequence of the Soviet policies directed against the formation of the national identity of the peoples of the USSR. In 1991, the Russification scheme, as realised in the Estonian SSR, ended up with almost a third of the population of Estonia being the influx people, absolutely unrelated to the language, culture and history of Estonia. The Estonians were consolidated by the history of their own statehood – the 1918-1940 Republic of Estonia and its international legal achievements. The national regeneration, which came about in the 1970s and the 1980s, was possible owing to a shift towards culture and folk art. The national identity was largely reinforced by singing the songs about the need for integration and national unity.

The development of the transition identity The exercise of power by the new political elites The taking over of power by the new political elites following the restoration of the internal and external sovereignty by the Republic of Estonia was exceptionally difficult. We must stress that despite the efforts to replace the Soviet/post-Soviet elites with new (see: Bennich-Björkman, 2007) democratic ones – made up of dissidents and independence activists – the process of decommunization turned out to be a failure (see: OĞrodek Studiów Wschodnich, 2009, p. 21; Piechowiak-Lamparska, 2014). The first important document preparing the ground for the complex transformation of the political scene was the adoption in 1990 of the Decree to rehabilitate all individuals convicted for political crimes in the Soviet Russian criminal code. This decree regulated issues concerning political crimes for which Estonian citizens were convicted under the law of the Estonian SSR and the USSR, and offered rehabilitation to political offenders. What reflected certain continuity of the actions taken under the above decree was the adoption in 1992 of the Law on the Rehabilitation of Persons Extra-judicially Repressed and Wrongfully Convicted (Est. Seadus kohtuväliselt represseeritud ja alusetult süüdimõistetud isikute rehabiliteerimise kohta). Also in 1992, the parliament established the State Commission for the Examination of Repressive Policies Carried Out

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during the Occupations (Est. Okupatsioonide repressiiv poliitika uurimise riiklik komisjon, ORURK). The aim of the commission was to make an estimate of the damage inflicted by the two authoritarian regimes – the Nazi and Soviet one. Its three main tasks were: 1. the analysis of the policy of repression; 2. the analysis of the crime of genocide; 3. the analysis of the damage inflicted on the Estonian economy in the years 1940-19911 (see: Pettai, 2012; Salo, 2005; The White Book. Losses Inflicted on the Estonian Nation by Occupation Regimes, 2005). Without doubt, in the light of the adopted acts and laws and the established institutions, the past of the politicians was to provide the foundation for the legitimisation of the new elites. However, during the first period of the transition there was a clear friction between two blocs: the post-Soviet one and the opposition one. An effective positive vetting process was hindered by the lack of the verification of the declarations submitted by politicians. Most of the archives taken over from the KGB had been destroyed or evacuated to the Russian Federation. Similarly, the verification of the declaration of conscience2 depended, initially, on the analysis of incomplete documentation (see: Tamm, 2013, pp. 651–674; Melchior and Visser, 2011, pp. 33–50; Piechowiak-Lamparska, 2014, pp. 170–171). Therefore, we can assume that not everyone submitted their declaration of conscience containing true information; and what is more, they did not suffer any consequences. A declaration in writing on any type of collaboration with the KGB was meant to be a safeguard and a symbol of breaking with the USSR regime. The presidential and parliamentary elections of 20 September 1992 enabled the partial replacement of elites. Following the short period of governance by Prime-Ministers Edgar Savisaar and Tiiti Vähi, the new prime-minister after the restoration of independence was appointed -Mart Laar, while Lennart Meri, one of the leaders of the singing revolution, became the president. The candidates’ opposition past and their dissident activity had an impact on the electoral decisions of the Estonians in the interim period. Exploiting the idea of the state’s continuity was an essential element of the formation of identity in the transition period. A great number of acts in force in the Republic of Estonia in the years 1918-1940 were reinstated after the rebirth of the state. In order to emphasise the connection with the 1

The work of the commission went on until 2004, and in 2005 its final report was published (see: The White Book. Losses Inflicted on the Estonian Nation by Occupation Regimes, 2005). 2 The declaration of conscience was cancelled on 31 December 2000 (see: Centre for Eastern Studies 2009, p. 22; Wulf, 2010, pp. 245-267).

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first independence, on 23 June 1988, the Supreme Council adopted a resolution to restore the national flag (blue-black-white). What was equally important was the change of the name of the city of Kingissepp to Kuressaare (see: Tamm, 2013; Lewandowski, 2001, p. 225). The new authorities, pursuing the politics of memory, were determined to restore the memory of the heroes of the Liberation War. The reconstruction of the landscape of memory was a particularly long-drawn process, mainly due to the actions taken by post-communists, the Russian-speaking community, and following the agreements with the Russian Federation on ensuring respect for memorial sites. Nonetheless, after 1991 the process of changing names of streets, patrons of institutions, monuments, and museums commenced. During the strict transition period, names of some streets and main squares were changed, but memorials and plaques for the heroes of the Soviet Union or the Soviet Army remained intact in Estonia until the first decade of the 21st century (Brüggemann and Kasekamp 2008, s. 425– 448; Brüggemann and Kasekamp 2009, s. 51–63; Kattago, 2009b). It might be said that during the transition period there were at least two narratives in operation – one referring to the heroes of the Liberation War and the Republic of Estonia, and the other to the Estonian SSR. The museums the mission of which was to present the Soviet oppression, the functioning of the repressive system, or at least the difficulties of the everyday life in the USSR, were launched as late as at the turn of the 20th and 21st centuries.3 The process of the legitimisation of the new political elites was founded on conflict rather than on preventing it. The conflict concerned the argument between the representatives of the outgoing authoritarian regime and the representatives of the opposition. It seems that a conflict like that cannot be prevented without applying a tool such as a thick line, which enables the representatives of the two regimes to coexist and cooperate on the political scene, particularly during the period of the transition of the political system. However, in the case of Estonia, where the aim of the pro-democratic faction was to eliminate the collaborators and beneficiaries of the Soviet system, it was just the very participation in this conflict that legitimised the new elites. In the political debate, it was impossible to discern the willingness for reconciliation and forgiveness. Probably, such relations on the political scene resulted from the desire to conduct lustration and settle accounts, leading to the removal from the

3 The KGB Cells Museum in Tartu was launched in 2001, and the Occupation Museum of the Recent Past in Estonia in Tallin opened in 2003 (see: Wulf, 2010).

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political life of the individuals connected with the Soviet regime. Cooperation was not an option.

The presence of the representatives of the former regime in the public life The presence of a part of the political elite deriving from the elites of the Estonian SSR or the USSR posed a big challenge from the very beginning of the independent Republic of Estonia. During the transition period, in the public debate, a particularly big emphasis was placed on two issues: lustration and punishing/stigmatisation/exclusion of politicians and officials accused of collaboration and taking advantage of the resources of the Soviet regime, and the necessity of effective economic reforms. Hence, opposition activists did not find it justifiable for the representatives of the Estonian SSR to take part in the public life. The reason for that was, in particular, to prevent conflicts and to legitimise democracy and political pluralism. Despite the aforementioned conflict and the lustration process, the Estonian political scene was a pluralist one. There were groups of the independence-rightist origin as well as those having roots in the communist party. Importantly, however, the politics of memory did not dominate the public debate. Apparently, the most important issue was economic liberalisation and transformation. Theoretically, according to the adopted declaration of conscience, there should not be collaborators or the personnel of the Soviet security service and army among the representatives of political elites.

The formula chosen to hold the apparatus of the authoritarian regime accountable (or not accountable) After 1991 in Estonia, the issue of lustration and decommunization became a matter of utmost national importance. It was essential for the Estonian society that all offices and posts at the local and central levels be cleaned from political and scientific elites connected with the services of the German Third Reich and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. During the singing revolution, the Estonian society signalled it explicitly that it demanded transitional justice. The pursuit of identifying and punishing the representatives and beneficiaries of the outgoing authoritarian regime was clearly visible. The first legal and political step was the adoption of an act which obliged candidates in elections to attend an office where the candidates were verified with respect to their collaboration with, or outright work for

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the special and security services of the USSR. Despite the fact that those actions were meant to be of a voluntary character, they exerted a big influence on the electoral decisions of the Estonians. The elimination from the public life of the individuals entangled in collaboration was to be a remedy for their previous permanent presence among state authorities. The main objective was the complete removal of the officials connected with the USSR and the Russian Federation services. What marked a very important stage in the process of building the state’s structures was the adoption of Estonia’s 1938 Citizenship Law by the State Assembly.4 The detailed conditions of obtaining citizenship concerned those who were immigrants and arrived in Estonia after 1940. Citizenship could only be granted to those who had incessantly lived in the Republic for at least two years, from the declaration of independence (30 March 1990). Estonian citizenship was not obtainable to the officials of the special and security services of the USSR, professional soldiers of the Red Army (1918-1946) and the Soviet Army (1946-1992). Those waiting to obtain citizenship after a year’s grace period were obliged to submit a declaration of loyalty to the Estonian state, and also to pass an exam in the Estonian language and culture (which was a hindrance to the people coming from the territories of the Soviet Union;5 typically, those people did not speak fluent Estonian despite having lived in the Estonian SSR for years). Those actions were also targeted at restricting access to civil rights, the right to vote and to stand for election, social care, or free education. Joanna Hyndle (2009, p. 21) argues that “the lustration process [in the Baltic states – ed. J.P.L.] proved to be imperfect and failed to meet the expectations. In terms of the security of the state, it still poses a challenge to politicians, who are actively supported by historians striving to reveal the truth about the Soviet apparatus of repression. They also strive to fend off the Russian politics of memory, which negates the Soviet occupation of the Baltic States and distorts their image across the world. The unsettled accounts with the past result in yet more political scandals, which reveal the connections of important politicians with the Soviet and Russian secret services. Even though the disclosure of cases of alleged or actual collaboration is a tool in the local political fight, the emergence of new, previously unknown to historians and archivists, classified documents may also be linked with attempts at destabilising the political life of the three Baltic States from outside.” However, despite its imperfections, the 4

It was not a new law. In 1992, the amended Law on Estonian Citizenship of 1938 was reinstated (see: Lewandowski, 2001). 5 Still, the citizenship issues in Estonia remain problematic (see: Hyndle-Hussein, 2015).

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selected formula of settling accounts with the apparatus of the authoritarian regime was consistently implemented during the political transition period (see: Aleksahhina, 2006). The most important legal acts regulating the issues of decommunization and lustration in the transition period include: • • • •

• •

1990 – the Decree to rehabilitate all individuals convicted for political crimes in the Soviet Russian criminal code, 1991 – the Principles of Ownership Reform Act (the Privatisation Act), 1991 – the Implementation Law, 1992 – the Law on the Rehabilitation of Persons Extra-judicially Repressed and Wrongfully Convicted (Estonian: Seadus kohtuväliselt represseeritud ja alusetult süüdimõistetud isikute rehabiliteerimise kohta), 1992 – the Act on Procedure for Taking the Oath of Conscience, 1992 – the Decision establishing the Estonian State Commission on Examination of the Policies of Repression.

Social costs of transformation, especially of the economic transition The transformation from the authoritarian system to the democratic one generates a number of social costs. Kalev Kukk argues that if it had not been for decades of German and Soviet occupation, Estonia would be now at a similar level of development as Finland (due to comparable starting conditions). It is a particularly important remark, especially when trying to assess the scope of damage resulting from the loss of independence by the Republic of Estonia (see: The White Book. Losses Inflicted on the Estonian Nation by Occupation Regimes, 2005). After the restoration of independence, a lot of industries of the Estonian economy proved to be in ruin due to the USSR’s centrally planned economy. The Estonian SSR, despite being dubbed as the USSR’s western window to the world – “Western Soviet” (see: Lewandowski, 2001) – was not in any aspect independent from Moscow. The introduction of the free market economy principles during the transition period was justified by the necessity of conducting complex reforms. The most important reforms included: ownership rights, the privatisation of some state-run companies, the reform of the banking and tax system, and the introduction of the country’s own currency (Estonia was the first Soviet republic which left the rouble monetary system). The

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costs of the transformations were affected all citizens. In 1991 alone, prices increased by 629%: the prices of food products rose by 713%, the prices of daily use articles grew by 574%, and the prices of services went up by 327% (see: Lewandowski, 2001, p. 246). Despite the nationwide awareness of the costs and hardships of the transition period, due to social protests of economic background, the government of Edgar Savisaar fell. The most important reforms during the transition period included: a law on the privatisation, an act on foreign investment, and the restructuring of the industry. Those changes, besides the liberalisation of the economy, brought about a considerable increase in the unemployment rate. The particularly badly affected regions were the industrialised areas inhabited mainly by the Russian-speaking community (in 1992, the mines of phosphorites and bituminous shales were closed down; see Lewandowski, 2001, pp. 250-251). Another significant consequence of the transformations of the transition period was a noticeable decrease in the population size and a negative migration balance. That was a result of the migration of the Russian-speaking community from Estonia to Russia, and of those who did not stand a chance to obtain Estonian citizenship due to their service in the Red/Soviet Army or collaboration with the security services. Consequently, the Estonian state had to face secession attempts on the part of the regions populated mainly, or exclusively, by the Russian-speaking community. The German and Soviet occupation had a negative impact on a great number of other domains of social life. The State Commission for the Examination of Repressive Policies Carried Out during the Occupations in a part of its report on scientific losses stated as follows: “Damage caused by occupation forces can be divided into the following categories: loss of human and material resources (buildings, equipment etc.); limited academic liberties in research work; state-imposed inadequate organisation; overall restrictions on the intellectual environment and the freedom of scientific communication” (The White Book. Losses Inflicted on the Estonian Nation by Occupation Regimes, 2005, p. 74). Jaan Laas stresses repeatedly that science and higher education in Estonia had to follow the direction set by the western countries. Yet, that development would be very costly, particularly due to the irreversible damage amongst the repressed scientists. Similarly, partly permanent damage was inflicted on the environment. Rein Ratas accurately remarks (The White Book. Losses Inflicted on the Estonian Nation by Occupation Regimes, 2005, p. 126) that some damage is irreparable, but some decisive actions must be taken in order to

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minimise the damage caused by centralised economic management, which brought about the imbalance in the economy and environment. Until the end of the transition period, among the most commonly implemented proposals were those advocating the introduction of a complex approach to exploiting natural resources and modernising mining technologies, thus aiming at an increase in the quality of citizens’ life (see: Khank, 1991; Raukas, 1997).

The adoption of new, often culturally different, social and political standards During the transition period, which only took a few years in Estonia, beside economic and population changes, we can also observe the initiation of cultural transformation. It concerned several main areas: primarily, human rights protection and respect for human dignity, but also access to education, culture, as well as opening up to the influence of social orders other than that of the USSR only. The Soviet patterns, established for fifty years, left a lasting imprint in the form of distorted social and political standards. Due to the long period of dependence, initially on the Third German Reich and then on the Soviet Union, it became necessary to rationalise the reforms and transformations introduced during the transition period. What was very important were the references to the period of the first independence of the Estonian state, to the legal, political and cultural tradition. In the Estonian SSR, it was not possible to cultivate the traditions from before the incorporation into the Soviet Union. Artists, writers and poets of pro-independence attitudes were regarded as the enemies of the state and were subjected to repressions. And then, to some extent, the folk culture endured, which gave the foundation for the formation of a new identity. Like in the other countries established after the collapse of the USSR, the Republic of Estonia faced the challenge of building a new social order. The necessity to conduct reforms was not justified by the consequence of historical events, but by the huge success of the Estonian nation in regaining independence, and by the necessity of catching up with the West. The public debate stressed the need to adopt new models of behaviour and to cut off from the narratives about the heroes of the Soviet Union. However, it was all very difficult to carry out, mainly because of the large proportion of the Russian-speaking community, which protested each time an attempt was made to make changes in the public domain.

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The restored national heroes predominantly included the participants of the Estonian-Bolshevik Liberation War, the Forest Brothers (Estonian: metsavennad) – who were anti-communist guerrillas from World War II as well as the leaders of the singing revolution, and members of opposition movements. The change of the pantheon of heroes served to emphasise the symbolism of the transformations – new, democratic and liberal ideas were replacing old, regime and oppressive models.

Democratisation as the fulfilment of intergenerational contract and paying tribute to the victims of the previous regime and to repressed opposition In the case of Estonia, the democratisation process not only consisted in the reforms aimed at the liberalisation of all aspects of life, but it was also realised through an attempt to settle accounts with the individuals connected with the outgoing authoritarian regime (see: Kuusk, 2006). Despite the obvious incapability to carry out the lustration process, due to the incomplete archives left behind by the Soviet security services, decommunization was to introduce a clear distinction between the victims of the Soviet regime and its collaborators and beneficiaries.6 Both legal procedures and public sentiment signified big determination and the need for transitional justice (see: Mälksoo, 2009a; Mälksoo, 2009b). The State Commission for the Examination of Repressive Policies Carried Out during the Occupations stated that “the purpose of the Soviet repressive measures was to subdue, repress and/or destroy the active core of population” (The White Book. Losses Inflicted on the Estonian Nation by Occupation Regimes, 2005, p. 60). This meant that the prosecution and punishment of those responsible for the repression against the Estonians could be treated as vengeance upon those working for or collaborating with the KGB or the Red/Soviet Army. The justice of the transition period in the Estonian dimension aimed to eliminate such individuals from the public life and depriving them of civil rights.7 In the public debate, it was a widely held belief that the German and Soviet occupations brought about huge social losses (see: Sarv, 1997; Pettai, 2013). Complex research into the issue was conducted aiming at assessing the scale of consequences, also those health-related. Heino Noor 6

The proper Lustration Law was passed in 1995. The issue of reparation for the inflicted damage was legally sanctioned as late as on 17 December 2003, when the Law on People Repressed by Occupying Powers was passed. 7

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stressed that “it must be noted that the physical and mental health and welfare of those who were repressed by the Nazis returned more quickly and completely. They received several kinds of compensation, whereas the victims of the Soviet repressive measures and their relatives had to face surveillance, restrictions and injustice at work when choosing and obtaining residence and receiving education. This was a policy of real segregation and Soviet apartheid. It was a permanent and cumulative psychological trauma. Your whole life was overshadowed by the Gulag” (The White Book. Losses Inflicted on the Estonian Nation by Occupation Regimes, 2005, p. 65). On top of this, a number of new public holidays were introduced, and the calendar of holidays was rearranged in such a way that it corresponded to the democratic narratives (see: Onken, 2009). The 24th of February became the Independence Day – as independence was declared on 24 February 1918; the Victory Day (Estonian: Võidupüha) is celebrated on the 23rd of June; and the 20th of August commemorates the restoration of independence (to commemorate the proclamation of 1991). The Estonian society also finds the following holidays and commemorations aimed at remembering the repressions to be of great importance: the 25th of March – celebrations commemorating the deportations of 1949, and the 14th of June – celebrations commemorating the deportations of 1941 (this date has no status of a public holiday).

The historical need for national unity The national unity of the Estonian society is not easy to define. References to the past, to the period of the first independence, and also to the language, history, tradition, culture and arts did not match the expectations of the whole of the society living in the Republic of Estonia. In 1991, as mentioned before, what was a huge problem was the proportion of the Russian-speaking community who was not of the Estonian origin. The difficulty was even greater as the community lived in large groups, typically in highly-industrialised areas. Despite the protests of about a third of the population, mostly the immigration community, on 3 July 1992, the Constitution of the Republic of Estonia was adopted (see: Marszaáek-Kawa, Piechowiak-Lamparska, Ratke-Majewska and WawrzyĔski, 2014; ZieliĔski, 2000). In the preamble to the Constitution, the Estonian nation “with unwavering faith and a steadfast will to strengthen and develop the state which embodies the inextinguishable right of the people of Estonia to national selfdetermination and which was proclaimed on 24 February 1918, which is

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founded on liberty, justice and the rule of law, which is created to protect the peace and defend the people against aggression from the outside, and which forms a pledge to present and future generations for their social progress and welfare, which must guarantee the preservation of the Estonian people, the Estonian language and the Estonian culture through the ages, the people of Estonia, on the basis of § 1 of the Constitution which entered into force in 1938, and in the referendum held on 28 June 1992, has adopted the following Constitution (the Constitution of Estonia).” That is a reference to the need for cooperation and reconciliation as commenced in 1918. The public discourse included the concepts of the historical justification of reconciliation and forgiveness, but what it lacked was the programme for settling accounts with the crimes of the past and punishing those guilty of them. Similarly, the transformation of the regime’s landscape of memory into a pluralistic and national one posed a number of problems, such as the aforementioned issue of the cult of Soviet heroes and memorial sites (see: Melchior and Visser, 2011). Yet, even though there was no reconstruction of the pantheon of national heroes towards diversity, but only towards the democratic and liberal narratives, those regulations were extended in time well beyond the period of the political transformation (see: Forest and Johnson, 2011).

Membership in international organisations, alliances, and economic and political associations Membership in the broadly defined Western Bloc was one of the most important demands raised in the transformation period. Decades of political, economic and cultural isolation – due to the membership in the Eastern bloc throughout the cold war – contributed to significant backwardness with respect to the countries of Western Europe, or even Central Europe (see: Mälksoo, 2006). Yet, the demand that Estonia should join international political, economic and defence organisations – beside the claim for independence from the Soviet Union, and then from the Russian Federation – was the priority in the state’s foreign policy. On 17 September 1991, Estonia joined the United Nations, and in October of the same year it adopted the resolutions of the CSCE Final Act of 1975, which made it possible to carry on dialogue and take further steps internationally. On the one hand, membership in international inter-government organisations was an actual opportunity to accelerate the economic development and provided support for the democratisation process. On the other hand, those efforts became a symbol of liberation from the Russian

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influence (see: Perchoc, 2013). As Jan Lewandowski (2001, p. 254) stresses, “the basic, long-term objective of the Estonian foreign policy was to join the NATO and the European Union structures.” This objective was not reached during the transition period, but it remained to be articulated and justified some of the economic reforms.

The assumed post-transition identity. A modern European society? The Estonian national post-transition identity was to evolve towards a modern European society. This means that the political, economic and cultural endeavours of the Estonians were to consistently mirror the democratic processes in the western societies. The construction of the post-transition identity was preceded by transformations and reforms conducted during the transition period, yet it was not possible to settle accounts with the outgoing authoritarian regime. What remains to be one of the biggest unsolved problems of the democratic Estonia is its ethnic diversity and the conflicts it evokes. As Maágorzata Solska (2013, p. 125) says, “the stability of the political system relies on the loyalty of citizens, which is achieved on the one hand by the active participation of citizens, and through the effectiveness of the state policy on the other. Both the participation of the minority in the political life of the country, and the state’s policies aimed at overcoming ethnic divisions bring measurable results. In Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, social integration takes place in a society defined by titular nations. However, the lack of ethnic conflicts does not mean the attachment to the state or the formation of a common civil identity.” The development of the Estonian society seems to be following the civil society model. To this end, on 12 December 2012, the parliament adopted the Estonian Civil Society Development Concept. The principles that the Estonians are expected to live by are: partnership, freedom of conscience and mutual respect (see: Civil Society in Estonia, 2013). The reorientation of the society’s goals from the obedience to the headquarters in Moscow to its own development made it possible to empower internal relations. However, it is not the identity which is consistent and perfectly coherent with the western societies (which also face a number of problems). Yet, we can state that the post-transition identity of the Estonians, which has developed since 1993, is the outcome of a great number of disputable issues and their solutions. The conscious exploitation of the tools of the politics of memory by the authorities is the evidence of the good understanding of problems arising from resentments or from failing to

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come to terms with the past. The implementation of the lustration process and the introduction of changes in the public domain also had an impact on the society’s awareness of what costs had been incurred historically and privately. The shortness of the period of the transition from the authoritarian system to the democratic one was the result of the welldevised strategy to join the countries of Western Europe.

