NEW POLISH WRITING
505
signed the declaration. My friend was torn away from his mother, on
her own and dying of cancer, and told that "there will not even be a
lame dog to make your mother tea." He signed the declaration.
There is no point in multiplying the examples of the cruelty of
some, the helplessness of others, of tragic dilemmas and base black–
mail. The decision lies always with the individual's voice of reason
and conscience.
It is difficult to condemn either choice here. Ostracism would in
effect achieve the government's aims: for it is precisely their aim to
break social resistance and human solidarity by creating divisions
and conflicts. However, if one takes a position of tolerance and
understanding, one cannot thereby assume that the very act of sign–
ing the declaration of loyalty is in itself "morally indifferent."
It
is
not. Every declaration of loyalty is an evil, and a declaration coerced
from you is an evil into which you have been coerced. The only dif–
ference is that sometimes it is a lesser evil. The act of signing
deserves understanding, always sympathy, but never praise.
As yet, you know little. Only in a few hours' time will they take
you to Bialoleka, where, in your prison cell, your teeth chattering
with cold, you listen to the radio telling you that a war has been
declared against your nation.
It
was declared by people who govern
in the name of that nation, who in the name of that nation make
declarations and sign international agreements; by people who pub–
licly reach out towards reconciliation, while in secret they instruct
the secret police to hunt and arrest us by night.
And then you are certain that you will not declare your loyalty
to these people, for they themselves are incapable of loyalty.
You do not know yet what this war means. You do not know yet
how the factories and steelworks, the shipyards and mines, will be
stormed. You do not know yet of the bloody Wednesday at the
"Wujek" mine. But one thing you do know: such a declaration
would be a denial of your own self.
It
would wipe out your life's
meaning. It would be the betrayal of people who trusted you; the
betrayal of your friends who are