References Aleksahhina, Margarita. (2006). Historical Discourse in the Legitimation of Estonian Politics: Principle of Restitution. Human Affairs, 6(1). Beissinger, Mark R. (2009). The Intersection of Ethnic Nationalism and People Power Tactics in the Baltic States, 1987-91. [in:] Roberts, Adam & Ash, Timothy Garton (eds.). Civil Resistance and Power Politics: The Experience of Non-violent Action from Gandhi to the Present. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bennich-Björkman, Li. (2007). Civic commitment, political culture and the Estonian inter-war generation. Nationalities Papers, 35(1). Brüggemann, Karsten & Kasekamp, Andres. (2009). Identity Politics and Contested Histories in Divided Societies: The Case of Estonian War Monuments. [in:] Berg, Eiki & Ehin, Piret (eds.). Identity and Foreign Policy. Farnham: Ashgate Publishing. Edy, Jill A. (1999). Journalistic Uses of Collective Memory. Journal of Communication, 49(2). Ennuste, Ülo & Wilder, Lisa. (eds.). (2003). Essays in Estonian transformation economics. Tallinn: Estonian Institute of Economics at Tallinn Technical University. Forest, Benjamin, & Johnson, Juliet. (2011). Monumental politics: regime type and public memory in post-communist states. Post-Soviet Affairs, 27(3). Frankowski, Stanisáaw; Stephan, Paul B. (1995). Legal reform in postcommunist Europe. Dordrecht, Boston & London: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. Ginkel, John (2002). Identity Construction in Latvia’s “Singing Revolution”: Why inter-ethnic conflict failed to occur. Nationalities Papers, 30(3). Hanhinen, Sari. (2001). Social problems in transition: perceptions of influential groups in Estonia, Russia, and Finland. Helsinki: Aleksanteri Institute. Hayner, Priscilla B. (2010). Unspeakable truths: transitional justice and the challenge of truth commissions. New York: Routledge.

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Jeffries, Ian. (2004).The countries of the former Soviet Union at the turn of the twenty-first century: the Baltic and European states in transition. London & New York: Routledge, Judt, Tony. (2005). Postwar: A History of Europe since 1945. New York: The Penguin Press. Kahk, Juhan (ed.). (1991). World War II and Soviet Occupation in Estonia: A Damages Report. Tallinn: Perioodika. Kahk, Juhan. (1985). Eesti NSV ajalugu. English History of the Estonian SSR. Tallinn: Perioodika. Kasekamp, Andres. (2010). A history of the Baltic states. Houndmills, Basingstoke & New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Kattago, Siobhan. (2009a). Agreeing to Disagree on the Legacies of Recent History Memory, Pluralism and Europe after 1989. European Journal of Social Theory, 12(3). Kattago, Siobhan. (2009b). War Memorials and the Politics of Memory: the Soviet War Memorial in Tallinn. Constellations, 16(1). Lewandowski, Jan. (2001). Estonia. Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Trio. Lieven, Anatol. (1993). The Baltic Revolution: Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, and the Path to Independence. New Haven: Yale University Press. Lindpere, Heiki. (2009). Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact: Challenging Soviet History. Tallinn: Estonian Foreign Policy Institute. Mälksoo, Lauri (2001). Soviet Genocide? Communist Mass Deportations in the Baltic States and International Law. Leiden Journal of International Law, 14. Mälksoo, Maria. (2006). From Existential Politics towards Normal Politics? The Baltic States in the Enlarged Europe. Security Dialogue, 37(3). Mälksoo, Maria. (2009a). Liminality and Contested Europeanness: Conflicting Memory Politics in the Baltic Space. W: Berg, Eiki & Ehin, Piret (ed.). Identity and Foreign Policy. Farnham: Ashgate Publishing. Mälksoo, Maria. (2009b). The Memory Politics of Becoming European: the East European Subalterns and the Collective Memory of Europe. European Journal of International Relations, 15(4). Marszaáek-Kawa, Joanna, Piechowiak-Lamparska, Joanna, RatkeMajewska, Anna & WawrzyĔski, Patryk. (2014). Constitutions of Selected Counties after the Transition from Authoritarian Regimes. Collection of Legal Acts. Vol. 1. Estonia, Georgia, Poland. ToruĔ: Europejskie Centrum Edukacyjne. MaryaĔski, Andrzej. (1993). Litwa, àotwa, Estonia. Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Naukowe PWN.

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Melchior, Inge & Visser, Oane. (2011). Voicing past and present uncertainties: The relocation of a Soviet World War II memorial and the politics of memory in Estonia. Focaal, 59. Miljan, Toivo. (2004). Historical Dictionary of Estonia. Tallinn: Scarecrow Press. Misiunas, Romualdas J. & Taagepera, Rein. (1983). The Baltic States. Years of Dependence 1940-1980. Los Angeles: Berkeley. Mole, Richard. (2012). The Baltic States from the Soviet Union to the European Union: Identity, Discourse and Power in the PostCommunist Transition of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. New York: Routledge. Narusk, Anu. (1995). Every-day life and radical social changes in Estonia: a sociological-empirical overview of changes in Estonians’ life values, attitudes, living conditions, and behaviour during the transition from Soviet to post-Soviet. Tallinn: Eesti Teaduste Akadeemia Kirjastus. Onken, Eva-Clarita. (2009). Commemorating 9 May: The Baltic States and European Memory Politics. [in:] Berg, Eiki & Ehin, Piret (eds.). Identity and Foreign Policy. Farnham: Ashgate Publishing. OĞrodek Studiów Wschodnich. (2009). Lustracja w krajach Europy ĝrodkowej i paĔstwach baátyckich. Warsaw. Perchoc, Philippe. (2013). History as a Tool for Foreign Policy in the Baltic States after Independence. [in:] Mink, Georges & Neumayer, Laure (eds.). History, Memory and Politics in Central and Eastern Europe: Memory Games. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Piechowiak-Lamparska, Joanna. (2014). Dependence path in the process of achieving transitional justice on the post-Soviet area. Comparative studies of the transition in Estonia, Georgia and Poland. Athenaeum. Polskie Studia Politologiczne, 4. Ratas, Rein & Raukas, Anto. (1997). Main Outlines of Sustainable Development in Estonia. Tallinn: Ministry of the Environment, Environment Information Centre, Republic of Estonia. Rathkolb, Oliver & Sooman, Imbi. (2014). In Historical Memory Culture in the Enlarged Baltic Sea Region and Its Symptoms Today. Vienna: Vienna University Press. Rauch, Georg von. (1995) The Baltic states: the years of independence: Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, 1917-1940. London: St. Martin’s Press. Raukas, Anto. (1997). Estonian Environment. Past, Present and Future. Tallinn. Raun, Toivo. (2001). Estonia and the Estonians. Stanford: Hoover Institution Press.

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Salo, Vello et al. (eds.). (2005). The White Book: Losses Inicted on the Estonian Nation by Occupation Regimes 1940–1991. Tallinn: Estonian Encyclopedia Publishers. Smith, David. (2013). Estonia: independence and European integration. London: Routledge. Spilling, Michael. (2010). Estonia. New York: Marshall Cavendish Benchmark. Spilsbury, Richard. (2012). Estonia. Chicago: Heinemann Library. Stan, Lavinia & Nedelsky, Nadya. (2013). Estonia. [in:]: Stan, Lavinia & Nedelsky, Nadya. (eds.). Encyclopedia of Transitional Justice Volume 2. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Taagepera, Rein. (1993). Estonia: Return to Independence. Boulder: Westview Press. Tamm, Mark. (2013). In search of lost time: memory politics in Estonia, 1991–2011. Nationalities Papers: The Journal of Nationalism and Ethnicity, 41(4). Tannberg, Tõnu (ed.). (2015). Behind the Iron Curtain: Soviet Estonia in the era of the Cold War. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang Edition. Thomson, Clare. (1992). The Singing revolution. London: Michael Joseph. Torbakov Igor. (2011). History, Memory and National Identity. Demokratizatsiya: The Journal of Post-Soviet Democratisation, 19(3). University of Tartu, School of Economics and Business Administration. (1994). Finance and systemic transition in Estonia. Tartu: Tartu Ülikool.. Vesilind, Priit. (2008). The singing revolution: how culture saved a nation. Tallinn: Varrak. Vogt, Henri. (2005). Between Utopia And Disillusioment: A Narrative Of The Political Transformation In Eastern Europe (Studies in Contemporary European History). New York & Oxford: Berghahn Books. ZieliĔski, Jacek. (2000). Systemy konstytucyjne àotwy, Estonii i Litwy. Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Sejmowe.

CHAPTER THREE THE POLITICS OF MEMORY IN POST-AUTHORITARIAN TRANSITIONS: THE TWO-STAGE TRANSITION IN GEORGIA JOANNA PIECHOWIAK-LAMPARSKA

Historical overview Two stages of the transition1 Two stages of the transition or two transitions? The Republic of Georgia (Georgian: ʹʨʽʨʸʯʭʬʲʵ) may now be considered to be the most democratic country of the South Caucasus. The other countries of the region – the Republic of Armenia and the Republic of Azerbaijan – have clearly not completed the transformation process yet. There is a hybrid system in Armenia, partly due to the huge influence of the Russian Federation, while Azerbaijan, ruled by the Aliyev dynasty, seems to be heading towards authoritarianism (see: Suny, 1995; Jeffreis, 2003; Hwang 2005; Wilson, 2005; Marshall, 2010; Gahrton, 2010; Ismailov & Papava, 2006; Piechowiak-Lamparska, 2013). New social, political, economic and cultural standards were gradually introduced in Georgia during the transition period, which began at the end of the 1980s and ended with the adoption of constitution amendments in 2004. It means 1

Explanatory note: 1. Georgian names were written with the application of the transliteration method. We did a simple conversion from the Georgian alphabet (Georgian: ʳˆʬʫʸʻʲʰ, trans. Mkhedruli) into the Latin alphabet. 2. Russian names were written with the application of the transcription method. We did a simple conversion from the Cyrillic script into the Latin alphabet. 3. In the chapter, we often used terms such as the “post-Soviet area” or “near abroad” to refer to the area of the post-Soviet republics emerged after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, covering the area of today’s Central Asia, the South Caucasus, Eastern Europe, some Baltic states and the Russian Federation (Russia does not belong to the area of “near abroad”). Both terms are used simultaneously.

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that the period of changes of the system – with varied dynamics over time – lasted approximately 15 years. The case of Georgian transformations is particularly interesting because of strong independence traditions and nationalist movements, which were active despite significant ethnic diversity,2 and the period of over 70 years of the Russian rule (see: Zürcher, 2007; Areshidze, 2007; Furier, 2000; Materski, 2010; Musiaáowicz, 2008; Mikaberidze, 2007). The transition from the authoritarian system to democracy in Georgia took place in two stages. This process did not mirror the transformation of the political system in the countries of similar historical, political, geographical, social and economic conditions (see: Gogishvili, Gogodze & Tsakadze, 1996; Slider, 1997; Nodia & Tevzadze, 2003). The main differences concern the length of the transition period,3 as well as its division into the stage of regaining independence and the stage of the democratisation of the political system. The first stage corresponded to the political and social changes that led to the collapse of the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics, and began on 9 April 1991, when Georgia regained independence, and ended with the adoption of the constitution by the Parliament of the Republic of Georgia on 25 August 1995 (see: Waters, 2004). The second stage, lasting from the adoption of the fundamental law to the adoption of amendments to the constitution in 2004, involves changes which led to the outbreak of the Revolution of Roses in November 2003 (see: Wheatley, 2005; Karumidze & Wertsch, 2005; Arakelian & Nodia, 2005; Companjnen, 2010; Trzaskowski, 2009; Sanikidze, 2004).

2

The territory of today’s Georgia is populated by, among others: Georgians, Azerbaijanis, Armenians, Abkhazians, Ossetians, Russians, Greeks, Ukrainians, Kurds, Svans, Megrelians, Adjarians, as well as representatives of other nations and ethnic groups. This diversity, which makes Georgia and the whole region of the South and North Caucasus such a culturally rich area, is also the root of a great many conflicts and separatist movements (see: Lang, 1972; Baranowski & Baranowski, 1987; Pelkmans, 2006; Pavloviü & Gritzner, 2005; Voell & Khutsishvili, 2013; Ismailov & Papava, 2006; Garthon, 2010; George, 2009; Haro, 2010; Marshall, 2010; Zürcher, 2007; Companjen, Marácz & Versteegh, 2010; Materski, 2010; Coene, 2010; Cornell, 2005). 3 It is widely believed that the transition in the post-Soviet states of the Baltic Sea region ended in the 1990s, while in some countries of Central-Eastern Europe (e.g. Belarus) and Central Asia (e.g. Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan) it did not begin at all. There are also countries with permanently hybrid systems, which have both democratic and authoritarian characteristics (e.g. Ukraine) (see: Prokop, 2015; Prokop & Piechowiak-Lamparska, 2014).

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The specific nature of the transition of the Georgian political system was determined by – generally and stereotypically recognised – characteristic features of Georgian people: impetuosity, gallantry, and traditionalism. When analysing the landmark events of the transformation period, we should pay attention to their sinusoidal course (see: Anchabadze, 2005; Coppietersr, Trenin & Zverev, 1998; Devdariani, 2004). The Georgian society and politicians responded impulsively to any failures or misfortunes, e.g. at the first stage of transition, after the fall of the government of the first democratically elected president Zviad Gamsakhurdia, they turned for help to the Soviet minister Eduard Shevardnadze (see: Mateski, 2010; Aves, 1996). However, the attachment to tradition and peculiar conservatism made relative stabilisation possible only at the second stage of transformation. The Georgian state is located in a conflict-stricken area, with frozen ethnic conflicts (especially ignited by the separatist ambitions of Adjara, Abkhazia and Southern Ossetia) and the Russian Federation’s aspirations to become the superpower in the post-Soviet territory. The area of “near abroad” is the priority both in the Russian foreign policy (see: Bryc, 2009; Bryc, 2007; PliszczyĔska, 2010) and in the strategy of Western players – the United States of America, the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation, and the European Union. Among countries that are becoming increasingly important are the ones located in the region of the Caspian Sea – Iran and Azerbaijan, and the region of the Black Sea – Turkey. Ghia Nodia and Álvaro Pinto Scholtbach (2006, p. 1) note that „democracy in Georgia is the subject of international attention.” It is in Russia’s interest to maintain instability and keep “near abroad” as a cordon sanitaire (buffer zone), and it is in the interest of the West to introduce democratic standards in the post-Soviet states, which would enable political and economic cooperation (see: Piechowiak-Lamparska, 2014). This geostrategic situation corresponds to Piotr Grochmalski’s concept (2014) of the growing instability of the region of Central Afro-Eurasia.

The first stage. The second independence The transition of the system in Georgia began, just like in many other countries emerged after the collapse of the Soviet Union, in the “Autumn of Nations 1989”. It seems that apart - from strong Georgian nationalindependence and traditionalist movements - one of the most significant causes was the influence of the reforms of pierestrojka (Russian: reconstruction) – uskorienie (Russian: acceleration) and gáasnost (Russian: transparency) (see: Shevardnadze, 1992; Materski, 2010; Furier,

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2000). The partial introduction of the principles of free market economy and the wide transparency of historical facts, which were previously kept secret by the Soviet authorities, led to the increased awareness of the Georgian society and triggered internal activities aimed at the establishment of a sovereign state. It was the scientific and artistic circles that became the driving force behind changes. At the first stage of transformation, the main objective was to create an independent and internationally recognised state out of the previous part of the USSR. It was Georgians’ second successful attempt to regain independence in the 20th century. The first independence, in the period from 26 May 1918 to 25 February 1921, was the outcome of a successful attempt to secede from the Transcaucasian Democratic Federative Republic. The establishment of the Democratic Republic of Georgia (Georgian: ʹʨʽʨʸʯʭʬʲʵʹ ʫʬʳʵʱʸʨʺʰʻʲʰ ʸʬʹʶʻʩʲʰʱʨ) was closely related to the effects of the October Revolution. The three-year long independence and its de facto and de iure recognition by the Supreme Council of the Triple Entente contributed to the formation of the awareness of common characteristics and a sense of unity, and, consequently, of national identity. The adoption of the constitution on 21 February 1921 also played an important part (see: Gachechiladze, 1995) – not only in the first period of sovereignty, but also during the second bid for independence. That constitution gave rise to the tradition of the Georgian modern state and law, thus it laid the foundation that was often referred to after the fall of the USSR (see: Mülhfried, 2014). Political changes were the outcome of social transformations, which were inspired by dissidents, such as Merab Kostava4 and Zviad Gamsakhurdia.5 The opposition movement in Georgia may be examined from the angle of its two main dimensions of activity. The first sphere was a struggle for the protection of human rights, which was also the priority for dissident groups in other countries of the Eastern bloc (for example in Poland and Ukraine). Human rights, as fundamental principles of coexistence in democratic states, were not respected in the USSR (see: Mülhfried, 2014; Materski, 2010). The second dimension referred to nationalist activity, aimed at the reconstruction of the national identity and self-awareness of the Georgian society. The oppositionists also protested 4

In the years 1976–1977 and 1987–1989, Merab Kostava was a member of the Board of the Helsinki Group, while from 1975 he belonged to Amnesty International. In the years 1977–1987, Kostava served his sentence in a Soviet labour camp. He died in a car accident in 1989 (Furier, 2000; Materski, 2010). 5 Writer Konstantine Gamsakhurdia’s son, a Soviet dissident and the first democratically elected President of the Republic of Georgia.

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against Soviet repression against nationalist activists – politicians, scientists, and artists (see: Materski, 2010); Gogishvili, Gogodze & Tsakadze, 1996; Nodia, 1994). In the beginning, the dissident movement did not intend to deconstruct the Georgian nation functioning within the framework of the Soviet state of the USSR. The actions taken by opposition groups involved the organisation of demonstrations, pickets, and addresses, and later also strikes, street blockades and mass protests. The dissidents also found underground publishing activity very important. Samizdat publications, however, did not reach a wide audience and were limited to the circle of the intellectual elite. Zviad Gamsakhurdia’s essays, which concerned the problems of national rebirth, social solidarity or the freedom of religion, were not read by people living in the Georgian countryside. What was another important issue was the promotion of the concept of the Georgian language and alphabet as the official language, which posed a big challenge in the light of constant and growing Russification (see: Nodia, 1995). In the 1970s, the dissident movement was becoming formalised and began to institutionalise its activity. In 1973, Merab Kostava and Zviad Gamsakhurdia established the Initiative Group for the Defence of Human Rights. It was the first organisation in Georgia the objective of which was to monitor and spread concepts of people’s inherent rights and dignity. The next step was made in 1976, when Kostava formed the first Helsinki Group - the organisation for the protection and respect of human rights - in the USSR. This activity became one of the most important factors that led to the arrests of the group members in April 1977. The investigation conducted by the KGB ended with sentencing Kostava to long years of imprisonment in a Soviet labour camp and public embarrassment to Gamsakhurdia, who – after a two-month inquiry – renounced his dissident views on public television and was released from prison (see: Materski, 2010; Furuer, 2000). Despite crashing and suppressing nationalist and independence movements, the activity of the Helsinki Group was noticed and recognised by the international public in 1978, when Kostava and Gamsakhurdia received a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize (finally, they were not awarded with the prize, but the nomination contributed to rising interest in Transcaucasian issues). What may be considered the turning point that led to the liberalisation of relations between independence movements and the authorities was undoubtedly the success of several-day-long mass protests – which took place on 14 April 1978 against the lack of recognition of the official status of the Georgian language in the Constitution of the Georgian Socialist Soviet Republic. Another “awakening” occurred in 1981, when Giorgi Chanturia, Irine

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Sarishvili-Chanturia, Iraldi Kadagishvili and Mamuka Giorgadze reestablished the National Democratic Party (NDP), which had already existed during the first independence. After the bids for independence of the 1970s and the wave of arrests and sentences passed against the opposition leaders, the next significant steps were taken in the late 1980s. Their scope, however, was much broader: they went far beyond nationalist activity and were aimed at the protection of human rights. The dissidents intensified their efforts as the USSR imposed some changes and reforms. In 1988, the Saint Ilia the Righteous Society of Law Defenders was established. Its objective was the social, political and religious revival of the Georgian state. It was a part of anti-Soviet activity, mainly expressed in the form of increasingly numerous demonstrations in public places, hunger strikes and sit-ins (see: Nodia, 1998). Thanks to the efforts of Zviad Gamsakhurdia, who once again became the opposition leader, the authorities released Merab Kostava. Gamsakhurdia himself carried out a one-month-long hunger protest as the result of which he almost died. Social anger reached its climax on 9 April 1989, when the anti-socialist demonstration in front of the building of the Supreme Council of the Georgian SSR in Tbilisi was bloodily suppressed and the troops of the Transcaucasian Military District were used against civilians. The Committee for National Salvation,6 which was set up by the opposition in response to the use of force, took action to enable Georgia to leave the Soviet Union and proclaim independence. It was the first time that the memory of the killed protesters had been preserved and cultivated – remembrance marches were organised, torches were lit under the walls of the Supreme Council, and a commemorative stone of tribute to the victims of the massacre was erected. The brutal pacification of the crowd of peaceful demonstrators was a symbol of violence against the defenceless Georgian people.7 Another symbolic event was Meraba Kostava’s sudden death in a car crash – it was suspected to have been the assassination planned by the secret service, which was meant to be a warning for other opposition activists (see: Suny, 1994; Materski, 2010). 6

The Committee for National Salvation was set up by the Helsinki Group, the National-Democratic Party, the Association of National Equality, and the National Independence Party (see: Materski, 2010, pp. 259–260). 7 Wojciech Materski (2010, p. 258) provides official data, according to which 19 people died during the demonstrations – 16 of them got asphyxiated with nerve gas, while three people died after being beaten with sharp military shovels. Several dozen demonstrators got injured and several hundred people suffered from the effects of poisonous gas.

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Efforts taken by consolidated dissident circles and the growing political and economic crisis in the USSR were the factors that contributed to the amendment of the constitution in November 1989. Changes involved the empowerment of the Georgian SSR within the USSR, and, in particular, the possible decision to step out from the Soviet Union (see: Slider, 1997). In April 1990, the radical bloc of pro-democratic parties “Round Table – Free Georgia” was established.8 Following the model of organisations in Central and Eastern Europe, it was to make Georgia an independent state in the process of peaceful democratisation. It was in the same year that the paramilitary Mkhedrioni (English: horsemen) organisation was founded. It was led by a controversial political activist and writer Jaba Ioseliani. Its objective was to fight for independence and to form future armed forces. What marked the beginning of real activity were the free parliamentary elections of 28 October 1990. In the aftermath of their results, the Supreme Council changed the name of the country from the Georgian Soviet Socialist Republic into the Republic of Georgia and appointed Zviad Gamsakhurdia for the office of its chairman. It was a step that made it possible to legitimise further changes of the system. On 31 March 1991, Georgian citizens almost unanimously expressed their approval for the independence of their state. As a result, on the 2nd anniversary of the massacre of the demonstrators – on 9 April 1991 – the parliament passed a resolution on the reinstatement of independence, while on 14 April 1991 the Supreme Council elected Gamsakhurdia for the interim president. Those decisions were followed by the politician’s victory in the general presidential election of 26 May.9 The nationalist slogan of “Georgia for Georgians”, however, was not a part of some comprehensively planned activity, but was an expression of social sentiments of the time (see: Nodia, 1994). However, the political and social breakthrough marked by the election of the first president of democratic Georgia lost its significance in the light of evident economic problems. Frequent power cuts, increasing costs of energy leading to a rise in the prices of food and services, as well as destabilisation caused by the lack of control over the Mkhedrioni and less 8

The “Round Table – Free Georgia” bloc was set up by the Helsinki Group, the Saint Ilia the Righteous Society of Law Defenders, the Merab Kostava Society, the Association of Georgian Traditionalists, the People’s Front – Radical Society, the National-Christian Party and the National-Liberal Union (see: Kuca, 2010, p. 8; Kuca & Grzybowski, 2012, pp. 12–13; Slider, 1997, p. 176; Materski, 2010, p. 266). 9 Zviad Gamsakhurdia obtained almost 86% of the votes (see: Materski, 2010, s. 273–274).

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numerous Merab Kostava Society Armed Groups – all those factors contributed to the intensification of the separatist ambitions of Adjara, Abkhazia, and Southern Ossetia. What also posed a serious problem was highly uncritical popularisation of the image of the president himself – which might be deemed as an attempt to build him a monument in his own lifetime. The situation in Gamsakhurdia’s circle was best depicted by an anecdote told by journalist Guli Antelava, who said that „one day, Minister of Culture Nodari Culeiskiri publicly called Gamsakhurdia a messiah sent from heaven and added that he would be happy to be his slave” (Jagielski, 2005, p. 61). The economic crisis and social protests against the deteriorating living conditions led to a civil war and the secession of rebellious Southern Ossetia. On 22 December 1991, as the result of a coup d’état, Zviad Gamsakhurdia was removed from the post of the head of state, and the Republic of Georgia plunged into chaos. It is extremely difficult to describe the whole course of actions taken by the newly appointed Military Council. What is known for sure is the fact that from 22 December 1991 to 7 March 1992, the actual power in the state was exercised by paramilitary organisations, which terrorised and intimidated the civilian population. The members of the Military Council: Jaba Ioseliani, Tengiz Sigua and Tengiz Kitovani persuaded Eduard Shevardnadze to come to Georgia and appointed him the interim chairman of the presidium of the parliament on 10 March. What helped Shevardnadze and his supporters win the parliamentary elections of 11 October were, on the one hand, the quick pace of changes, the recognition of Georgia as a subject of international law and its accession to the United Nations, and, on the other hand, the intensification of the civil war, the secession of Abkhazia, the uprising in Samegrelo – which remained loyal to Gamsakhurdia – as well as a common belief that it was only Shevardnadze that was able to restore order (see: Nodia, 1992; Materski, 2010). The first years of independence were particularly difficult for Georgian people. They experienced two tragic wars: the 1991-1992 South Ossetia War and the 1992-1994 Georgia-Abkhazia war. The economy and strength of the country were also weakened by the informal, but actual independence of separatist Adjara under the rule of Aslan Abashidze. The activity of the Mkhedrioni and other paramilitary groups, however, was gradually curbed, which was conducive to the restoration of peace in the country. Zviad Gamsakhurdia’s death on 30 December 1993 and the assassination of Giorgi Chanturia on 3 December 1994 paradoxically helped to stabilise the Georgian political scene. The lack of charismatic leaders of groups forming the opposition to Shevardnadze’s followers and

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Georgia’s accession to the Commonwealth of Independent States in March 1994 contributed to the surface acceptance of the permanent crisis. The first stage of the transition formally ended on 24 August 1995, when the parliament adopted the new Constitution of the Republic of Georgia. However, work on the new fundamental law had been in progress since December 1993 (see: Suny, 1995; Materski, 2010). It was then that the Constitutional Commission was established. Its task was to analyse constitutional draft acts submitted by all political groups and to reach consensus in this matter (see: Kuca & Grzybowski, 2012; Kuca, 2010; Waters, 2004). The constitution regulated a number of institutional issues, such as the powers of the president, parliament and courts, as well as the electoral law (see: Marszaáek-Kawa, Piechowiak-Lamparska, RatkeMajewska & WawrzyĔski, 2014). The general presidential election of 5 November 1995 was clearly won by Eduard Shevardnadze, who obtained over 74% of the votes (see: Slider, 1997; Furier, 1996). The parliamentary election held on the same day was won by the Union of Citizens of Georgia, which supported Shevardnadze (see: Slider, 1997; Kuca & Grzybowski, 2012; Nodia & Scholtbach, 2006). Despite seeming stability and the surface character of political and social changes, Wojciech Materski (1994, p. 232) wrote that “the seventy years of the Soviet political system wreaked more havoc in the country than the previous hundred years of slavery. Today’s Georgia is dripping with blood; it is on the verge of economic collapse and cannot function without being dependent on Russia. It is difficult to resist a reflection that the Georgian political elite of the years 1918-1921 was more mature and better prepared to take responsibility for the future of the state than the present one, which can act in more favourable conditions. The hope remains that the Georgian nation, which has lived through so many hardships, will emerge from the present crisis unscathed.”

The second independence. Democratisation The second phase of the transition of the system in the Republic of Georgia lasted from 1995 to 2004. The adoption of the constitution helped to normalise legal issues of the functioning of the state. However, the restored asymmetric relations with the Russian Federation, quite similar to the relations between the headquarters in Moscow and union states in the Union of the Soviet Socialist Republics, after Georgia attempted to become independent and to exchange its elites, seemed to bring the country back to the place it occupied in 1991. Changes and reforms proposed and implemented by the Zviad Gamsakhurdia administration

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seemed to be a part of a bigger, consistent transformation strategy, which brought about chaos and the lack of professionalisation of the political sphere (the president’s loyal henchmen became ministers, and what determined their appointment was faithfulness and membership in the Scouts camp) (see: Materski, 2010). The period of democratisation was a lot more coherent and homogeneous than the one in which the Georgian state was regaining its independence. It was also far shorter. The mandate to exercise power that Eduard Shevardnadze gained by way of general elections was based on the stabilisation of internal affairs and the suppression of ethnic conflicts with Abkhazians, Ossetes and Adjars (see: Zverev, 1996; Hin, 2000; Derluguian, 1995), and on the policy of the use of Western economic aid and increasing foreign debt. In the beginning, the president declared his willingness to fight corruption and nepotism, but no serious steps were taken to introduce the principles of transparency and openness (see: Fairbanks, 1996, pp. 341–374). The state administration was based on the personnel inherited from the Georgian SSR. As the Scouts were entirely pushed away from the public space and Jaba Ioseliani and the Mkhedrioni were marginalised (in 1995, special force was banned and demilitarised, see: Materski, 2010), most public offices were monopolised by the beneficiaries of the transformed authoritarian system loyal to Shevardnadze. The fact that members of opposition groups were first used to gain power (as they overthrew Zviad Gamsakhurdia and brought Eduard Shevardnadze from Moscow) and then removed when they were no longer needed did not result in the weakening of the support for the president. A change in the line-up of powers in the structure of authority of the Georgian state did not evoke any serious protests, either. In 1995, the president decreed that the role of the prime minister was reduced to the function of the secretary or administrative director of the government so that he could not have a real impact on the state policy and would be neither a partner nor a rival for the head of state. Shevardnadze monopolised a vast area of decision-making processes, which was incompatible with the constitutional principle of the separation of powers. Until the parliamentary election of 31 October 1999, the Republic of Georgia balanced between the dependence on the Russian Federation, enhanced by irregular and interrupted supplies of energy (in Tbilisi, power was cut off for a few hours daily) (see: Jagielski, 2005; Roelofs, 2010; Furier, 2000) and the reliance on donations from Western countries (Georgia used the help from the United States, the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation and the United Nations) (see: Lieven, 2001). In the second half of the 1990s, the growing economic crisis was mitigated thanks to

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foreign aid and agreements with Russia, which was unfavourable for the sovereignty of the state. Georgia signed accords concerning its financial obligations to the Russian Federation at the expense of the lack of regulated status of the Abkhazian and Ossetian autonomy (see: Slezkine, 2000). This information, however, was not made public and mass media still created the image of Eduard Shevardnadze being the only and best president (see: Furier, 2000). Owing to such propaganda, the Union of Georgian Citizens won the parliamentary election again, with the support of over 41% of the votes. Before the presidential election of 2000, Shevardnadze began a consistent change of direction of both internal and foreign policy. He declared that the government would combat corruption as it was the nontransparent elites that he blamed for a difficult financial situation. The emphasis of foreign policy, in turn, was moved towards the West. The president made the accession to the NATO Georgia’s strategic objective that would be possible to accomplish during the following term of office (sic!) (see: Nodia, 2001). It seems, however, that people close to the president could be afraid of the possible loss of support, because just before the election mass media informed that Jumber Patiashvili (leader of the Communist Party of Georgia) was responsible for the massacre of 9 April 1989. It might be surmised that the election had been deliberately planned to be held on the 11th anniversary of the tragic events – on 9 April 2000 (see: Materski, 2010; Furier, 2000). It is not known to what degree the revealed information influenced its result, but it certainly enfeebled Patiashvili’s position. Eduard Shevardnadze won with the support of almost 80% of the voters, while Patiashvili, as the opposition candidate, gained over 16% of the votes (Kuca & Grzybowski, 2012). After the presidential election, Georgia turned towards the West as it had been announced before. It was reflected not only in political declarations, but also in the selection of people for public offices. Mikheil Saakashvili became the minister of justice, while Nino Burjanadze was appointed the chairwoman of the parliamentary committee for foreign affairs. A lot of young well-educated clerks and politicians (often graduates of American and European universities) – dubbed as “reformers” - found employment in public administration. They were to make use of their experience and translate Western democratic standards into the Georgian reality. It meant thorough implementation of the programme of economic and social reforms. A slow pace of changes and Shevardnadze’s efforts to block the reforms made Saakashvili, Burjanadze and Zuraba Zhvania (the head of Shevardnadze’s campaign team before the successful presidential election

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of 2000) join the opposition. The dissident party established by Saakashvili – the United National Movement – aimed at overthrowing the president’s cabinet and taking over power in the state. What appeared to be the turning point was the victory of the “Tbilisi without Shevardnadze” group in the elections to local governments in 2002. Saakashvili, as its leader, assumed the post of the chairman of the city council. It was a very significant event as the elections (with no doubts regarding their proper course and procedures) were won by the opposition and a new political leader emerged at the domestic political scene (see: Sumbadze, 2010). In 2003, Zurab Zhvania, Nino Burjanadze and Mikheil Saakashvili set up the opposition pro-democratic coalition, which – together with the youth social organisation Kmara – in the protest against the falsification of the parliamentary elections of 2 November, called on the citizens of Georgia to organise pickets and demonstrations. The opposition, represented by the United National Movement and the „Burjanadze-Democrats” bloc, paraphrased the catchy slogan from the election, advocating “Georgia without Shevardnadze.” For almost the whole of November 2003, the Republic of Georgia was swept with the wave of protests, the aim of which was to change the state authorities in a peaceful way and to hold new parliamentary and presidential elections. Invoking the necessity of eliminating corruption and exchanging clerical and political elites, the group of “reformers” was gradually gaining increasing support. The need for radical changes in the economic sector was confirmed by the deepening economic crisis, which not only affected the Georgian countryside, but also spread all over the country. It is debatable whether it was the consequence of blunders that Shevardnadze’s government had made or of global economic problems, as well as of the difficulties that are specific to the transition period. Still, it was the president and his circle that were generally blamed. What was significant was the fact that his closest associates left him and joined the opposition. Ghia Nodia and Álvaro Pinto Scholtbach (2006, p. 5) note that “Georgia is a country known for its political instability, which was reflected in frequently made attempts to evolve to the democratic system. […] Two of those attempts were consolidated and led to the establishment of weak state institutions and semi-authoritarian political regimes, in which a large part of the society was effectively excluded from the political life. The Revolution of Roses of 2003 gave rise to yet another effort to implement democratic changes in Georgia, and the principal goal of Georgian political and social entities was to consolidate this transition, i.e. to set up a lasting political system, ensuring the effective,

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constitutional government, citizens’ general participation in the political life, and fair conditions of political competition.” On 23 November 2003 – after a series of protests, rallies, demonstrations, and talks with the opposition leaders - Eduard Shevardnadze withdrew from politics and resigned from the office of president. On 4 January 2004, the presidential election was held – won by Mikheil Saakashvili with an overwhelming majority of 96% of the votes. It was believed that the new president had outclassed his rivals partly thanks to his leadership skills and partly due to people’s willingness to defy the previous leader, who was commonly associated with the Soviet system (see: Sumbadze, 2010). It seemed that the society had lost its trust in the power of the “Shevi-Gorbi” (Shevardnadze–Gorbachev) duo. Saakashvili assumed the office, although – as Wojciech Materski claims (2010, p. 351) - „many people felt offended by ostentatious disdain for everything that was Soviet, the cult of the West, foreign wives, or a penchant for speaking in the English language.” Three months after the Revolution of Roses, the parliamentary election was held. It was also clearly won by opposition groups. The “National Movement – Democrats” bloc gained over 67% of the votes; the Rightist Opposition – representing the right side of the political scene – entered the parliament as well, with the support of 7%. At its inaugural session, the newly elected parliament changed the national flag from the republican one to the one referring to the tradition of King David IV and Queen Tamar. This event was to symbolise a break with the previous political and social reality and a turn towards a new, democratic and wealthy future. The second stage of the transition from the authoritarian to democratic system ended after the parliament adopted amendments to the Constitution of 1995. As early as on 6 February 2004, new regulations concerning citizenship, president’s powers and procedures of appointing ministers entered into force (see: Kuca & Grzybowski, 2012). These changes were aimed at adjusting issues that were of the crucial importance for a properly functioning democratic state. What was equally important was the amendment of 1 July concerning the institution of the Constitutional Court (see: Kuca & Grzybowski, 2012). Not only did the abovementioned changes regulate legal and constitutional matters, but they also built the foundation for the formation of a new identity of the Georgian society (see: Marszaáek-Kawa, Ratke-Majewska & WawrzyĔski, 2014).

Pre-transition identity What has played a significant part in the formation of contemporary Georgia is the politics of memory, which consolidated Georgians at the

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time they had no country of their own. As Wojciech Materski notes (1993, p. 15), „the renaissance of statehood would have been impossible, however, if it had not been for the proper base in the form of the tradition of greatness cultivated by the Georgian people – the patriotic education of young generations, who knew freedom only from stories and legends. Never, even in the hardest times, had Georgians forgotten the days of their glory, marked with such names as Saint Nino, David the Builder, Queen Tamar, or Shota Rustaveli. This self-awareness of the civilisation identity of such an ancient culture and faith originating from the 2nd century was the stronger the more difficult it was for the Georgian nation to survive in the multitude of foreign peoples, under the constant pressure from Turks, Persians, or Russians.” Bohdan and Krzysztof Baranowscy (1987, p. 76) also believed that the roots of Georgia could be the motivation for its further development: “the golden age of the Georgian statehood was also the heyday of its culture.” What was particularly important in the process of the development of statehood were the references to the period of almost three years of independence in the years 1918-1921. Contemporary Georgia is the successor of the Democratic Republic of Georgia of the time. Wojciech Materski (1994, p. 232) seems to confirm that despite many difficulties, independence gained in the interwar period was an important argument in the political and social discourse of 1989-1991. He notes that it was “due to the ambiguous role of global powers that the Republic of Georgia was fully recognised by the international community only as late as at the end of its existence.” Although it did not save the country from being enslaved again, an important legal precedence ensued – a general international agreement that Georgia is fully entitled to have its own independent state. In the light of it, everything that happened in Georgia in the next 70 years was illegal. On 26 January 1921, free nations stated explicitly that the “Georgian issue should be considered separately from the so-called Russian issue” and that (1987, p. 20) „Georgia, abandoned by its former powerful allies from the West, had to yield to the Bolshevik onslaught in February 1921. However, this short period of independence showed that Georgians deserved to have their own sovereign state, and that even in the hardest of circumstances they were able to bear responsibility for the fate of their nation.” As Wojciech Materski (2010) and Andrzej Furier (2000) point out, when independence was proclaimed in 1991, the political elite of Georgia did not represent a higher level than during the interwar bid for independence. Still, after the fall of the USSR, a seemingly autonomous state was established. Andrzej Furier (2000) rather negatively assesses the

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governing elites of the 1990s. Finally, however, he emphasises the significant changes that occurred in the Georgian society: “The dynamic political processes that took place in the Caucasus in the last decade of the 20th century were ahead of changes in the sphere of the national and historical awareness of people living there. Georgian elites were not able to catch up with the pace of political events, trying to apply old methods of exercising power in the country based on new institutional principles. […] However, changes in the national and historical identity of the Georgian intelligentsia are deep enough for us to assume that Georgia will not turn back from the road of democratic changes that it entered in the last decade of the 20th century.” The historical foundations of the Georgian statehood made it possible to form the state after the collapse of the USSR. However, despite regaining independence, Georgia was not a fully sovereign country yet. It continued to be under the influence of the Russian Federation, the legitimate successor of the Soviet Union. In spite of declarations of democratisation and economic reform, for the first decade Georgia remained in the circle of “near abroad”, thus, it maintained close political, economic and military links with the Russian elites. Hence, foreign policy was focused on relations with the countries forming the Commonwealth of Independent States, while the broadly defined West was seen by Shevardnadze’s government as the provider of financial aid. It should be pointed out that such an approach of the Georgian elites was the result of omnipresent corruption and nepotism, characteristic of the new groups in power in the countries of the post-Soviet area (except for the Baltic states) (see: Grochmalski, 2010). What appeared to be a significant turning point in the foreign policy of the Republic of Georgia as well as in the process of reaching sovereignty in all its dimensions was the Revolution of Roses (see: Tastenov, 2007). A velvet revolution, caused by social protests and a long-lasting crisis, was the Georgian nation’s response to the effects of Eduard Shevardnadze’s rule. Viatcheslav Avioutskii (2007, p. 47) writes that „after the collapse of the USSR, Georgia was left in a disastrous condition.” It seems that it is an accurate description of the situation of the Georgian state until 2003. The Revolution of Roses must be deemed as the model, bloodless beginning of the transformation from the authoritarian to democratic system. Agnieszka Bryc (2009, p. 51) claims that despite the Republic of Georgia’s formal independence from the Russian Federation, “the postSoviet territory is traditionally viewed by Russia as the sphere of its vital interests, although the disintegration of the Soviet system reshaped the areas of interests and influence in this region.” It is an important remark,

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which helps to depict the geopolitical position of Georgia in the years 2003-2013. Since the Revolution of Roses, the foreign strategy of Georgia has been gradually redefined. Its emphasis shifted towards Western countries, and the relations with Russia and the countries of Central Asia have definitely cooled. A turn towards the cooperation and partnership with the United States and countries of Western and Central Europe led to serious neglect of sub-regional relations. .

The development of the transition identity The exercise of power by the new political elites The exercise of power by the new political elites is an extremely complex issue in the period under study. The two transition stages led to a number of changes among governing elites, each of which consecutively reached legitimacy to exercise authority. Each time, the legitimisation of elites with the use of the past referred to another part of history. Therefore, references were made to the times of King David IV and the golden times of Queen Tamar, to the three-year interwar period of independence, to the peaceful achievements of the Soviet period (freezing conflicts in the postSoviet area). There were also periods in history that the Georgian people totally rejected and focused on the future that is possible to build. What is characteristic, despite the significant role of the past, it is the rejection of the transformation accomplishments from the 1970s that allowed the Georgian society to complete the second stage of transition and exchange elites. The first of the elites formed after the disintegration of the Soviet Union consisted mainly of dissidents coming from nationalist and traditionalist circles. They cherished the state traditions of the Democratic Republic of Georgia and often invoked the Constitution of 1921. Although they did not leave the sphere of declarations, this rhetoric was one of the factors that contributed to the defrosting of ethnic conflicts in Abkhazia, Southern Ossetia and Adjara (see: George, 2008; Kamushadze, 2013). The Republic of Georgia proclaimed in 1991 was almost entirely deprived of intelligentsia, which had been decimated by the USSR policy. The Eduard Shevardnadze administration, in turn, made direct use of the human resources of the former Georgian SSR, which was for a long time socially accepted as it helped to temporarily contain civil wars (see: Gahrton, 2010; Nichol, 2010; Zürcher, 2007).

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Counteracting internal conflicts was the main argument for the candidature of Shevardnadze for almost 10 years. However, chaos resulting from corruption and organised crime (see: Machavariani, 2007; Shelley, 2007; Kupatadze, Siradze & Mitagvaria, 2007) led to a peaceful revolution, during which a pro-democratic group led by reformer Mikheil Saakashvili took over power. As Londa Esadze writes (2007, p. 117), “the recent history of Georgia since regaining independence has seen war, severe economic and political stagnation, and now the new period of reforms and changes has come. After the Revolution of Roses, Georgia was filled with euphoria. A lot of people sincerely believe that corruption in all its aspects will soon become a thing of the past and the economic problems of Georgia will be solved.” References to the past were also not justified by the willingness to reconcile and forgive – except for a few accusations of the perpetrators of the bloody massacre of 9 April 1989, the issue of reconciliation was non-existent in the Georgian political discourse. The reconstruction of the landscape of memory represented a separate issue. Due to close links between Eduard Shevardnadze and the socialist apparatus, street names and patrons of institutions remained largely unchanged, and monuments were left intact in the transition period. It was connected with Georgians’ strong attachment to the memory of Joseph Stalin and the concept of homo sovieticus being deeply rooted in national identity. It was as late as in August 1991 that the monument of Vladimir Lenin was symbolically pulled down.10 Nevertheless, monuments of Stalin disappeared from the main squares of most cities; they were not demolished, but moved to the outskirts.

The presence of the representatives of the former regime in the public life At the first stage of transition, political elites were not substantially exchanged. After overthrowing President Zviad Gamsakhurdia, his post was assumed by Eduard Shevardnadze – the former First Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Georgia, member of the Political Bureau of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, Minister of Foreign Affairs of the USSR (Shevardnadze, 1992). The administration linked with the Scouts faction consisted mostly of ex-dissidents and anti-socialist and nationalist activists. Among the 10 The monument of Saint George the Dragon Slayer, created by Zurab Tsereteli, was erected at Liberty Square as late as on 26 November 2006.

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most influential of them were Tengiz Sigua, Tengiz Kitovani, Akaki Asatiani or Nodari Culeiskiri. Despite the intelligentsia’s involvement, Gamsakhurdia’s camp - during a several-month-long period of rule in the state – did not manage to permanently change the line-up of powers on the Georgian political scene. Shevardnadze’s decade, as the period of his two presidencies was dubbed, was characterised by the stability of the composition of political elites in relation to the leaving Soviet regime. Until around 2000, both government and parliamentary posts were occupied by people accompanying the president in his political career in the structures of the Soviet Union or were linked with the opposition against Zviad Gamsakhurdia. It was to a certain degree justified by the necessity of the presence of the representatives of the old regime in the public life in order to prevent conflicts. Except for the parliamentary election for the 1990– 1991 term of office (First Appeal Supreme Council 1990–1991, 2015), the elections for the terms of office 1992–1995 (Parliament of Georgia 1992– 1995, 2015), 1995–1999 (Parliament of Georgia 1995–1999, 2015) and 1999–2004 (Parliament of Georgia 1999–2004, 2015), it was always electoral blocs supporting Eduard Shevardnadze that emerged as the winners. In the beginning, the presence of former oppositionists, such as Jaba Ioseliani, served the purpose of the legitimisation of political pluralism, but they were soon marginalised or arrested (like a large number of the Mkhedrioni). It was only the parliamentary election for the 2004-2008 term of office (Parliament of Georgia 2004–2008, 2015) that brought the real change of political elites. What was also of great importance was the change of the commanders-in-chief of the army and special services (see: Kupatadze, Siradze & Mitagvaria, 2007), and of the chairmen and members of the supervisory boards of state-owned enterprises, and further changes at the local government level.

The formula chosen to hold the apparatus of the authoritarian regime accountable (or not accountable) At the first stage of the transition, the Georgian society did not come to terms with the authoritarian regime (Tatum, 2009; Shatirishvili, 2013; Piechowiak-Lamparska, 2014). Until the Revolution of Roses of 2003, the question of settling accounts with the representatives of the Soviet regime was non-existent in the public discourse; justice was not sought in the transitional period either. Except for a several-month-long period of the government of the first democratically elected president of Georgia, Zviad

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Gamsakhurdia, who aimed at making the newly established republic independent from the Russian Federation and based his cabinet on members of the dissident movement, the issue of coming to terms with the past was never raised. The lack of settling accounts with the representatives of the authoritarian regime did not seem a well thought-out strategy, aimed at curbing and counteracting social divisions. It may be assumed that it was partly the consequence of the lack of interest in bringing the officials of the previous system to justice (except for the period of the government of Zviad Gamsakhurdia, who put most of his political opponents in prison). Until the end of the second stage of the transition of the system, the parliament passed no legal regulations which would make it possible to punish or at least identify Soviet crimes.

Social costs of transformation, especially of the economic transition The costs of reforms incurred by the Georgian society in the transformation period were enormous. Georgia was affected by the economic crisis caused by the adoption of unfavourable conditions resulting from the collapse of the Soviet Union, permanent reliance on energy from Russia (see: Wyciszkiewicz, 2008; Niedzióáka, 2011; German, 2010) and global problems. Apart from the corrupted governing elites, all citizens suffered transition costs to an equal degree. There were huge economic disparities between ordinary citizens and the beneficiaries of the transformation period and their closest circle. Corruption and nepotism, as well as organised crime, were possible thanks to the inefficiency of law enforcement bodies and courts. Those in power, who benefited from chaos ensuing from civil wars and the lack of transparency in accounting for foreign aid, remained unpunished and were not brought to justice for their abuses (see: Sulaberidze, 1999). That situation was the reason for which – at the beginning of the 21st century - a group of “reformers” joined the opposition against the government of Eduard Shevardnadze and incited the Revolution of Roses. The most serious social costs included electoral frauds and lies concerning the state of economy, public debt and the settlement of grants. Social costs of reforms and transformations were not reduced, however, to economic costs, but should be viewed more broadly, from the angle of insufficient access to healthcare (see: Archvadze, 196), education and state assistance (see: Chikava, 1997; Sulaberidze, 1996). The

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improvement of the living standard of Georgian citizens was one of the most important demands raised during the protests of November 2003.

The adoption of new, often culturally different, social and political standards Changes following the collapse of the USSR not only set the new directions of the domestic and foreign policy of the Georgian society, but they also had an impact on the cultural and social redefinition. Opening up to the political, economic and cultural influence of the West led to a change in the social and political sphere. There is no doubt that the Georgian society was significantly influenced by the American culture, which is characteristic of a society in the state of liquid modernity (see: Bauman, 2000; Bauman, 2011) or even of the postmodern society (see: Bauman, 1989). The Americanisation of the Georgian politics was reflected first of all in the process of mediatization and in the manner in which electoral campaigns were run. Parliamentary elections, especially those of 2004, are a perfect example of the growing influence of mass media. Post-soviet societies had a choice of two paths: the first of them consisted in the reconstruction and restoration of their own national culture (often anachronistic and undeveloped for years), while the other one meant the adoption of foreign culture as dominant (see: Mucha, 1999). The choice of the first option was burdened with many problems and required building a new national identity. The other alternative, in turn, involved the adaptation – within the framework of the existing circumstances – of a foreign cultural system. Most ex-Soviet republics inclined towards absorbing foreign culture. Given the aversion to the Russian politics, culture, philosophy and science, it was the Western culture, especially American, which was suited to domestic conditions. At the same time, Victor Terras points at the big potential of the postSoviet Russian culture (see: Epstein, Genis & Vladiv-Glover). In future, it was to become a real alternative to the Western culture and to the Islamic culture, which was gaining popularity. It should also be remembered that the aspirations of the Russian Federation – as the legitimate successor of the Soviet Union – to become a global superpower first of all refer to the area called “near abroad”, i.e. former Soviet republics. The Russian language and the cultural legacy of the USSR had a huge impact on the whole post-Soviet territory and despite having a pro-Western orientation, these countries find it difficult to apply pop culture to their own systems.

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As Giorgi Masalkini notes, „twenty years ago, Georgia appeared on the world map again – it joined the main course of history again. We have a long tradition of statehood, and, at the same time, we are a new nation in a new state. We are becoming a subject of politics and history again” (W Gruzji bardzo áatwo jest byü „patriotą”…, 2011). However, the intergenerational dialogue did not grow in importance.

Democratisation as the fulfilment of intergenerational contract and paying tribute to the victims of the previous regime and to repressed opposition Museums and monuments to commemorate the victims of the Soviet regime are still a rarity. At the first transition stage, Georgia’s main objective was to regain independence (see: Jonathan, 1996). Democratisation was not understood as the fulfilment of intergenerational contract and no tribute was paid to the victims of the previous regime and repressed opposition. The vast majority of museums are devoted either to the ancient past of Georgia, dating back to the beginnings of the state, or to artistic creation – the achievements of painters, writers and poets. What occupies a special place on the map of Georgian museums is the Joseph Stalin Museum in Gori.11 It is a museum complex consisting of the house Joseph Stalin was born in, a two-floor building in the socialist realist style of the museum-exhibition character, and Stalin’s personal railway carriage (see: Stalin Museum, 2015). The museum is located in Stalin Avenue and in Joseph Stalin Park.12 The museum has been open since 1937 in the form of a housemonument, and it obtained its current shape in 1957. Both before the beginning of the struggle for independence and democracy in Georgia and during the first and second stage of the transition of the system, the museum remained unchanged. However, the narrative concerning Joseph Stalin is not dominant in the politics of memory in Georgia (Kamushadze, 2013). There is no doubt that the memory of the Soviet leader is significant (there are still monuments and commemorative plaques in a number of Georgian towns and villages), but since 2003 it has been slowly withdrawn from the public space. Many scholars wonder how victims of the USSR regime – citizens of Georgia – can live in the streets named after Stalin or protest against removing monuments. 11

Gori is the hometown of Joseph Stalin. A six-meter monument of Joseph Stalin was removed from the square in front of the museum on the night of 24 June 2010.

12

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The pantheon of national heroes in Georgia did not change considerably in the transition period. At each stage of the existence of the Georgian nation, changes were justified by the need to return to the concept of “great Georgia” of King David IV and Queen Tamar. The universality of both past rulers and of many artists helped to make use of them by all consecutive governments. What was typical of Shevardnadze’s decade was the fact that the memory of Soviet heroes was almost entirely ignored and they functioned in the social rather than political space. They constituted a part of the awareness of the society, especially of the inhabitants of rural areas. Some victims of the Soviet regime, such as those who died in the massacre performed on peaceful demonstrators by Soviet troops on 9 April 1989, were commemorated only after 2004.

The historical need for national unity The issue of the justification of the need for national unity is a very controversial topic in Georgia. It is connected with a large number of different ethnic groups living next to one another in a relatively small area, which requires a lot of compromises. The Soviet unification of societies, an attempt to build a single Soviet society, resulted in the defrosting of many ethnic-based conflicts for the period of the existence of the USSR (see: Zürcher, 2007; Marshall, 2010; George, 2009; Jalabadze & Janiashvili, 2013; Does, 2010). In Georgia, there are three separatist movements, which have a significant impact on the functioning of the state. They are active in Adjara, Abkhazia and Southern Ossetia, which were excluded from the Georgian territory in the aftermath of the RussoGeorgian War of 2008 (see: Hille, 2010; Companjen, 2010b; Versteegh, 2010). In the transformation period, however, all these divisions sharpened and, consequently, led to civil wars – between Abkhazia and Georgia and between Ossetia and Georgia. The necessity of national unity was enshrined in the Constitution of 1995: “The citizens of Georgia, whose firm will is to establish a democratic social order, economic freedom, a rule-of-law based social state, to secure universally recognised human rights and freedoms, to enhance the state independence and peaceful relations with other people, bearing in mind the centuries-old traditions of the statehood of the Georgian Nation and the basic principles of the Constitution of Georgia of 1921, proclaim nation-wide the present Constitution” (Constitution of Georgia). Thus, the constitution directly

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guarantees social order in which ethnic diversity, resulting from tradition and history, is respected. Apart from the formal and legal sphere, the pursuit for the national unity and solidarity of all ethnic groups was expressed in the speeches that politicians delivered during the whole transformation period. However, domestic conflicts have not been solved and arguments connected with the politics of memory turned out to be of no avail. It must be stressed that ethnic diversity in the state is often a cause of civil wars or separatist movements (e.g. in Belgium, France, or Poland).

Membership in international organisations, alliances, and economic and political associations Past experience as the justification of membership in international organisations was one of the most frequently debated factors that shaped the transformation period. Almost seventy years of being a member of the Soviet Union made Georgia heavily reliant on Russia and made it difficult for the Georgian state to gain an independent international position (see: Ismailov & Papava, 2006). As the status of countries is determined not only by their strength, but also by the power and capabilities of their partners and strength of their alliances, Georgia considered the achievement of a “proper” and “due” place in the global community to be the implementation of the state’s new political identity. What proved to be the first success of Eduard Shevardnadze’s government was the Republic of Georgia’s accession to the United Nations on 31 July 1992. Owing to this, the country became a partner for others in the international dialogue. Another important organisation that Georgia joined (on 3 December 1993) was the Commonwealth of Independent Nations, but this fact was not conducive to the democratic process. It was a step back, although it was necessary in the context of economic and energy dependence on the Russian Federation (see: Goldman, 2010). In the first half of the 1990s, Georgia built a network of diplomatic posts and signed a number of agreements on bilateral cooperation, which gave it more stability in the international arena. At the turn of the 20th and 21st centuries, the Georgian state, following domestic changes, became more interested in the accession to Western political organisations. Steps were taken towards the intensification of cooperation with the European Union and the NATO (see: Nichol, 2010b), and a powerful bilateral partner began to be sought (see: Nichol, 2010a). The necessity of joining international organisations was justified by

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“Georgia’s will to return to Europe” and by completing the transformation through the acceptance of other democratic states.

The assumed post-transition identity. A civil society? The post-transition identity was to be based on the principles of democracy and pluralism, as well as social solidarity. The removal of Eduard Shevardnadze and his cabinet from power was meant to be the ultimate break with the Soviet elites that governed Georgia (see: Materski, 2010). The president’s resignation in the aftermath of the peaceful Revolution of Roses (see: Naucke, 2013) appeared to be a kind of buckle that linked the beginning and end of the 15-year transition period. The new political, social and economic standards were to be modelled after the Western states, and the development of civil society became the new goal (see: Pavlovic & Gritzner, 2005; Nodia, 2005). Until now, neither the issue of settling accounts with the authoritarian regime nor the question of coming to terms with the transition period has been dealt with. It is obvious that the transition justice could not be pursued after the process of the transformation from the authoritarian to democratic system had come to an end. The post-transition justice, however, is nonetheless important. The only issues that have been solved are those concerning compensation and reparations, but courts appeared to be rather inefficient in this respect. The politics of memory pursued in the transformation period seems to have lacked a coherent strategy of referring to the past in order to reach a better future. In the period of Mikheil Saakashvili’s rule, however, we could observe a certain regularity concerning changes in the perception of Soviet crimes in the public sphere and museums. In 2012 and 2013, elites were exchanged again with the Georgian Dream coalition taking power after its victory in the parliamentary and presidential elections. The process of the construction of a modern democratic state has been full of difficulties that Georgia is still grappling with. The problems that remain to be solved originate from the transition period and its implications, and are the result of the political game played by superpowers in the South Caucasus and in the region of the Caspian Sea (see: Garthon, 2010; Piechowiak-Lamparska, 2014b).

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Piechowiak-Lamparska, Joanna. (2014). Dependence path in the process of achieving transitional justice in the post-Soviet area. Comparative studies of the transition in Estonia, Georgia and Poland. Athenaeum. Polskie Studia Politologiczne, 4. Pirveli, Marika. (2006). Citizenship regimes in Georgia. Bulletin of Geography. Socio-Economic Series, 5. PliszczyĔska, Olga. (2010). Polityka „niebezpieczeĔstwa” Gruzji. Lublin: Instytut Europy ĝrodkowo-Wschodniej. Prokop, Maryana & Piechowiak-Lamparska, Joanna. (2014). Ɍɪɚɧɫɮɨɪɦɚɰɿɹ ɩɨɥɿɬɢɱɧɢɯ ɪɟɠɢɦɿɜ ɧɚ ɩɨɫɬɪɚɞɹɧɫɶɤɨɦɭ ɩɪɨɫɬɨɪɿ. ɉɪɢɤɥɚɞ Ƚɪɭɡɿʀ ɿ ɍɤɪɚʀɧɢ. [in:] ȱ.ɋ. Ȼɢɤ, Ɇ.Ɇ. Ɇɢɤɿɽɜɢɱ, ɇ.ȼ. Ⱥɧɬɨɧɸɤ, ȱ.Ɇ. Ƚɪɚɛɢɧɫɶɤɢɣ (ed.), ɋɭɱɚɫɧɿ ɬɟɧɞɟɧɰɿʀ ɦɿɠɧɚɪɨɞɧɢɯ ɜɿɞɧɨɫɢɧ: ɩɨɥɿɬɢɤɚ, ɟɤɨɧɨɦɿɤɚ, ɩɪɚɜɨ, Ʌɶɜɿɜ. Roelofs, Sandra Elisabeth. (2010). Historia idealistki. Tbilisi: Wydawnictwo Cezanne. Sanikidze, George. (2004). The Georgian Rose Revolution: Causes and Effects. Caucasus and Central Asia Newsletter, 5. Shelley, Louise. (2007). Georgian organized crime. [in:] Shelley, Louise, Scott, Eric R. & Latta, Anthony (ed.). Organized Crime and Corruption in Georgia, London & New York: Routledge. Slezkine, Yuri. (2000). The USSR as a Commuanl Apartment or How a Socialist State Promoted Ethnic Particularism. [in:] Fitzpatrick, Sheila (ed.). New Directions. London: Routledge. Slider, Darrell. (1997). Democratisation in Georgia. [in:] Dawisha, Karen & Parrott, Bruce (eds.). Conflict, Cleavage, and Change in Central Asia and the Caucasus. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stefes, Christoph H. (2008). Governance, the state, and systemic corruption: Armenia and Georgia in comparison. Caucasian Review of International Affairs, 2(2). Sulaberidze, Avtandil. (1996). Problems of Socio-Demographical Development in Georgia. Tbilisi. Sulaberidze, Avtandil. (1999). Toward Poverty Eradication in Georgia. [in:] Atal, Yogesh (ed.). Poverty in Transition and Transition in Poverty: Recent Developments in Hungary, Bulgaria, Romania, Georgia, Russia, Mongolia. New York & Oxford: Berghahn Books. Sumbadze, Nana. (2010). Saakashvili in the Public Eye: What Public Opinion Pools Tell Us. [in:] Jones, Stephen (ed.). War and Revolution in the Caucasus: Georgia Ablaze. London & New York: Routledge. Suny, Robert G. (1994). The Making of the Georgian Nation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

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CHAPTER FOUR THE POLITICS OF MEMORY IN POST-AUTHORITARIAN TRANSITIONS: THE CASE OF THE REPUBLIC OF POLAND PATRYK WAWRZYēSKI

From communism to democracy: a historical overview The history of Poland in the 21st century mirrors the tragic experiences of the nations of Central Europe and the consequences of their difficult geopolitical location between Russia and Germany [Eberhardt, 1996]. For Poles, the confrontation of these two superpowers meant almost seven decades of external domination, dependence, violence and struggling for the freedom and sovereignty of the state [Moczulski, 2010, pp. 569]. Poland’s long path to democracy led through the most traumatic events in the modern history of Europe: the hecatomb of the world wars, the Holocaust and the German policy of ethnic purges, Stalin’s repression and elimination of anti-communist opposition, and the ruthless authoritarian regime [Snyder, 2010]. All these hardships, however, paved the way for the accomplishment of the oppositionists’ goal, i.e. democracy, a sovereign state, and integration with the Western world, crowned with the accession to the European Union (EU) and the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO). It is difficult to define precisely the starting date of communism in Poland. Formally, the Polish People’s Republic (Polish: Polska Rzeczpospolita Ludowa, PRL) was established under the Constitution of 22 July 1952, which followed the institutional solutions of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR). The Act on the Institute of National Remembrance (1998), however, mentions two other dates which may be considered to be starting dates. First of all, the act refers to 22 July 1944 and the establishment of the Polish Committee of National Liberation (Polish: Polski Komitet Wyzwolenia Narodowego, PKWN). Secondly, the

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adopted definition of communist crimes quotes 17 September 1939, when Soviet troops entered the territory of Poland, originating the Soviet occupation of the eastern part of the country. Another date to consider as the starting date of the period could be 19 January 1947, when the election to the Legislative Sejm was held. The results were falsified and the first fully communist government headed by Józef Cyrankiewicz was established. It is also not easy to determine the end of the communist regime in Poland. In later years, two dates began to be seen as symbolic: the first partly free parliamentary election of June 1989 and the appointment of Tadeusz Mazowiecki for the prime minister of the first non-communist government after World War II (24 August 1989). The formal end of the Polish People’s Republic, however, was marked with the adoption of the Act to amend the Constitution of the Polish People’s Republic of 29 December 1989. The provisions of the Act on the Institute of National Remembrance (1998) are less useful in this respect. They refer to two end dates – the adoption of the Act on Amnesty on 7 December 1989 and the dissolution of the Security Service of the Ministry of Polish Affairs (Polish: SáuĪba BezpieczeĔstwa, SB) on 31 July 1991 under chapter ten of the Act on the Office of State Protection (1990). The lack of distinct time boundaries of the communist period in Poland requires the specification of events which can be considered to be its beginning and end. Thus, in the further part of the paper I assume that it began in July 1944, when the PKWN – subordinate to Stalin – was established, which represented the first step towards the consolidation of the communists’ power backed by the troops of the Red Army and the Soviet security apparatus, and ended in August 1989, when Mazowiecki was appointed the prime minister, which increased the pace of the democratisation process and initiated the post-authoritarian transition in Poland. It does not mean, however, that this period should be considered to be homogeneous – the communist regime evolved and was subject to significant transformations: from the construction of a new state (19441947), through its following the Stalinist pattern (1948-1956) and the transition from totalitarianism to authoritarianism (1956-1980), to the political stagnation resulting from the loss of social legitimacy after the introduction of martial law, which led to the internal inefficiency of the system (1981-1989) [Paczkowski, 1999, pp. 402-421; Davies, 2010, pp. 1007]. The history of the PRL abounded in conflicts between the authorities and the society. The communist period in Poland was the time of permanent crisis, which led to the cyclical escalation of violence and to a

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large degree resulted from the lack of social trust in the communist party and the absence of its legitimacy as the representative of the nation’s interests [Eisler, 2008, pp. 11-14]. The regime faced a challenge of lending credence to the communist order and to the dominanation of the new, Moscow-dependent elites. They were established owing to the military support of the powerful Red Army, the ruthlessness of the repression of the security apparatus, and the society’s desire for peace after the traumatic experience of German occupation rather than thanks to the wide support of Polish people. The turns towards the nationalist ideology or towards the vision of social prosperity in socialist economy which took place after the deconstruction of the totalitarian Stalinist regime did not bring the results that the communists had expected, either. It was not until the national trade union “Solidarity” (Polish: SolidarnoĞü) was established in 1980 that the Polish United Workers’ Party (Polish: Polska Zjednoczona Partia Robotnicza, PZPR) definitively lost social legitimacy of its power. What became a symbol of the PZPR’s powerlessness were martial law introduced on 13 December 1981 and the ensuing gradual, internal disintegration of the regime [Ciobanu, 2010]. By establishing the PKWN in July 1944, the Polish communists were able to build the foundations for the future political order. Apart from the liberation of the country occupied by Nazi Germany, the Committee’s main goal was to prepare a plan to destroy the structures of the Polish Underground State and to repress its functionaries, especially soldiers of the Home Army (Polish: Armia Krajowa, AK). To this end, the PKWN issued a decree of 31 August 1944 concerning the punishment of war criminals, and a decree of 30 October 1994 defining the catalogue of crimes – including the political ones – which were punishable by death. Owing to Stalin’s support, the Committee began to strengthen its position in the country and in the international arena [Kersten, 1990, pp. 91]. At the same time, what helped the communists was the failure of Operation “Tempest” – organised by organisations subordinate to the Polish government-in-exile – and of its most important act – the 1944 Warsaw Uprising [Kirchmayer, 1984; Davies, 2004; Ciechanowski, 2012]. At the end of 1944, the PKWN was replaced by the Provisional Government, which was also entirely dependent on the USSR authorities. After almost half a year, on 28 June 1945, it was transformed into the Provisional Government of National Unity (Polish: Tymczasowy Rząd JednoĞci Narodowej, TRJN), which was a coalition of the communists with the democratic Polish People’s Party of the former prime minister of the government-in-exile, Stanislaw Mikoáajczyk. The TRJN was to govern the state until 1946, when the first free election was to be held. Despite the

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participation of the pro-democratic opposition, the government remained dominated by the communists – the Polish Workers’ Party (Polish: Polska Partia Robotnicza, PPR) was in charge of the key ministries of public security and national defence, while its dependent party, the Polish Socialist Party (Polish: Polska Partia Socjalistyczna, PPS), was responsible for the ministries of justice, information and propaganda, and of internal affairs [Paczkowski, 1991, pp. 203; CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 257258]. The establishment of the government was preceded by the staged Trial of the Sixteen in Moscow, in which – accused of the cooperation with the Nazis – 16 leaders of the Underground State were sentenced. Among them were the last commander-in-chief of the AK, gen. Leopold Okulicki, the Government Delegate Jan Stanisáaw Jankowski, and his deputies Adam BieĔ and Stanisáaw Jasiukowicz, as well as members of the Council of National Unity (Polish: Rada JednoĞci Narodowej) with its chairman Kazimierz PuĪak [Gella, 1998, pp. 56-68; BagiĔski, 1985; DuraczyĔski, 1989]. Strong social support for Mikoáajczyk’s party was the reason for postponing the election until 1947, while a year earlier the people’s referendum was held. Its results were to be a test of the communists’ popularity. It was only the interference of the security apparatus and mass falsification that saved them from a defeat in the plebiscite, the real results of which indicated that the People’s Party was supported by three quarters of the Polish society [OsĊkowski, 2000a; Paczkowski, 1993]. The election to the Legislative Sejm of 19 January 1947 ws also falsified, giving full authority to the Democratic Bloc led by the PPR. On 6 February 1947, the dissolved TRJN was replaced by the communist government of Cyrankiewicz. This election became the founding myth of the new order cultivated by the remembrance policy of the PRL and the key instrument of the legitimisation of the new elites [Korkuü, 2007, pp. 113-114; OsĊkowski 2000b]. Just two weeks after the appointment of the new government, the Sejm adopted the Constitutional Act (1947), which determined the form of the political system that was only changed by the Constitution of the PRL of 1952. The communist leader Bolesáaw Bierut assumed the office of President created under the provisions of the act. The dominance of the PPR and its allies made it possible for them to eliminate the armed underground movement [Balbus, 2008; Frazik, 2008; Kalbarczyk, 2002; Kurtyka, 2004; Ralska, Musiaá, 2008] and to intensify the repression against the democratic opposition and the Catholic Church [Gmitruk, Nawrocki, 2003; Musiaá, Szarek, 2007; Noszczak, 2008]. Bierut’s faction was also able to win the internal struggle within the PPR that Secretary

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General of the Party and Vice-Prime Minister Wáadysáaw Gomuáka fell victim to as he was accused of the right wing and nationalist bias [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 272-273]. The triumph of the communists was crowned with the merger of the PPR and the PPS into the Polish United Workers’ Party (Polish: Polska Zjednoczona Partia Robotnicza, PZPR) in December 1948 and the establishment of the satellite United People’s Party (Polish: Zjednoczone Stronnictwo Ludowe, ZSL) in 1949. From 1947, Poland was a totalitarian dictatorship based on the model of the Stalinist regime, while a complicated system of repression, invigilation and indoctrination allowed the communists to fully control the Polish society. The culminating point came on 22 July 1952, when the Constitution of the People’s Republic of Poland was adopted, marking the 8th anniversary of the announcement of the PKWN Manifesto. The constitution abolished the office of President, which gave all power to Bierut, who held both the posts of the secretary general of the PZPR and the prime minister. It was during that period that the actual and alleged enemies of the regime faced the toughest repression, usually preceded by show trials conducted in the Soviet mode [Szwarc et al., 2007, pp. 685692]. What gave rise to the transformation of the communist system in Poland was Joseph Stalin’s death on 5 March 1953, which shook the political foundations of the whole bloc of socialist countries. The loss of the powerful patron weakened the position of Bierut, who, on 18 March 1954, was dismissed from the post of prime minister and was replaced by Cyrankiewicz. However, he remained the first secretary of the party until his death in March 1956. Within the PZPR structures, there was a growing conflict between the Stalinist faction and the reformers’ group led by Gomuáka, with Bierut’s successor – Edward Ochab – in the centre of the dispute [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 286-287; Eisler, 1992, pp. 61-63; W. Jedlicki, 1962]. There is no doubt that there were two catalysts of changes – Nikita Khrushchev’s opening address of the 20th Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, in which he condemned the Stalinist system, in February 1956 [Taubman, 2003, pp. 268-269], and workers’ protests in PoznaĔ in June 1956, suppressed by the army, with the death toll of over 70 people [Eisler, 2008, pp. 19-24]. Changes in the Soviet Union initiated by Khrushchev and deepening conflicts within the Polish society resulted in the decomposition of the Stalinist order and a thaw, which began with Gomuáka taking power in October 1956 [Eisler, 2008, pp. 24-28; Machcewicz, 1993; Rykowski, Wáadyka, 1989]. However, the Soviet pacification of the Hungarian Revolution of 1956 – inspired by changes in Poland – contributed to

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imposing some constraints on the scope of the transformation of Gomuáka’s regime, which, while having a little more freedom, remained to be subjected to the leadership of the USSR. The state was transformed into an authoritarian dictatorship, which – in the face of Hungary’s experience – began to curb the reformers’ aspirations and focused on the stabilisation of the political system. What became symbols of Gomuáka’s decision to abandon the idea of the reconstruction of the PRL were the return to the conflict with the Catholic Church and the criticism – intensifying from the 3rd Congress of the PZPR in March 1959 - of the liberal faction of the party. As a result, the supporters of changes – including Jacek KuroĔ and Leszek Koáakowski – were thrown out of the party [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 291-294]. The landmark events in the period of Gomuáka’s rule included a dispute with the Catholic Church led by cardinal Stefan WyszyĔski, festered after the publication of the letter of reconciliation of Polish bishops to their German brothers in November 1965 during the Second Vatican Council [Madejczyk, 1997], and the political crisis of 1968, when student protest actions were used as a pretext for launching an anti-Semitic and anti-intellectual campaign resulting in a mass emigration of Polish citizens of Jewish origin [Eisler, 2008, pp. 28-36; Eisler, 1991; Friszke, 2004; OsĊka, 2008; Stola, 2004]. A hope for change in Poland was suppressed not only by the aggressive reaction of Gomuáka and Cyrankiewicz, but also by the intervention of the Warsaw Pact troops in Czechoslovakia and the consequent fall of Alexander Dubþek’s democratic government [Kwapis, 2004]. The position of the first secretary was in turn strengthened – for a short time – by the normalisation of relations with West Germany and the signing of the Treaty between the Federal Republic of Germany and Poland Concerning the Normalisation of Their Mutual Relations, on 7 December 1970 [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 298-299]. What put an end to the fourteen years of Gomuáka’s rule were strikes in the major coastal cities in December 1970, which were sparked by an increase in the prices of basic goods. The leadership of the PZPR found them to be a political provocation and decided to use the army to put down the riots. The communist regime showed its ruthlessness on 17 December 1970, the day that came to be known as Black Thursday, when soldiers of the Polish People’s Army (Polish: Ludowe Wojsko Polskie) began the pacification of the protests in Gdynia and GdaĔsk. As a result, according to the official government data, 45 people died and over a thousand were injured. Gomuáka’s opponents took advantage of those events: on 20 December, at the 7th Plenary Session of the Central Committee, the party

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delegates decided to replace the first secretary with Edward Gierek [Eisler, 2008, pp. 37-44; Branach, 1998; Nalepa, 1990]. This decision was supported by Leonid Brezhnev, the USSR leader, who did not favour Gomuáka [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 300]. December 1970 marked the beginning of the rule of Gierek and Prime Minister Piotr Jaroszewicz, which brought further intensification of political conflicts in Poland and a progressing loss of social authority by the communists. The new first secretary wanted to take advantage of the detente in cold war relations to obtain financing for his programme of the modernisation of the country through foreign loans and tightening economic ties with the Western bloc. However, the economy of Poland – being dependent on the policy of the Soviet Union – was not able to provide necessary supply of food products, which led to the general sense of deficit and to the growth of the black market. The unavailability of basic goods increased the level of people’s distrust in the government, which focused its attention on other issues – the industry modernisation programme, the constitutional reform and the new administrative division of the country [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 301-304]. On 24 June 1976, Jaroszewicz’s cabinet announced its decision to increase prices, at the same time raising salaries, which did not favour low earners. A day later a strike started in Radom, followed by strikes in Ursus and Páock. The wave of workers’ riots spread quickly with more than 50 thousand people taking part in the whole country. The protests were put down by the Civic Militia (Polish: Milicja Obywatelska, MO – a state police institution in the PRL; translator’s note), its participants were condemned and faced serious repression. The party did not expect, however, that one of the implications of the events of June 1976 would be the establishment of the Workers’ Defence Committee (Polish: Komitet Obrony Robotników, KOR) in September 1976. Its goal was to help the repressed strikers and to form the foundations for the structures of mass anti-communist opposition. It also consolidated the movement for the protection of human rights, which had developed in Poland since the adoption of the final act of the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe on 1 August 1975 [Eisler, 2008, pp. 44-50; Sasanka, StĊpieĔ, 2006; Morgan, 2004; Waligóra, 2007]. 16 October 1978 was a particularly significant date for the development of the Polish opposition as it was on that day that cardinal Karol Wojtyáa was elected for the pope of the Catholic Church. His subsequent visit to the home country in June 1979 – when he was already Pope John Paul II - was in turn a direct impulse for the consolidation of the opponents of the communist regime [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 307-308;

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MaliĔski 2005]. A year later, in response to the government’s another attempt to manipulate food prices, protests broke out at the shipyard in GdaĔsk. They marked the beginning of the legend of the strike in GdaĔsk Shipyard, launched on 14 August 1980. It was led by an activist of the Free Trade Unions of the Coast (Polish: Wolne Związki Zawodowe WybrzeĪa) Lech WaáĊsa. Two days later, after the creation of the InterFactory Strike Committee (Polish: MiĊdzyzakáadowy Komitet Strajkowy), the protesters submitted to the government 21 demands, including the one concerning the establishment of a trade union which would be independent from the communists. The leadership of the PZPR reacted quickly, expressing its willingness to avoid resolving the conflict by force. Among party leaders, it was the representative of the conciliatory faction, Stanisáaw Kania, who gained a strong position [Eisler, 2008, pp. 50-53; Garton Ash, 1987; Holzer, 1990]. The negotiations between the government and the strike committee brought a positive result – on 30 August 1980, Szczecin Agreement was signed, a day later a similar accord was signed in GdaĔsk, and four days later in JastrzĊbie Zdrój. On 17 September 1980, a meeting of regional representatives ended with the establishment of the Independent SelfGoverning Trade Union “Solidarity” (Polish: NiezaleĪny Samorządny Związek Zawodowy „SolidarnoĞü”, NSZZ „SolidarnoĞü”), under the leadership of Lech WaáĊsa. Not long before that, Edward Gierek was made to resign from the post of the first secretary of the communist party, and on 6 September 1980, at the 6th Plenary Session of the Central Committee of the PZPR, Stanisáaw Kania was appointed in his place [Eisler, 2008, pp. 54-55; GajdziĔski, 2013, pp. 212-214]. The time of diarchy and “Solidarity carnival” began in Poland, which caused anxiety among the leaders of other communist countries and led to the situation in which there was a considerable risk of an intervention of the Warsaw Pact forces, similar to Operation “Danube” in Czechoslovakia [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 312-314; Paczkowski, 2010]. The situation in Poland was exacerbated after the 1st Congress of “Solidarity” in September 1981, at which the union delegates proposed that the political system of the PRL should be significantly reconstructed. The “Solidarity” announced that it considered itself to be the real representative of the society. The deepening crisis led to the dismissal of Kania from the position of the first secretary. In his place, the party appointed General Wojciech Jaruzelski, who had held the post of prime minister since February 1981. The new communist leader attempted to negotiate with WaáĊsa and with the successor of Cardinal WyszyĔski – who had died in May of that year – Primate Józef Glemp. However, they

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did not reach compromise and the political situation in the country remained tense. The communist party, feeling threatened, authorised Jaruzelski to take more radical action. Consequently, on the night of the 12th/13th December, the State Council introduced martial law in Poland and gave all power to the Military Council of National Salvation (Polish: Wojskowa Rada Ocalenia Narodowego, WRON) under the leadership of Jaruzelski. The military authorities interned the leaders of “Solidarity” and other opposition groups, as well as those party activists whose loyalty to the regime – like in Gierek’s case – was put into question. They even resorted to using force, the symbol of which was the pacification of the “Wujek” coal mine on 16 December 1981, when soldiers opened fire to the protesting miners [Eisler, 2008, pp. 55-60; CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 316319; Paczkowski, 2007]. The dissolved “Solidarity” tried to launch underground activity, but social resistance was broken and the society lost hope that the political order could be changed quickly. [Holzer, Leski, 1990]. Martial law, which was lifted on 22 July 1983, led to the “Solidarity’s” failure, but it also contributed to the creation of the myth of the legendary opposition leader Lech WaáĊsa, whose symbolic position was strengthened owing to Pope John Paul II’s support and thanks to international recognition, the expression of which was the Nobel Peace Prize awarded to him in 1983 [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 318-319; Eisler, 2008, pp. 60]. It was not until Mikhail Gorbachev took over power in the Soviet Union and started to reconstruct the communist empire that the real changes in Poland began [Sakwa, 1991; Graebner et al., 2008]. The 1980s brought unsuccessful attempts to rectify the economic system, undertaken by Zbigniew Messner’s government. The failure of the reform programme in the referendum of 29 June 1988 was an especially severe loss. His successor Mieczysáaw Rakowski tried to reduce social tensions through the liberalisation of the principles of the centrally planned economy and through the remembrance policy pursued by the communist government. However, the reactivated structures of „Solidarity” strongly criticised his efforts. Poland found itself on the brink of a historic compromise, which would bring together the communists, the opposition and the Church hierarchy. The turning point came with the 10th Plenary Session of the Central Committee of the PZPR, at which First Secretary Wojciech Jaruzelski, Minister of Internal Affairs Czesáaw Kiszczak, Minister of National Defence General Florian Siwicki, and Prime Minister Mieczysáaw Rakowski all advocated the continuation of the policy of reforms. The victory of the reformers’ group in the party contributed to the intensification of talks with “Solidarity”, which had been held in

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Magdalenka near Warsaw since the autumn of the previous year [Dudek, 2013, pp. 26; CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 326-328]. A growing rapprochement between the government and the opposition led to the Round Table Talks, which took place from 6 February to 4 April 1989 and ended with an agreement concerning the reconstruction of the political system of the PRL. The communists and the “Solidarity” agreed to form a 100-person Senate (as the upper house of the parliament), increase the role of the Sejm, abolish the State Council, strengthen the positions of the Constitutional Tribunal and Ombudsman, introduce the office of President elected by the parliament, legalise opposition organisations, liberalise the mass media market, and – above all – hold a partly free parliamentary election on 4 and 18 June, in which 35% of seats in the Sejm and all seats in the Senate would be granted in free elections [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 328; Kennedy, 2002; Dudek, 2004; Brzechczyn, 2010; Trembicka, 2005; WoĨniak, 2009]. The election of June 1989 ended in the triumph of the opposition. Despite their partly democratic character, the Citizens’ Parliamentary Club (Polish: Obywatelski Klub Parlamentarny, OKP) formed by the „Solidarity” consisted of 161 deputies and 99 senators, while the PZPR had only 173 deputies, and did not win a single seat in the Senate. The coalition partners of the communists: the ZSL, the Alliance of Democrats (Polish: Stronnictwo Demokratyczne, SD) and Catholic organisations won, respectively, 76, 27 and 23 seats in the Sejm, while the last seat in the Senate went to an independent candidate, Henryk Stokáosa. The PZPR lost all its social legitimacy and it was only thanks to the opposition’s support that it managed to have Jaruzelski elected for the office of President. It was not able, however, to form a government under the leadership of general Kiszczak, because the „Solidarity” strengthened its ties with the satellite parties of the communists [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 330-331; Dudek, 2004]. The opposition began to implement the strategy “your president, our prime minister”, which was proposed by Adam Michnik in his article published on 3 July 1989 [Dudek, 2013, pp. 51]. It was Tadeusz Mazowiecki who was asked to form the first noncommunist government in Poland after World War II. He was appointed the prime minister on 24 August 1989. The composition of the new government was approved on 12 September with 402 deputies granting it a vote of confidence. That moment marked the beginning of the process of democratisation and deconstruction of the communist order, especially the economic transformation led by Vice-Prime Minister Leszek Balcerowicz [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 343-350; Jurczakowski, 1990; Koáodko, Rutkowski, 1991; Fish, Choudhry, 2007; KaliĔski, 2015]. Mazowiecki’s government

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gave Polish people hope that none of the subsequent cabinets was able to give and, looking back, it was the government that Polish citizens valued most highly, irrespective of their political orientation [Public Opinion Research Centre, Polish: Centrum Badania Opinii Spoáecznej, CBOS, 2014b]. It also contributed to the adoption of the Act to amend the Constitution of the Polish People’s Republic of 29 December 1989, which transformed the communist regime into „a democratic lawful state, realising the principles of social justice” [art. 1 par. 4], and reintroduced the traditional name of the country (the Republic of Poland, Polish: Rzeczpospolita Polska, RP) [art. 1 par. 1] and its historical coat of arms (a white, crowned eagle on a red background) [art. 1 par. 19]. The first year of the Third Republic of Poland brought significant changes in the political landscape of the country. It was already in January 1990 that the 11th Congress of the PZPR ended with the dissolution of the party, replaced by the Social Democracy of the Republic of Poland (Polish: Socjaldemokracja Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej, SdRP) led by the future president and leader of the young generation of party politicians, Aleksander KwaĞniewski. In February, the circle of WaáĊsa put forward a demand to accelerate changes and have Jaruzelski replaced by the legendary union leader as President. The general agreed to leave the post in July 1990 and his term of office (as well as that of the parliament) was shortened following the Sejm’s resolution of 21 September 1990. Following that, six days later, the amendment to the constitution concerning the introduction of a general presidential election was passed [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 352-353]. The first round of the election took place on 25 November 1990 and was won by WaáĊsa (40% of the votes), who beat Stanisáaw TymiĔski (23%), Mazowiecki (18%), the candidate of the SdRP Wáodzimierz Cimoszewicz (9%), the representative of the Polish People’s Party (Polish: Polskie Stronnictwo Ludowe, PSL) Roman Bartoszcze (7%), and the leader of the Confederation of Independent Poland (Polish: Konfederacja Polski Niepodlegáej, KPN) Leszek Moczulski (2,5%). The defeat of Mazowiecki, who was overtaken by the controversial businessman from emigration TymiĔski, was surprising. In the second round, on 9 December, WaáĊsa won clearly, gaining almost three quarters of the votes [Announcement of the State Electoral Commission 1990a, 1990b]. The presidential election of 1990 also marked a key stage in the process of the disintegration of the „Solidarity”, which was divided into the supporters of WaáĊsa, including Jarosáaw KaczyĔski’s Centre Agreement (Polish: Porozumienie Centrum, PC), and circles of the Democratic Union (Polish: Unia Demokratyczna, UD), formed in November 1990 and gathered

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around Tadeusz Mazowiecki. Following his defeat in the election, the prime minister resigned from the post. After WaáĊsa’s candidate, Jan Olszewski, failed to form a cabinet, it was Jan Krzysztof Bielecki from a small party, the Liberal Democratic Congress (Polish: Kongres LiberalnoDemokratyczny, KLD), who became the prime minister at the beginning of 1991. His cabinet was to continue the policy of transformation until the new parliament was elected [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 357-360; Dudek, 2013]. As the result of the parliamentary election of 27 October 1991, the first fully democratic Sejm was elected. However, the adopted voting system caused its significant fragmentation as it included as many as 23 different groups, and none of them reached the level of 15% of the seats. The circle of the “Solidarity” broke into a number of rival parties, which affected the stability of the parliament and government [Dudek, 2002]. What became the main axis of the conflict was the future form of government – WaáĊsa and his supporters were in favour of the presidential system, while the centre politicians, gathered around Mazowiecki, advocated the parliamentary system with the president having limited powers. The instability of the political system was the reason why the subsequent governments did not last long – Bronisáaw Geremek, who was appointed the prime minister, was not even able to form it, and his successor, Jan Olszewski, held the office for only six months. The next prime minister, Waldemar Pawlak, did not manage to form a cabinet, either. It was only Hanna Suchocka’s government that brought relative stability, exercising power from 10 July 1992 to the autumn of 1993, when the parliament was dissolved [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 366-374]. One of the undoubted successes of the Sejm of the 1st term was the adoption of the Constitutional Act, popularly known as the “small constitution”, on 17 October 1992. It shaped the political order in Poland, based on consensus between President WaáĊsa and the parliament, which ended the post-authoritarian transition. The Sejm was also the arena of the first attempt to vet former collaborators of the security services of the PRL, but their list drawn up by Minister Antoni Macierewicz, under the Sejm’s resolution of 28 May 1992, contributed to the collapse of Olszewski’s government [CzubiĔski, 2007, pp. 367-368]. What appeared to be a huge success of Suchocka’s cabinet was the completion of the evacuation – which had been in progress since 1991 - of the Soviet troops of the Northern Group of Forces stationed in Poland, which put an end to the four decades of the presence of foreign armies in the state, opening the way for the integration with the military structures of the Western world [Czulicki, 2014; Rogowicz, 2011].

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The adoption of the Constitutional Act (1992) marked the beginning of the consolidation of democracy in Poland, the outcome of which was the adoption of the Constitution of the Republic of Poland of 2 April 1997, passed in the referendum of 25 May 1997. Other fundamental changes included Poland’s accession to the NATO on 12 March 1999 and to the European Union on 1 May 2004, which led to the country’s full integration with the political structures of the Western world. The new political situation after the disintegration of the “Solidarity” was reflected in the results of the parliamentary election of 19 September 1993, won by the post-communist Democratic Left Alliance (Polish: Sojusz Lewicy Demokratycznej, SLD), originating from the SdRP, and the Polish People’s Party, which formed the consecutive governments of Waldemar Pawlak, Józef Oleksy and Wáodzimierz Cimoszewicz, and in WaáĊsa’s defeat in the presidential electios of 1995, won by an ex-PZPR member, Aleksander KwaĞniewski. In the next decade, elections were won alternately by the post-communist left-wing and the post-solidarity rightwing, which remained the main political powers until 2005. The Polish transformation is still a controversial issue, and the Round Table Agreement that underlay it is shrouded in the black legend of a secret pact between the communists and a part of “Solidarity” [Macaáa, 2009]. It was reinforced by the breakdown of the anti-communist opposition and by the conflict between its leaders – WaáĊsa and Mazowiecki, which dominated transitional narratives. High social costs of transformations resulting from Prof. Balcerowicz’s programme of radical economic reform made the society disappointed with the rules of the “Solidarity” and with the presidency of its legendary leader. It allowed the post-communist left-wing, led by politicians free of responsibility for the crimes of the PRL, to efficiently rebuild its position. People felt that their hopes for the quick success of the transformations were unfulfilled, but consecutive governments made insufficient efforts to inspire Poles to accept the reform programme, focusing on the modernisation of economy rather than on the reconstruction of the society or on promoting its new political identity. All in all, interest in the past – except for just a few cases – was reduced to the idea of decommunization, and the authorities did not attempt to cure the trauma of Polish people and to deal with the past, at least on the surface. Consequently, in the Third Republic, the legend of WaáĊsa was slowly becoming tarnished and his myth lost the position of the dominant narrative around which the government’s remembrance policy could be built [Public Opinion Research Centre, 2014a].

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Changing political identity: from Homo Sovieticus to the European nation As the communists took power in Poland, they built the society based on the Stalinist model. The key task was to create the Soviet Man, homo sovieticus, who would become an efficient and reliable cog in the totalitarian machine, fully controlled by Stalin and devoted to the communist party [Hedin, 2004]. The principal tool of transformation was (revolutionary) terror, which was to serve the elimination of the real and alleged enemies of the nation and, at the same time, to terrorise the society entirely. The fear of repression was part of the identity of the Stalinist empire, in the same way as constant indoctrination and the manipulation of facts were its pillars [Weber, 2009; Mälksoo, 2014]. The division into oppressors and victims became the permanent legacy of the Stalinist time, making organised violence the foundation of the communist dictatorship [Tumarkin, 2011, pp. 1052]. As early as in the PKWN Manifesto [1944], the need for the reconstruction of the society and for building new political identity based on the alliance with the Soviet Union was declared. However, it was only the Constitution of the PRL that became its foundation. Having instituted the PRL, in its preamble it referred to the state as the “republic of working people”, which “realized the liberation ideas of Polish working classes” and was based on the alliance of workers and peasants against capitalists and landowners. It stipulated the leading role of the working class and stressed the importance of the alliance with the Soviet Union as a source of the liberation and rebirth of the state. The first chapter of the constitution referred to the PRL as people’s democracy, in which power is vested in the working people of towns and villages, represented by the Sejm and national councils. Chapter three assigned six tasks to the state: to defend the people against its enemies, develop the state, organise centrally planned economy, eliminate the class of oppressors, secure the wellbeing of citizens, and develop national culture. Chapter two, in turn, regulated the economic system based on the socialising of production factors, stipulating in article 14 that “work is a right, duty and question of honour of every citizen” and introduced the principle that “everyone should get what he deserves as far as his talents and efforts are concerned.” Chapter seven of the constitution stipulated – following the constitution of the USSR of 1936 – the principal rights of state citizens, including a wide catalogue of personal, political, social and economic rights, which were not actually respected. What was more important, from the perspective of the development of the identity of homo sovieticus in

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Poland, was a catalogue of civic duties included in this chapter. Article 76 obliged Poles to obey law and the socialist discipline of work diligently, to respect the rules of social coexistence, and to fulfil their obligations to the state. Citizens had to guard social property, defend their home country, and remain alert to the enemies of the people. The constitution provided for severe penalties for sabotage, disruption, espionage, and treason, which was used by the judiciary of the PRL to brutally combat all forms of opposition to the communist regime. The vision of the state and society in an unchanged shape outlived deStalinization and the period of rules of Wáadysáaw Gomuáka and Józef Cyrankiewicz. It was only changed by the act of 10 February 1976, prepared by the circle of Edward Gierek. The amendment introduced the regulation recognising the PZPR as the leading political power in the society, and its alliance with the ZSL and the SD as the basis of the Front of National Unity (Polish: Front JednoĞci Narodowej)1 [art. 1 par. 2], while friendship and alliance with the Soviet Union were deemed as the foundation of the state policy [art. 1 par. 4]. It was equally important to transform the catalogue of goals of the PRL, which, from 1976, in its extended form included the following tasks: the protection of the achievements of socialism, the guarantee of citizens’ participation in government, economic development, the strengthening of social property, social justice and doing away with oppression, increasing prosperity, taking care of the family and educating the young generation, attention to citizens’ health and education, and the development of science and culture [art. 1 par. 3]. Chapter seven, devoted to citizens’ rights and obligations, was also slightly changed [art. 1 par. 30-44]. The foundations of the political identity of the Polish society in the communist period included the leading role of the working people of towns and villages, represented solely by the coalition of the PZPR, the ZSL and the SD, the alliance with the Soviet Union, centrally planned economy based on social property, and a fight against exploitation and pursuit of social justice. The above factors – along with the fear of repression from authorities and indoctrination – constituted the bases on which consecutive communist leaders constructed the Polish homo sovieticus. The lack of social legitimacy of the regime was compensated with political violence, which each of the PRL leaders resorted to, and by the gradually developed system of the surveillance of opposition circles. Owing to this, the party could comprehensively control the political 1

The amendment of 20 July 1983 changed its name into the Patriotic Movement of National Rebirth (Polish: Ruch Odrodzenia Narodowego, PRON).

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behaviours of Polish people. However, the effect of revolutionary mobilisation, promoted by the PZPR, was counterproductive – patriotism became an inspiration for anti-communist resistance and for the rejection of the party-controlled public sphere by the majority of the Polish society [Sidorenko, 2008]. The vision of the political identity of the communist period is best reflected in the speech delivered by Gomuáka in front of the Central Committee of the PZPR on 4 July 1963. He said that “what is an integral part of the construction of socialism […] is the transformation of social awareness in the spirit of socialism, which means spreading MarxistLeninist ideology and socialist ethical and moral principles in interpersonal relations, cultivating a new approach to the state, work and social property, and forming a new, socialist image of national culture” [Gomuáka, 1963, pp. 10]. He went on to emphasise that the „socialist awareness of the nation is not born automatically; it does not come into being itself as a product of new social circumstances. It is created and disseminated by everyday vivid, ideological, political and educational activity of the party, the people’s power. It is born out of the efforts of hundreds of thousands, millions of people, who are fighting for the accomplishment of the social development of the state. It is formed in an incessant battle of the new against the old, in the system of social relations, and in the spiritual life of the nation” [Gomuáka, 1963, pp. 13]. Another equally important determinant of the communist identity was affiliation to the Eastern bloc, and, thus, membership in its structures, the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance (Comecon) and the Warsaw Pact. Gomuáka expressed it by saying that “Poland’s all national and social interests are connected with socialism. That is why our patriotism is inseparably linked with internationalism, with a sense of deep, class and ideological bond with other socialist countries and progressive forces in the whole world” [Gomuáka, 1963, pp. 34]. Anti-German sentiments constituted another important component of the vision of the communist society. The Federal Republic of Germany with its democratic authorities was seen as Poland’s main enemy. The myth of the German threat, which the alliance with the Soviet Union was to save Poland from, became one of the fundamental narratives of the communist period. It remained popular as long as the memories of Nazi crimes lived on [Gomuáka, 1965; Gomuáka, Cyrankiewicz, 1960]. The opposition elites gathered around the “Solidarity” had a different perception of the Polish society. Their vision was first expressed in the form of 21 demands of the Inter-Factory Strike Committee of 17 August 1980, in which the protesters called for the respect of human rights and the

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implementation of social justice principles. The Framework Resolution of the 1st Congress of the Independent Self-Governing Trade Union “Solidarity” adopted on 7 October 1981 was a lot more specific. It stipulated that the organisation of the Polish society should be based on the respect for human rights, democracy (including direct democracy), the rule of law, social solidarity and initiative, political pluralism, citizens’ participation, self-governance, the possibility of controlling the executive branch, determination in the pursuit of the goal, and truth. The proposed system, which the delegates referred to as people’s democracy, would replace the communist dictatorship. During martial law, one of the later architects of the Third Republic, Adam Michnik, in his essay “Rozmowa w cytadeli” (“A Conversation in the Citadel”) [2009, pp. 306-309] described six pillars on which the Polish society should be founded: • •

• • • •

subjectivity, defined as citizens’ self-organisation, active policy, i.e. aiming at achieving goals through determination, patience, courage, and ability to seek compromise, “sticking hard to reality and rejecting idealistic delusions” [Michnik, 2009, pp. 307], a bond with the Catholic Church and Christian morality, national solidarity, based on the respect for pluralism, otherness, and diversity, socialism and the value of social justice, individual freedom.

The foundations of the new political identity of the Polish society planned by the “Solidarity” would thus include democracy, selfgovernance, civic mindedness, pluralism, and the respect for human rights, as well as social justice, Christian morality and solidarity. However, after Tadeusz Mazowiecki’s government was formed by the opposition and particularly after the circle of the “Solidarity” became divided and Lech WaáĊsa got elected for the office of President, these ideals began to be supplanted by those originating from the tradition of romantic martyrdom, a sense of being a victim, and desperate heroism [Ochman, 2013, pp. 3940]. The resulting division of the post-authoritarian society under reconstruction – into the communists and the opposition – broke the unity of Polish people [Brier, 2010, pp. 154-156] and led to the general anticommunist trend of breaking with the past and returning to the magic old times of the 2nd Republic [Wiatr, 2004, pp. 46-48]. Moreover, a clash of two opposing elements of the post-authoritarian identity became evident: a conflict between traditional Catholic values and the cultural liberalism of the Western world and between the idea of social justice and the principles

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of capitalist market economy [Keinz, 2011, pp. 99; Müller, Pickel, 2009, pp. 11-12]. Copying the West became the principal motivation of the Polish society. The imitation of the mythical Western world in Poland was the foundation of the teleology of transformation, as well as a source of transitional temporariness – the state in which it was not important to reconstruct identity as it was to be ultimately replaced by a sense of Europeannness and belonging to the ideal West. Based on the total break with communism and a symbolic return to the European roots of Polishness, the new political identity of the society became – like it was the case in the second half of the 19th century – a peculiar combination of “the collective inferiority complex and national megalomania to compensate for it” [J. Jedlicki, 2002, pp. 19]. The “Solidarity”, despite its left-wing and working class origin, was fascinated with the neoliberal model of free market economy, which was conducive to the reinforcement of the conservative ideology and religious and national symbolism [LityĔski, 2009, pp. 70-75]. The vision of the society that the “Solidarity” elites had promoted from 1989 involved some non-reconcilable contradictions resulting from an attempt to integrate leftist sensitivity expressed in the provisions of the 1st Congress with the conservative and free market programme of the governments of Mazowiecki and Bielecki. As a result, the “Solidarity” dumped the idea of social justice and – which is paradoxical in the case of a trade union – gave up its role of the most important representative of workers’ interests in favour of establishing the neoliberal order and limiting the role of the state in economy [Ost, 2007]. Poland’s radical turns towards capitalism brought about the atomisation of once united society in pursuit of freedom, moving the ideological centre of gravity from collectivism to individualism, from unity and cooperation to selfdependence and competition. When combined with the post-authoritarian temporariness, it meant that the only thing that cemented the postcommunist society was the mythology of modernisation and a dream of integration with the Western world. What is more, it also signified ordinary people’s loss of confidence in the “Solidarity”. They began to be represented by the post-solidarity right-wing connected with the Church (that group was then still gathered around WaáĊsa), and, with time, by the post-communist left-wing as well [Bilska, Ost, 2009; Zarycki, 2009; Zióákowski, 1998]. What undoubtedly was a weakness of the post-authoritarian transition in Poland was not only the isolation of the “Solidarity” elites from the society and the emphasis on economic reforms connected with efforts to

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become integrated with the Western world, but also modelling the symbolism of the opposition after the Romantic tradition and showing it as the continuator of a desperate battle against foreign domination and a metaphor of national martyrdom [Kubik, 1994]. The reconstruction of the “Solidarity’s” image and the growing disillusion with WaáĊsa’s myth were the reasons for which Poles’ new political identity could not be formed on the basis of these narratives. In the absence of an alternative vision, the society found itself within the unspecified limits of the transition temporariness, where the role of points of reference was to be played by key words: freedom, democracy, free market, and integration with the Western world. The future-oriented policy of the transformation of the political and economic system did not solve the fundamental dilemma of the post-authoritarian transition – the issue of the society’s new political identity; the question about who citizens of the country are. It is thus worth considering whether the elites of the “Solidarity” were right to choose the two-level transition model (democracy and free market) instead of the post-colonial pattern of four levels (democracy, free market, state and society) [Kuzio, 2001, p. 174]. This difference may be seen when we compare declarations concerning the proposed composition and work programme of the governments of Prime Minister Mazowiecki (12 September 1989) and Prime Minister Olszewski (12 September 1991). The former focused on the reconstruction of the political system, economic transformation, and bringing relations with Poland’s neighbours back to normal. According to Mazowiecki, social life should be organised by the ideas of sovereignty, lawfulness, civic mindedness, democracy, and healthy economy, as well as the values being the legacy of the “Solidarity”, such as seeking compromise and renouncing revenge [Mazowiecki, 1989b]. The government’s futureoriented policy was supported by the strategy of a “thick line”, which would separate the past from the policy of changing the state [Mazowiecki, 1989a]. In turn, Olszewski, who represented the Catholic right-wing, proposed a much broader work programme, which also included the plan of the reconstruction of the state itself and of its society. He indicated that “the Polish nation was distinguished by a strong sense of its place in history. After 1945, others tried to deprive us of this sense. The reconstruction of awareness, historical awareness, of our place in the present day, in a long sequence of the history of the nation, is one of the great and immeasurable tasks that Polish people of today are facing” [Olszewski, 1991]. The six-month period of Olszewski’s cabinet was the only stage in the post-authoritarian transition in Poland, in which the government set its

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sights on the comprehensive reconstruction of social identity – which was based on decommunization in this case. President WaáĊsa’s stance was also ambiguous. In his inaugural address, he expressed his support for the reinforcement of the democratic system, the development of the free market economy, and integration with the Western world, but at the same time he stressed the importance of the Christian roots of the Polish society and the role of self-governance in the future political order of the state [WaáĊsa, 1990a]. Moreover, unlike it had been the case in the communist period, both the amendment to the constitution of 29 December 1989, and the later Constitutional Act of 17 October 1992, were not used for establishing the framework of the new democratic identity. In both cases, what was the only source that could serve the purpose of the description of the promoted vision of the society was the fundamental principles of the political system: the sovereignty of the nation, democracy, the rule of law, pluralism, the separation of powers, self-governance, the protection of property, and social justice [Skrzydáo, 1996, p. 159; Kruk, 1992]. Therefore, what was the vision of the political identity of the Polish society that was promoted in the post-authoritarian transition? Despite the lack of a cohesive programme of the reconstruction of the society and the state of temporariness prevalent in that period, there were a few pillars of the new identity – democracy and the rule of law, free market and private property, social justice, seeking compromise, Europeanness and belonging to the Western world, romantic martyrdom and respect for desperate heroism, attachment to traditional Christian values and the social function of the Catholic Church. One may easily discern some obvious internal contradictions between its components, which resulted from the lack of a specific vision of the new, post-communist society promoted during changes. Europeanness met head-on with traditional Catholicism, free market approach with social solidarity, democracy with a romantic dream of strong authority, responsibility with desperate heroism, and martyrdom with the renunciation of revenge. It is those dichotomies that remained a characteristic feature of later disputes over the identity of Poles in the Third Republic. In his short diagnosis of Polishness at the beginning of the 21st century, Janusz Tazbir [2005] pointed out that the main characteristics of Poles included pessimism, lost hope and the fear of otherness, based on antiSemitism inherited from inter-war Poland, German occupation and communism. In the course of democratisation, the unhealed postauthoritarian trauma spontaneously transformed into the “national neurosis” of Poles, combining a sense of inferiority to the West and

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megalomania, fed with desperate heroism, which caused frustration and the lack of trust in the state [Gilejko, 2005, pp. 79-81]. In turn, the lack of a cohesive vision of democratic identity led to the prevalence of the traditional auto-stereotype of a Pole as a Catholic, patriot and man of honour, who largely opposed the direction of changes based on democracy, pluralism, free market and Europeannness [GoáĊbiowski, 2005, pp. 106-110]. Contradictions of the period of changes led to paradoxes of the Polish identity - Kazimierz Krzysztofek [2005, p. 295] stressed that “our social culture is […] hybrid: on the one hand Poles love tradition, listen to the Pope, value prayers and celebratory patriotism; on the other hand, interpersonal relations are marked with boorishness, and everything turns into litter, […] spoiling symbols, including the language, […] degrading spatial iconosphere.” Instead of eliminating contradictions, the post-authoritarian changes intensified them, creating dichotomies which did not exist before.

The legitimisation of the new elites The remembrance policy of the first non-communist Polish governments after World War II was a specific, spontaneous, and unorganised sphere of the state’s activity. Its objective was not to serve particular values; it did not create new political mythologies, nor did it legitimise the pursued political programmes. Its key assumptions included the break with the authoritarian order, the decommunization of memory and strengthening the role of narratives which were shunted on to the side-lines of historical awareness. Its creators found the question of what stories should constitute Polish collective memory less important than the issue of which of them should disappear from national awareness. It was not the remembrance policy of winners, who cultivated the moments of their triumph, but the policy of the victims of repression, who – as they were suffering from the post-authoritarian trauma – were inclined to forget what they had to endure. There is no doubt that two principal factors affected it: firstly, the Round Table Agreement and seeking compromise, and, secondly, the permanent presence of the Soviet military forces on the territory of the country and the need for taking into consideration a wider geopolitical context of the democratisation of Central Europe. It was thus a mosaic of commemoration, oblivion, and reconstruction of narratives of the past, which were all about trying to avoid controversy and to eliminate the manipulation of history by the communists [WawrzyĔski, 2015]. Hence, the transitional remembrance policy in Poland was not a systemised

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programme of the government’s narratives, but a set of spontaneous actions, which would form the new elites’ vision of the history of the country on the basis of the interpretation of the past shared by citizens. Decisions made during the democratisation led to the situation in which the state played a secondary part in the Polish politics of memory, while the main roles were played by the academic circle, the new civil society and mass media. A respected Polish historian and co-founder of the Institute of National Remembrance, Paweá Machcewicz, wrote about the first years of democratic Poland: “The past – mainly the one concerning the recent era of the PRL – was obviously present in the public space. In most cases, it was becoming the subject of relatively broad consensus. In the first years after 1989, the critical evaluation of the communist period and the need for restoring remembrance of the heroes of the fight for independence were not questioned. Course books and street names were changed, old monuments were pulled down and the new ones were erected. Even if it was not done with sufficient consistency and energy, […] the general direction of changes was widely accepted. Even the communists’ return to power in 1993 […] did not make history one of the main axes of the ideological and political dispute in Poland. It did not kindle social emotions and had no decisive influence on the temperature and direction of public debates, despite the lasting “post-communist” division in politics – into the camp originating from the governing circles of the PRL and the one with people of the democratic opposition at its core” [Machcewicz, 2012, pp. 5-6]. The limited scope of the transition remembrance policy did not mean, however, that in the years 1989-1992 it was not used for lending credence to the implemented changes of the state. The “Solidarity” camp made the past an important source of the legitimisation of the new elites, dominated by union activists. It could be observed in Prime Minister Mazowiecki’s speech, which he delivered in the Sejm on 12 September 1989. He said then: “I’m coming to you as a man of the “Solidarity”, faithful to the legacy of August. I understand it first of all as the society’s large, collective call for subjectivity, for the right to decide on the future of the state, and its readiness for joint and resolute action in order to achieve these goals” [Mazowiecki, 1989b]. Not long before that, as he was assuming the post of prime minister, he noted that his credibility as the leader in the time of changes is based on his faithfulness to the ideals of the “Solidarity” and the trust of the Catholic Church, being the historical guarantor of the stability of Poland [Mazowiecki, 1989a].

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The disintegration of the unity of the anti-communist opposition contributed to a change in the selection of narratives used for the legitimisation of the state’s new political elite. As he was resigning from his post on 14 December 1990, Mazowiecki no longer referred to the legend of the union, but focused on the importance of Polish people’s Christian tradition and on the future-based orientation of the transition policy. He said that the „awareness […] of circumstances, a sense of responsibility for the security of the state and peace in the country, and, at the same time, full determination to push Poland towards independence, democracy and market economy – such were the assumptions underlying the activity of my government from the very beginning until today” [Mazowiecki, 1990b]. Abandoning the mythology of the “Solidarity” as the main tool of the legitimisation of the new elites was also evident in President WaáĊsa’s inaugural address. He also based his authority on a close link with the Church and loyalty to Christian values, and added: “I come from the family of peasants. For long years I was a factory worker. I will never forget from where I set off for the journey that has led me to the highest office in the state” [WaáĊsa, 1990a]. The sources of the president’s credibility were significantly different from those he referred to as he was legitimising the position of the “Solidarity’s” new elite in his historic speech in front of the U.S. Congress in November 1989 [WaáĊsa, 1989]. Originally, the legend of the union was the basis, but – as the decomposition of the anti-communist opposition progressed and the president fought for leadership with Mazowiecki – other interpretations of the past became dominant. What the president found to be of key importance were the Christian and independence tradition of Poles and the need for decommunization as the historical necessity of the democratisation. [WaáĊsa, 1991]. Two other prime ministers, Jan Krzysztof Bielecki and Hanna Suchocka, referred to the experience of the “Solidarity” as a source of legitimisation. The former, just like Mazowiecki, called himself a man of the union, [Bielecki, 1991a; 1991b], while the latter recognised the ideas of the “Solidarity” as the foundation of the new coalition government [Suchocka, 1992a; 1992b]. In both cases, however, the past was a supplement of the future-oriented policy of changes rather than the most important source of the authority of new leaders. Prime Minister Pawlak, in turn, did not mention it at all in his declaration [1992]. The legitimisation of Jan Olszewski’s cabinet was a totally different case. Although Olszewski did not refer to the myth of the “Solidarity” and openly criticised some of its heirs for being dogmatically attached to the

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agreements of the Round Table, he made history an important element of his credibility. Presenting the work programme of his government, Olszewski announced that “it is not an economic crisis - even the most severe one - which poses the most serious threat to Poland. What is definitely the biggest danger for our country is a clear division existent in social awareness: the division into “us” and “them”, “us” and the “authorities”. We need to rebuild this sense of bond with the state which was the foundation of the 2nd Republic’s greatest achievements in the years 1918-1939” [Olszewski, 1991]. Thus, he believed that what validated the position of the new elites was the return to the mythical old days of interwar Poland rather than the ideological testament of the “Solidarity”. What is more, the new state leadership’s mission was to focus on the reconstruction of the country ruined by the communists rather than pursue democratisation [Andrychowicz-Skrzeba, 2014, p. 433]. It means that historical experience was used to give credence to the new post-authoritarian elites, but, except for the beginning of Mazowiecki’s rule and Olszewski’s short term of office, it was rather secondary to the future-oriented goals of the policy of the time of changes. The idea of the continuity of the state had a similar status, being characterised by an interesting dualism of the break with the past and continuation, ultimately defined by the resolution of the Senate only on 16 April 1998. On the one hand, the Third Republic represented the symbolic break with the authoritarian order and values underlying the communist society [Wiatr, 2004, pp. 46-48]. It was emphasised by WaáĊsa [1991], when he called on Poles „to fight communism, with the use of any measures permitted by law and conscience.” This function was to be fulfilled by the “thick line” – proposed by Mazowiecki - which divided the past and the present day, [1989a; 2013], WaáĊsa’s appeal to quit battle against the state and to have citizens recognise this state as their own [1989b], and his division of the recent history of Poland into the time of slavery and the time of freedom [Andrychowicz-Skrzeba, 2014, p. 432]. That was the role that Olszewski’s proposal of decommunization was to play [1992]. On the other hand, the democratic state was shown as the return to the roots of Polishness. What signified the continuation of the traditions of interwar Poland was the ceremony held on 22 December 1990, during which the last Polish president in exile, Ryszard Kaczorowski, handed over the insignia of state power to WaáĊsa. The legendary “Solidarity” leader said then: “We are experiencing a unique moment now. On 2 September 1989, the President of the Republic of Poland set off for a long journey from his castle. Today, after 51 years, this journey has come to an

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end. The President of the Republic of Poland in exile, a symbol of our sovereignty, is in the castle again, in our home. He has returned here with the insignia of state power after years of wandering through foreign lands” [WaáĊsa, 1990b]. At the same time, the traditional Polish coat of arms was restored under the amendment to the constitution of December 1989 and supplementary provisions of the act of 9 February 1990. Apart from a change of state symbols, other sources of the legitimisation of the state’s new political elites included the reconstruction of the pantheon of national heroes and the reconstruction of the landscape of memory. The remembrance policy of post-authoritarian Poland was distinguished by a strong link of all those three spheres of the narratives of the past – all of them served the accomplishment of two fundamental goals of the transformation: the decommunization of the symbolic sphere and the nationalisation of Polish collective memory and narratives shared by the society despite the communist propaganda. During the democratisation, monuments of slavery and legends of the builders of Polish socialism were demolished – literally and metaphorically – and statues of the heroes of the fight for independence were erected in their place, and romantic myths of desperate heroism were developed. Dealing with the past did not take place before courts but in the historical awareness of Polish people and in the public sphere – that was where the new political identity was to be formed. In the autumn of 1989, the monument of the creator of the Soviet repression apparatus, Felix Dzerzhinsky, was removed from Bank Square (Polish: Plac Bankowy) in Warsaw. In 1993, the statue of the president of the capital from before the war, Stefan StarzyĔski, killed by Germans, was erected there. In 1991, the Monument to the Fallen in the Service and Defence of People's Poland (Polish: Pomnik Polegáym w SáuĪbie i Obronie Polski Ludowej) in Warsaw was dismantled, and two years later the Memorial to the Martyrs of the Communist Terror 1944-1955 (Polish: Pomnik MĊczenników Terroru Komunistycznego 1944-1956) was built in the capital [Grzesiuk-Olszewska, 2003; CzepczyĔski, 2010; Aksamit, 2014]. The reconstruction of the landscape of memory in accordance with the new pantheon of national heroes became the principal task of the Polish remembrance policy in the transformation and an instrument of the legitimisation of the state’s new elites [Machalica, 2007]. However – just like the state’s involvement in the narratives of the past – these efforts were a spontaneous expression of anti-communist sentiments rather than the implementation of any planned strategy of the reconstruction of space, which is reflected in the fact that 25 years after the appointment of Mazowiecki’s government, the Institute of National Remembrance

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estimated that there were still more than 1,000 buildings or monuments representing the communist interpretation of history [Baranowski, 2014]. The break with the PRL also meant the legitimisation of the new political order through the continuation of the tradition of interwar Poland and the restoration of the myth of Józef Piásudski, references to the heroism of the Home Army, Warsaw Insurgents, and Polish soldiers fighting in the Western Front of World War II, as well as cultivating the anti-communist tradition of the Catholic Church. In these narratives, the “Solidarity” movement was seen as the last and victorious Polish revolution [WaáĊsa, 1991; Koczanowicz, 2009, pp. 105-106]. The effects of this change were reflected in the parliament’s decisions – the introduction of the Cross awarded for participation in the Polish-Soviet War of 1918-1921 (21 July 1990), the invalidation of judgments concerning people repressed by the communists for independence activity (23 February 1991), the establishment of the Chief Commission for the Prosecution of Crimes against the Polish Nation (Polish: Gáówna Komisja ĝcigania Zbrodni przeciwko Narodowi Polskiemu), which replaced the committee dealing mainly with Nazi crimes (4 April 1991), transforming the system of state orders and decorations based on the pre-war tradition (16 October 1992), as well as the Sejm’s resolutions concerning the KatyĔ Massacre (22 March 1990, 28 April 1990 and 17 October 1992), the tribute to the veterans and victims of post-war repression (25 January 1991), the commemoration of Prime Minister Ignacy Jan Paderewski (4 July 1992), the maintenance of the Independence Mound (also known as Piásudski’s Mound; Polish: Kopiec Piásudskiego) in Kraków (26 November 1992), the commemoration of President Gabriel Narutowicz (27 November 1992), and the tradition of Polish parliamentarism (3 February 1993).2 What played a particularly important role in the government’s remembrance policy in the transformation period was the Act on Veterans passed by the Sejm on 24 January 1991. It formed the basis for the new definition of the national pantheon, in which the following groups were privileged:

2

What is more, the Sejm passed laws to change names of three universities – the University of Physical Education in Warsaw became the Józef Piásudski University of Physical Education (8 June 1990), while the communist patrons Karol ĝwierczewski and Georgi Dymitrov were removed from the names of, respectively, the Pomeranian Medical University in Szczecin (6 November 1992) and the Siedlce University of Natural Sciences and Humanities (7 January 1993).

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•

•

soldiers of the Polish Army in World War II, participants of World War I, national uprisings, and combat for the borders of Poland, soldiers of armed underground, allied armies, and the resistance movement (except for the units of the People’s Commissariat of Internal Affairs of the USSR) during World War II, members of anti-communist groups in the years 1939-1956, and participants of the fight against the Ukrainian Insurgent Army and groups of Wehrwolf [art. 1], civil functionaries of the leadership of national uprisings, the administration of the Underground State, and anti-communist organisations in the years 1945-1956, functionaries of militarised state forces from before 1946, tutors of underground education in World War II, civil sailors taking part in World War II, participants of the war for the Polishness of Silesia, Greater Poland, Lubusz Land, Pomerania, Warmia and Masuria, and participants of the PoznaĔ 1956 Uprising [art. 2], prisoners of German concentration camps and extermination camps, Soviet prisons and labour camps, as well as political prisoners of the communist period, victims of the Nazi racist policy in ghettos [art. 3-4].

It was considered far less important to justify historically the role of the new elites in counteracting internal conflicts and in the programme of reconciliation and forgiveness that they were responsible for. Prime Minister Mazowiecki was the only leader of the “Solidarity” who intended to make use of these two spheres ofremembrance to authenticate the new vision of the Polish society. In his speech of 24 August 1989, he said that “the history of our country has gained momentum. […] Mechanisms of normal political life must be restored in Poland. The transition is difficult, but it does not have to cause shocks. Quite the contrary, it will be a path to normality. The principle of fight, which sooner or later will lead to the elimination of the opponent, has to be replaced by the principle of partnership. There is no other way of moving from the totalitarian system to the democratic one” [1989a]. The prime minister once again commented on the role of the “Solidarity” as a guarantor of stability, compromise and reconciliation, in his statement concerning the programme of his government [Mazowiecki, 1989b]. When referring to the dismissal of Mazowiecki’s government, a deputy of the postcommunist left-wing party and the future prime minister, Wáodzimierz Cimoszewicz Wáodzimierz Cimoszewicz [1990] said that it was the road of compromise, securing a peaceful course of the transformation of

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Poland, which was the most important legacy of the first non-communist government. President WaáĊsa had different priorities, gaining the support of voters in 1990 thanks to his idea of the acceleration of decommunization. He turned the social desire for the punishment of PRL officials into his own political capital. The legendary “Solidarity” leader, however, did not aim at real confrontation, but he wanted to maintain the state of the readiness of the society, which would justify the transformation into the presidential system and would weaken the position of the moderate wing of the new political elites. Prime Minister Olszewski, in turn, intended to legitimise his government’s policy through showing the inevitability of conflict between the post-communist elites and the society, which was to become the source of the planned reconstruction of the state and identity. On 21 December 1991, he said that “today, the Polish state faces threats that are mainly of the external origin. They are the result of long years of foreign domination, […] lasting terrible effects of the martial law, those few years of the wasteful exploitation of the national wealth after 1981. Those who praise the generosity and reason of the representatives of the PRL, seated at the Round Table, should realise that the communists left us […] the ruined country that was impossible to govern” [Olszewski, 1991]. For the new elites originating from the “Solidarity” circle, history was a useful tool for influencing citizens. For President WaáĊsa, remembrance was an important element in the construction of his own myth of the leader of the nation, who, like Józef Piásudski, led Poles to freedom and independence [Andrychowicz-Skrzeba, 2014, pp. 363-366]. For Prime Minister Mazowiecki, it justified the compromises of the transformation period and was a motivation for the democratisation of the state. Prime Minister Olszewski perceived it as a source of fundamental conflict within the Polish society, which could be solved only through the reconstruction of its national identity. Three differing attitudes of the leaders of the country in the transformation period reveal the reason for which the transitional remembrance policy Poland was characterised by disorder, spontaneity and temporariness. It does not mean, however – what I emphasised before – that it did not play a part in the legitimisation of the new political elites. The reconstruction of the landscape of memory was used to a high degree, the historical experience of the new leaders, the idea of the continuity of the state and a change of state symbols and the national pantheon – moderately, the historical role of the “Solidarity” as a guarantor of peace – to a low extent, while the past as a source of reconciliation was presented to a very low degree.

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The presence former elitess The democratisation of Poland and the decomposition of the communist order did not mean that the PZPR had been left out. On 19 July 1989, the National Assembly – following Adam Michnik’s proposal “your president, our prime minister” – elected the previous communist dictator, gen. Wojciech Jaruzelski, for the president of the state. In his inaugural address, he said: “We live in times of breakthrough. […] I will do my best to make democracy become the driving force of the development of Poland. […] I want to be the president of consensus, the representative of all Poles. I would also like to gain trust of those who express their opposition or aversion to me” [Jaruzelski, 1989]. The above words are a perfect illustration of the direction that the postcommunist elites headed towards in democratic Poland, the direction symbolised by Aleksander KwaĞniewski – the rejection of ideology and following the path of pragmatism and technical attitude to the exercise of power [Koczanowicz, 2009, p. 47]. The post-communists became the coowners of the success of transformation, the co-founders of democracy and free market, and benefited from the ideological legacy of the “Solidarity,” at the same time efficiently avoiding the stigmatisation resulting from their responsibility for the crimes of the PRL [Koczanowicz, 2009, pp. 7-8]. Politicians of the PRL had to bear the cost of renouncing their own ideological sources and communist identity. Prime Minister Mazowiecki’s “thick line” became the foundation of the Polish post-communism – the break with the legacy of authoritarianism and repression by the PZPR itself and the ensuing transfer of its activists to the new democratic elites. Jaruzelski’s speech in front of the National Assembly was a historic – yet underestimated by scholars – event and the foundation stone of the new political identity of the Polish society. The communist dictator called himself the president of consensus. The politician responsible for the pacification of protests in Gdynia and GdaĔsk in December 1970, and the main architect of the martial law of 1981, claimed to be the representative of all Poles. While the amnesia of the “Solidarity” people could be explained by the post-authoritarian trauma, the post-communists’ oblivion of the past was a well-planned manipulation, which led them to the victory in the parliamentary election of 1993 and in the presidential election two years later. The transitional remembrance policy allowed the communists to break with their past and join the democratic elites. What helped them were the lack of strategy fn coming to terms with the tough experience of the PRL

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and the Sejm’s unsuccessful attempts to bring Jaruzelski, Minister gen. Czesáaw Kiszczak, or Prime Minister Mieczysáaw Rakowski to justice. The inconsistency of “Solidarity” governments when it came to the implementation of the Act on the Acquisition of Assets of the Former Polish United Workers’ Party of 9 November 1990 also played a part here [Beþka, Molesta, 2001]. However, it was the opposition’s surprising lack of ideas on how to handle activists of the PZPR in the symbolic sphere – typical of all governments in the years 1989-1992, except for Olszewski’s cabinet - which appeared to be of key importance for the future of the post-communist circles. On the other hand, it seems justifiable to ask whether the fact that Olszewski made the post-communists and collaborators of the PRL apparatus the enemies of the state was favourable to the development of Polish democracy and to the reconstruction of the political identity of the society. Generally speaking, it was only the historical significance of the Round Table Agreement that was used by the authorities – in the area of their management of the collective memory – to justify the participation of the representatives of the regime in the new political system of the state. The post-communists’ presence was a legacy that Prime Minister was not willing to take responsibility for and which he wanted to separate with the “thick line” [Mazowiecki, 1989a]. It was their history that marked a bad period ended by President WaáĊsa assuming the office of President [1990a]. The “Solidarity” tried to ignore the existence of the postcommunists, sharing a belief that they were bound to become marginalised by the society. The battle – as I mentioned earlier – was fought for Polish people’s historical awareness and landscape of memory, which were to become free of the ideological heritage of the communist period. Therefore, the participation of the PRL elites in the democratic system was not the legitimisation of democracy and political pluralism, nor was it important for defining a new political order. In both cases, it was a myth of the “Solidarity” as the representative of the whole nation, diverse views and different ideological traditions that fulfilled these functions in the remembrance policy. Moreover, Prime Minister Mazowiecki [1989b] referred to the past as the justification for building shared political identity, which would unite all Poles around the ideals of August 1980. In turn, in the transition, both Olszewski [1991] and WaáĊsa [1991] suggested the opposite strategy – the construction of the vision of the society through the exclusion of the communists and on the basis of the inevitability of conflict between democracy and the legacy of authoritarianism. The only way in which the new elites tried to explain the presence of the representatives of the previous regime in the political life of the

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country was the need for the separation of the past from the present, in Poland associated with Mazowiecki’s proposal of the “thick line.” Against the author’s intentions, it became a symbol of the failure to settle accounts with the past in the post-authoritarian circumstances and of the guarantee of immunity that the “Solidarity” allegedly gave to the government side during the Round Table talks. An important concept of the break with the communist heritage and of building democratic Poland from scratch served the purpose of justifying the idea that the past should be left to academic historians and that political discussion on the responsibility for the crimes and abuses of the PRL should be abandoned [Mazowiecki, 2013]. It was the opposition to the distorted proposal to separate the past from the present that was at the core of the decommunization programme of Olszewski’s government – the “thick line” stood in stark contrast to the concept of settling accounts with the legacy of violence of the communist regime, which could be done only by way of isolating functionaries and collaborators of the PRL apparatus [Olszewski, 1992]. Therefore, remembrance narratives were not an important instrument of legitimising the participation of the PZPR activists in the new political system of Poland. Democracy inherited them from the authoritarian regime, and the post-communists effectively avoided responsibility for the crimes of the PRL, becoming integrated with the new elites. Studies show that the remembrance narratives were moderately used only in the case of the historical justification of the separation of the past and present. In turn, with regard to counteracting social conflicts and building common identity it was used to a low degree, while with reference to legitimising democracy and defining pluralism and equality it was exploited to a very low extent.

The transitional justice Polish leaders after 1989 often emphasised that Poles were in the vanguard of the political and economic changes in communist Central Europe. Mazowiecki’s pro-democratic government was established almost two months before the fall of the Berlin Wall and over three months before the oppositionist Václav Havel was elected the President of Czechoslovakia. The economic reform initiated by Prof. Leszek Balcerowicz was a bold programme of the construction of the free market [Kaufman, 2007; Jensen, 2003]. The only sphere in which Poland turned out to be the outsider of Central Europe was the area of dealing with the authoritarian past, which led to the conviction shared by a part of the society that the transformation process was incomplete [Horne, 2009].

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Until the adoption of the lustration act on 11 April 1997, Polish democracy did not have a uniform strategy on overcoming the postauthoritarian trauma. This function was to be partly fulfilled by the verification procedure of the officers of the Security Service of the Ministry of Polish Affairs provided in the provisions of the Act on the Office for State Protection of 6 April 1990, but both the evaluation criteria and the actual effect of implemented procedures gave rise to controversies in the subsequent years of the Third Republic [Hall, 2012; Chlasta, 2014; Dudek, 2011, pp. 14-17]. What had symbolic meaning in this respect was the dissolution of the Volunteer Reserve Militia (Polish: Ochotnicza Rezerwa Milicji Obywatelskiej, ORMO) under the act of 23 November 1989 and the transformation of the Civic Militia into police under the act of 6 April 1990. However, none of the steps that Polish governments took between 1989 and 1992 showed that the transitional justice was used for the sake of the legitimisation of the rule of law, penalising the guilty, or for defining sources of forgiveness. These issues became a part of the government policy only in 1997, especially after a new law concerning the Institute of National Remembrance was passed and the Lustration Office was formed as its section in 2006. The only attempt to come to terms with the past was made by the decommunization-oriented government of Olszewski, which led to the collapse of the cabinet on 4 June 1992. Pursuant to the Sejm’s resolution of 28 May 1992, proposed by Janusz Korwin-Mikke, a list of former collaborators of the Security Service holding public offices was revealed. The list was named Macierewicz’s List after the name of its author – the minister of internal affairs. As the result, names of people recorded in the SB archives as Informal Collaborators (Polish: Tajni Wspóápracownicy, TW) were made public, which contributed to the further disintegration of the circle of the “Solidarity” [Kurski, Semka, 1992; Domosáawski, 1997]. In the discussion on the dismissal of the government that followed the publication of Macierewicz’s list, deputy Piotr Nowina-Konopko, when justifying the opposition’s proposal, said that “as the new shape of the Republic of Poland is being born in pain and, bearing in mind citizens’ all worries and concerns, we cannot afford to add fuel to the fire and promote an increasingly common belief that the exercise of power should be based on the war of all against all. The government that Poland needs is the one which is able to take into consideration people’s needs rather than the one focusing its efforts on the apt choice of words to justify permanently stirring up and manipulating people. […] What constitutes an important component of respect for one’s own country is the willingness to influence its top authorities in the way that would facilitate swift and efficient

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cooperation between its different bodies, owing to which this hardly grown feeble plant would be strengthened rather than weakened [NowinaKonopko, 1992]. In turn, deputy Adam Sáomka [1992] from the Confederation of Independent Poland accused Olszewski of distorting the idea of dealing with the past and using it in the opportunistic way. At the same time, some MPs defended the policy of decommunization proposed by the prime minister. Deputy Stefan Niesioáowski from the Christian National Union (Polish: Zjednoczenie ChrzeĞcijaĔsko-Narodowe, ZChN) claimed that “it is the government of the genuine, not just declarative, anti-communism. It is the government which has abandoned the Round Table agreements, the government which opposes the “thick line” policy and questions everything that a lot of people in this assembly have often voted against” [Niesioáowski, 1992]. Jarosáaw KaczyĔski from the Centre Agreement also backed Olszewski, emphasising that “the process of decommunization is a great […] necessity both in this country and in many other post-communist states. It is a process which could be co-organised by this Chamber, the process on which this Chamber may decide, but also the process about which the society should also have a say; the society which is observing us; the society that will decide that […] this process cannot be stopped. It has already begun – over the last few months – or, rather, over the last few days” [KaczyĔski, 1992]. The sitting of the Sejm which ended with the fall of Olszewski’s cabinet came to be called a “night shift” later. It was the only event in the period of 1989-1992 in which the government made an actual decommunization attempt and revealed the documents of the PRL apparatus. Moreover, the “Solidarity” leaders clearly marginalised the need for explaining to the society why the past had been settled in a limited manner, which was justified by Mazowiecki’s idea of the “thick line” and its later distortion. One of the main consequences of such an attitude was the fact that public opinion turned its attention to the issue of the informal collaborators of the communist security service in the opposition ranks instead of aiming at the punishment – at least symbolic – of those responsible for the crimes and abuses of the PRL. The conflict between WaáĊsa and Mazowiecki as well as divisions within the “Solidarity” circle were the reasons why lustration programmes implemented by the Third Republic significantly differed from the traditional definition of the justice of transition and resembled hunting for traitors in victorious parties’ ranks. What is an intriguing legacy of the democratisation in Poland is the fact the cooperation with the PRL security services – even if it was sham – was often perceived more unacceptable ethically than open support for the communist regime.

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Post-communist elites were an obvious beneficiary of the lack of the transitional justice and punishment of authoritarian violations of human rights. They additionally benefited from the lustration debate being turned into the internal affair of post-solidarity parties. The right wing focused – both during transformation and in the later period – on seeking traitors among the pro-democratic opposition rather than on holding the regime accountable in a comprehensive way. Thus, the transitional justice was an absolutely marginal aspect of Poland’s politics of memory in the years 1989-1992. This is why it may be said that it was only in the context of the justification of its limited scope that the remembrance narratives were used to a low degree, while in the other three cases to a very low degree.

Social costs of transformation As the “Solidarity” governments decided to abandon the project of the redefinition of the Polish society’s political identity in the postauthoritarian transition, and, at the same time, promoted the neoliberal free market economy, the Soviet man designed by the communists had to transform into the capitalist man. Thus, in the face of the political elites’ little involvement, it was those new economic elites – which copied the Western, particularly American, patterns of behaviour – that became the centre of the transformation of Polishness in the conditions of democracy. The ideology of socialist sensitivity and collectivism was replaced with the principles of market competition, individualism and alienation of those who were not able to turn the policy of changes to their own advantage. The historically created framework of social bonds met head-on with the neoliberal vision of the atomised society of consumers, while traditional identities were juxtaposed with the local reinterpretation of the American myth with its inseparable material attributes [Dunn, 2008; LeszczyĔski, 2008]. The communist dream of social justice was replaced with the egoistic struggle for possessions [ĝpiewak, 2015]. The new political elites paid attention exclusively to the programme of economic recovery. The “Solidarity” circle tried to ignore the issue of the social costs of transformation, perceiving them as a natural consequence of abandoning communism. New narratives were focused on some key words: modernisation, marketization, privatisation, liberalisation, innovativeness, foreign investment, or middle class. The state encouraged citizens to abandon their demanding attitude and, instead of voicing expectations from the government, try to show their own initiative. However, the only way it was justified by was the policy of changes itself and narrative key words. The temporariness of transition led to the

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situation in which the new capitalist identity was to develop on its own, with no interference of the state [LeĞniak-Moczuk, 2007; S. Gomuáka, 2014; Mikuáa, 2008; Balcerowicz, 1997]. Another implication was that, for the first decades of the Third Republic, the society assessed the effects of economic reconstruction rather negatively [Centrum Badania Opinii Spoáecznej, 2013]. In the context of the use of remembrance narratives for justifying the social costs of transformation, it seems that the key was the “Solidarity” governments’ lack of a clear strategy of the transformation of the state. The economic programme was formulated on ad hoc basis, which resulted in the lack of the concept of its legitimisation and in abandoning efforts to implement the project of social reconstruction [Janicka, 2010, p. 33]. As a result, it was only the break with the communist past which could be interpreted as a source of the dichotomy of the past and the future, which validated the need for the society to bear the costs of transformation. Thus, economic changes were not a form of compensating victims of repression or rewarding those fighting for independence, which was reflected in the incomplete reprivatisation of property nationalised by the communists, as well as in the progress of granting property rights to the nomenclature, which became an obvious beneficiary of market reforms [Staniszkis, 1990; Levitas, Strzaákowski, 1990; DzwoĔczyk, 2003]. The return to the mythical old times of interwar Poland played a different role, constituting the justification of capitalist ideas. It must be noted, however, that its function in this respect was rather marginal. The continuation of the tradition of Polish statehood and the break with the PRL meant the state turning its attention to the protection of private property and to the promotion of people’s individual responsibility for their life [Suchocka, 1992a]. For the “Solidarity” circle, the abandonment of authoritarianism was tantamount to the return to the capitalist system, which was understood as the foundation of freedom [Bielecki, 1991a]. It did not mean, however, that the past was used for promoting new behaviours: entrepreneurship, individual initiative, and responsibility – the promoted remembrance narratives were not stories of capitalist heroes. The local reinterpretation of the myth of the American dream in Poland was born at the grassroots level and was inspired by the egoism and consumerism of the new middle class, which thoughtlessly copied Western patterns. Similarly, economic disparities could be explained by the time of changes itself rather than the historical events preceding it, while their cause was some people’s ability to benefit from the new political and economic circumstances.

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The link between the government’s remembrance policy and the justification of the social costs of transformation in Poland was negligible. At the time, remembrance and economy seemed to be totally separate spheres of the authorities’ interest. The dichotomy of the past and future and the historical validation of capitalist ideas were used to a low degree, while history as the justification of new attitudes and as the reason for economic disparities were used to a very low degree.

New political standards It was a paradox of the post-authoritarian tradition of Poland that a comprehensive programme of change was used by the new elites to justify the fact they did not promote any idea of the reconstruction of the society. The liberalisation of the country and the departure from the communist omnipotence of authorities resulted in the abandonment – which is characteristic of the political transition - of the role of the state as the founder of the society’s new political identity and its limited influence on the newly established standards of the democratic and capitalist public life. In the years 1989-1992, the “Solidarity” circle restricted itself to developing the general ideological framework within which the postauthoritarian Polish society would be formed at the grassroots level. As I mentioned a few times before, the transition politics of identity in Poland involved a sense of temporariness and the universality of some key words – which were often devoid of precise definitions – such as: democracy and the rule of law, self-governance and civil society, free market and the middle class, or Europeannness and modernisation. They were all elements of the future-oriented policy, which led to a decrease in the importance of remembrance narratives in their specific spheres. For the “Solidarity”, the past was a kind of unwanted legacy left by the previous regime, which Prime Minister Mazowiecki [1989a] wished to separate with a “thick line”. Politicians of the transition – both those originating from the opposition and former members of the PZPR – agreed that the transformation was a consequence of past events, and, at the same time, it was a historical necessity. However, this consensus was limited to the understanding of the origin of change rather than to the interpretation of the past that engendered this necessity. For people gathered around Prime Minister Mazowiecki, the transformation was the result of the communists’ failure and the triumph of the “Solidarity’s” ideas of August 1980. For President WaáĊsa, in turn, it was the effect of the activity of the anti-communist movement he led. The Catholic right-wing, represented by

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Prime Minister Olszewski, believed it was a part of the long process of the liberation of Poles, while the post-communist elites considered the democratisation of the country to be the outcome of the evolution of the PRL and of the PZPR leaders’ awareness of the inevitability of changes initiated by Gorbachev [Mazowiecki, 1989b, WaáĊsa, 1990a; Olszewski, 1991; Jaruzelski 1989]. All leaders of the state spoke in one voice – represented by Prime Minister Suchocka[1992a], who said that “independent and sovereign Poland was born out of the effort and struggle of its citizens”. Polish people’s long fight for freedom and independence, which ended with the ultimate victory of the “Solidarity”, made the intergenerational dialogue a source of new political standards. However, the temporary nature of the post-authoritarian identity contributed to the fact that both the agreement between generations and the transformation of political culture were of quite marginal importance. The symbolic return to the old times of interwar Poland meant the legitimisation of the new order through the continuation of the system of values shared by the society of the Second Republic and preserved by independence movements during and after the end of World War II. The new standards were thus a return to the roots of Polishness, with the reservation that they could be interpreted only from the angle of the heritage of the “Solidarity” from 1980. At the same time, a sense of temporariness was the reason for which political culture was to change at the grassroots level following the processes of democratisation, free market reforms and the Europeanization of the state. Therefore, the limitations of the programme of the redefinition of the society’s political identity exacerbated the obvious conflict between tradition and modernisation, making the idea of the intergenerational dialogue outdated. It is the balance between tradition and modernisation that was one of the more interesting aspects of the politics of identity in the years 19891992. The new Poland was based on two contradictory pillars – the romantic independence mythology accompanying the attachment to the role of the Catholic Church and the idea of Europeanization reflected in the attempts to catch up with the West. The clash of those two foundations of Polishness was unavoidable and led to the permanent division of the society into the camp of tradition and the one of modernisation [Ponczek, 2007; Jurek, 2012; Gowin, 1999]. This dispute was the basis for a debate on the decommunization of the state and transitional justice. It was this conflict that Zdzisáaw KrasnodĊbski [2008, pp. 17-21] called an unfinished intellectual civil war between the heirs of the tradition of the 2nd Republic and the descendants of the builders of the PRL. It was thus a paradoxical

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fact that a fear of confrontation became a cause of the conflict of memory dividing the society of democratic Poland. What was an equally unfavourable factor for the promotion of new standards was the pantheon of national heroes of the transition, consisting of people with a clear antidemocratic profile (e.g. Józef Piásudski) and war heroes, the commemoration of whom has a rather negative impact on the development of civil and capitalist attitudes [WawrzyĔski, 2013]. What is more, as the unity of the “Solidarity” was broken, its mythology was reduced to the legitimisation of the agreement between the opposition and the communists. At the same time, the right wing’s fascination with seeking traitors in the winners’ camp ended with the destruction of the legend of the union, which, being no longer a source of political behaviour models, became a symbol of the division of the previously unified Polish society. The lack of national heroes who would fit in the new reality was one of the most important weaknesses of the transitional remembrance policy in Poland, which was reflected in the KaczyĔski brothers’ project of the establishment of the Fourth Republic a decade later [WawrzyĔski, 2012, pp. 57]. Its biggest failure, however, was the lack of a new definition of patriotism – inspired by the past - which became one of the more abused and, at the same time, least precise values [Trosiak, 2014; Mrzygáód, 2015]. The new political elites left the issue of the development of social and political standards to spontaneous processes inside the society. However, they complicated those processes through the promotion of democratisation as the return to tradition and as the programme of great modernisation. This contradiction significantly influenced the remembrance policy in the transformation period, leading to the marginalisation of its importance. As a result, the need for changes as a consequence of past experiences and the balance between modernisation and tradition were exploited to a moderate degree, the significance of the intergenerational dialogue and a new pantheon of heroes were shown to a moderate extent, while providing the inspiration for the new understanding of patriotism – which is so important for the use of remembrance narratives – was not in the sphere of the government’s interest.

Symbolic roles of the democratisation The “Solidarity” leaders understood democracy as giving freedom back to Poles and as the process of redressing wrongs done by the communist regime [Mazowiecki, 1989a; Andrychowicz-Skrzeba, 2014, pp. 365]. Presenting the work programme of his government to the Sejm, Prime

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Minister Mazowiecki said that “our goal is the state which forms the safe framework of individual and collective existence, and only determines the limits of the freedom of individual and citizens’ communities. […] The Polish state […] must be a country in which no citizen will be discriminated or rewarded for his outlook on the world or political views” [Mazowiecki, 1989b]. The new order would thus be the realisation of Polish people’s dream of freedom and sovereignty rather than a reward for those who established it. As I emphasised before, democratisation was presented as a historical necessity and the effect of the society’s victory over the communist regime. The transformation of Poland was a joint achievement of consecutive generations which had fought against the Soviet and German occupation of the country, protested against authoritarianism, and organised pro-democratic opposition. However, it was the “Solidarity” and the Catholic Church that took the lead in this relay of generations in the transitional interpretations of the past [WaáĊsa, 1990a; Mazowiecki, 1989b]. Therefore, the society was to receive a bonus in the form of normality [Mazowiecki, 1989a; Bielecki 1991a]. To a certain extent, democratisation was also a tribute paid to the victims of the communist regime and to the heroes of the combat for independence. It was expressed in the Act on Veterans adopted on 24 January 1991, which introduced considerable changes in the catalogue of national heroes and the act of 23 February 1991 invalidating unjust sentences passed by the PRL courts, thus rehabilitating people repressed by the communists for political reasons. However, the rebirth of the romantic fascination with desperate heroism led to the situation in which the Polish remembrance narratives depicted the struggle of independence of consecutive generations as a noble defeat in the battle against the tyrant and a pillar of national martyrdom rather than a series of acts ended with the democratisation of the state. It was only the “Solidarity” that was shown as a victorious national uprising, although in reality it was also suppressed by the communists. As the result of the return to the roots of Polishness and the symbolic break with communism advocated by the new elites – apart from the consequences for the use of remembrance narratives mentioned before – the selection of narratives of the past and the new pantheon of national heroes were not adapted to the needs of democratisation and could not be a source of civil or capitalist attitudes. The glorification of the interwar authoritarian leader Józef Piásudski and the common commemoration of the defeated army of the 2nd Republic, the Polish Underground State, and the post-war anti-Communist structures, could

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contribute to the strengthening of the need for the hierarchical organisation of the society (which was President WaáĊsa’s intention) rather than to the legitimisation of a democratic order. Making Pope John Paul II a role model could not be effective either, as, despite being an undoubted moral authority for Poles, he did not meet the need for the embodiment of democratic and free market values. The remembrance policy in the years 1989-1992 had to create new narratives, which would be more adapted to the new political and social circumstances, but it failed to do it. Changes in the calendar of national holidays played a relatively small role in the legitimisation and development of a new identity. As early as on 15 February 1989, the communist authorities decided to restore the National Independence Day of 11 November. Mazowiecki’s government contributed to the abolishment of the National Day of the Rebirth of Poland, which was celebrated on 22 July to commemorate the PKWN Manifesto, as well as to the restoration of the 3rd May National Day, cultivating the tradition of the first Polish constitution. In July 1992, the Sejm approved the restoration of the Armed Forces Day, celebrated on 15 August, commemorating the 1920 victory over Bolsheviks in the Battle of Warsaw. All the above changes did not give rise to any social controversy. It was not until 2015 that the National Victory and Freedom Day – celebrated on 9 May according to the Soviet interpretation – was replaced by the National Victory Day – celebrated a day before like in Western Europe. In turn, Labour Day – although devoid of festive marches characteristic of the communist period – remained to be a permanent element of the calendar of national holidays. The “Solidarity” circle considered democratisation to be the ultimate goal – the dream the fulfilment of which would mean a victory over communism. Hence, it did not require legitimisation – it was validated by the very fact that it was carried out. Only the historical necessity of changes was shown to a moderate degree, democratisation as the expression of tribute to the victims of repression was presented to a low extent, while the adaptation of narratives and a pantheon of national heroes to the challenges of democratisation – to a very low degree.

The need for national unity The construction of the neoliberal free market economy in Poland was accompanied by the lack of the programme of social reconstruction, which led to deep divisions in the society and egoistic individualism becoming the pillar of Polish people’s new identity. The decomposition of the “Solidarity” camp became a symbol of this disintegration, because instead

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of validating the idea of political pluralism – as Prime Minister Mazowiecki had assumed [1989a, 1989b] – it became a catalyst for the fragmentation of the society and contributed to the distortion of the Polish political culture through the intensification of social distrust in the state and WaáĊsa’s later embarrassing presidency [Kurski, 2002; Bertram, 2015]. The lack of unity among the new political elites became an example for Polish citizens, who, learning how to live in capitalism, abandoned the ideas of solidarity and social justice. Generally speaking, remembrance narratives during the postauthoritarian transition were not used to justify the need of national unity, nor did they serve – in the face of the lack of the transitional justice programme – the legitimisation of reconciliation and forgiveness. It should be stressed that the “Solidarity” saw unity as neither the goal of democratisation nor a tool for its efficient implementation. Conflicts were to authenticate pluralism and ideological diversity, while a clash between WaáĊsa and Mazowiecki was even perceived as the realisation of democracy in Poland [Wróbel, 2010]. Pluralism was also to be supported by the transformation of the landscape of memory and the reconstruction of the pantheon of national heroes, which took into consideration the historical sensitivity of all social circles except for the communists – eliminated from the Polish collective memory and from the public space. It was assumed that the new selection of narratives and the choice of the most important figures would mirror the social framework of collective memory, making stories and interpretations a part of the state’s rhetoric. However, it is evident that also in the above spheres the new elites’ principal aim was to justify the need for unification. There is no doubt that national unity was the foundation of the “Solidarity” in August 1980 and the leaders of the time considered it to be an indispensable weapon in the fight against the communist dictatorship [Sidorenko, 2008, pp. 117]. In the transition, however, it was replaced by the vision of a pluralist society, the inseparable characteristics of which are conflict and rivalry. This change was visible in the government’s remembrance policy – only the transformation of the landscape of memory from the regime one to the national one was exploited in a moderate manner, while the reconstruction of the system of national heroes was present to a low extent, and the past as the justification of unity and reconciliation and forgiveness – to a very low degree.

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The international integration The idea of Europeannness and a desire for the integration with the Western world were – which I emphasised several times – the pillars of the vision of Poland promoted by the “Solidarity” elites and the cause of the temporariness of the transitional identity politics. The return to Europe was “dictated both by the civilisation reasons and by the desire to secure a successful political transformation in the political and economic sphere, the element of which was the acceleration of modernisation processes” [KuĨniar, 2012, p. 65]. The need for development was an obvious motivation for the intensification of relations with the Western world, but – as President WaáĊsa stressed in his inaugural address [1990a] – Poland belonged to the Western cultural circle, and its return to Europe was to be an element of the restoration of the country’s due position in the international arena. What was of the least significance for the promotion of Europeannness through remembrance narratives was the depiction of past experience as the justification for membership in international organisations and as the explanation of the adaptation of the new standards resulting from increasing integration. In both cases, history had marginal importance and was used only for emphasising the role of Poland’s return to Europe in the deconstruction of the imposed cold war order. In its resolution of 18 December 1991, the Sejm stressed that “membership in the Council of Europe is a symbol of permanent links of the Republic of Poland as a sovereign lawful state with the community of European states.” Prime Minister Olszewski, in turn, [1991] said that Poland should follow the example of “European democracies rebuilding their states after World War II.” The past was to play a much more important role in the justification of European integration as a historical complement to the process of transformation. What underlay the Polish return to Europe was the evacuation of the Soviet army, which put a symbolic end to years of slavery and dependence, and the reconciliation between Poland and Germany, which terminated a long path from hatred after World War II to the readiness for cooperation [Andrychowicz-Skrzeba, 2014, p. 367]. On 26 April 1990, Minister of Foreign Affairs Krzysztof Skubiszewski said that „the Polish-German reconciliation is of enormous importance for both nations, is of great importance for Europe, but it is first of all of the utmost importance in moral terms. […] Severe crimes and sufferings of the time of war are sinking into oblivion, particularly from the point of view of new, young generations. We need to remember about these disgraceful

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acts and treat them as a warning rather than a cause of aversion, prejudice, or even hatred” [Skubiszewski, 1990]. Fast integration with the structures of the Western world was the historical priority of post-authoritarian Poland. It was reflected in the Europe Agreement establishing association between Poland and the European Communities, signed in Brussels on 16 December 1991 [ZiĊba, 2010, p. 104]. Minister Skubiszewski [1992] said about the agreement that it was a historical event defining the future of the country. However, the exploitation of the myth of the return to Europe shows how chaotically the Polish remembrance policy was implemented during the post-authoritarian transition. It is illustrated by Prime Minister Suchocka’s words as she commented on the ratification of the Europe Agreement: “it was a historic decision. […] It first of all gives Poland a chance for increasing its exports” [Suchocka, 1992a]. Therefore, it was this pragmatic economic interest rather than the cultural or civilisation factor that was deemed the primary motivation for the integration with the European Communities. What was equally important was the legitimisation of membership in international organisations as a strategy of obtaining the right and due position at the global arena and an element of the redefinition of the state’s identity in international policy. Minister Skubiszewski said that the dissolution of the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance and the Warsaw Pact in 1991 meant that these inefficient structures, imposed on Central European states by the USSR, had become a thing of the past. The historic significance of change was best expressed in Prime Minister Mazowiecki’s declaration of 12 September 1989. He emphasised that „the situation of Poland in the last 45 years has been largely determined by tensions and conflicts in international politics. Today, as the cold war era has come to an end, a chance arises that our national ambitions may be fulfilled, in accordance with contemporary trends in global politics” [Mazowiecki, 1989b]. A year later, as he stepped down as prime minister, he said that “Poland is steadily rebuilding its prestige in the world. We have come a long road from a single party, aspiring to the leading role in every sphere and performing the function of the superior judge, to the country in which everyone can enjoy freedom, in which the nation actually decides on who exercises power. […] Poland has become the pioneer of changes among all countries originating from the communist bloc” [Mazowiecki, 1990b]. It is the redefinition of the state’s identity in international politics that was shown as the realisation of Polish people’s aspirations and dreams, as the return of Poland to its proper place in the community of dialogue and cooperation [Skubiszewski, 1990]. It enabled Poland to turn from a

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dependent and non-sovereign country into an important participant of European relations, preventing the destabilisation of the continent [Skubiszewski, 1991]. For the new political identity of the society, which came into being at the grassroots level, the success of foreign policy and of the idea of Europeannness was to become a source of the local reinterpretation of the American dream myth, a story of dreams coming true. The conducted research shows that the validation of Poland’s new position in global politics was – along with the legitimisation of the new elites – one of the two most important tasks of the transitional remembrance policy. The myth of the return to Europe complemented narratives of the return to the roots of Polishness and of the break with the communist past. Pro-European orientation united all political forces in the country and was consistently pursued in foreign policy until Poland joined the European Union, which the post-communist President Aleksander KwaĞniewski emphasised one day before the accession [2004]. However, history was only a tool of diplomacy in the transformation period, which was stressed by Minister Skubiszewski. He said: “We are aiming at the legacy of the past not being a burden for the affairs of today and for the prospect of good mutual relations” [Skubiszewski, 1992]. As a result, membership in international organisations was presented as a historical complement of transformation and the act of regaining Poland’s due place in the global community to a high degree, while the membership itself and the consequent adaptation of new standards – to a low extent.

Summary The purpose of the study presented in this chapter was to outline the picture of the politics of memory in the Republic of Poland during the post-authoritarian period. The modernisation of the political system and the transformation of economy – led by the circle of the “Solidarity” opposition – were not supported by any planned strategy of the reconstruction of the society and the establishment of the society’s new political identity. Leaders of the country outlined only the basic framework of social behaviours, defined by symbolic key words: democracy and the rule of law, self-governance and civil society, free market and the middle class, as well as Europeanness and modernisation. They were complemented with two narratives that were fundamental to the Polish transition – the one about the return to the roots of Polishness and that of the break with the communist past. In the absence of the government’s programme of transitional justice, however, the remembrance policy was of secondary, or even marginal, importance in

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the new circumstances. What was to serve the stabilisation of the situation was the future-oriented policy, which enhanced a sense of temporariness characteristic of the transition and which led to the atomisation of the society. It does not mean, however, that remembrance narratives were of no importance for those in power in the years 1989-1992. Where their role was the biggest – though still only a moderate one – was in the justification of the redefinition of the state’s identity in international politics and in its efforts to integrate with the structures of the Western world. It was used to a low extent for the legitimisation of the new political elites and for the adoption of new political standards. The remembrance policy played a marginal role in the explanation of the presence of the representatives of the communist regime in the new order, in showing democratisation as the realisation of a contract between different generations fighting for independence and a tribute to the victims of the repression, a historical need for national unity, and social – including economical – costs of transformation. In turn, it was totally negligible as far as the lack of programme of transitional justice was concerned. For 37 categories included in the study, the most frequent result was a low or very low degree of the use of remembrance narratives, which was recognised in 13 cases. A moderate degree was identified eight times, a high degree – three times, while a very high degree was never observed. The highest result was present only in the area of the justification of the new foreign policy and the legitimisation of the new elites. The lowest possible result was not observed exclusively in the context of a change of the state’s identity at the international arena, being present in seven other spheres. However, a higher than low degree was not identified only with reference to transitional justice and to the explanation of the costs of transformations. This clearly shows which issues were more and which were less significant for the new order in Poland constructed by the “Solidarity” circle. The transitional remembrance policy was characterised by superficial anticommunism, rejecting the legacy of the authoritarian regime and separating from the past with a “thick line” without settling accounts with the crimes of the PRL, not punishing people guilty of the violations of human rights, and failing to come to terms with the post-authoritarian trauma. It was only the political system and economy that became subject to transformation, while the society was reconstructed at the grassroots level. It led to the situation in which for the first twenty-five years of the new political order, issues of decommunization and lustration continued to

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antagonise Poles, but at the same time it contributed to the collapse of the myth of the “Solidarity” and of its legendary leader – Lech WaáĊsa. The past became the axis of social conflicts and a source of sharp divisions, which turned out to be an unexpected outcome of the development of pluralism. On the other hand, it was that policy of identity that underlay the biggest successes of democratic Poland: stable economic growth and the integration with the European Union and NATO, which the new elites had always perceived as their priority.

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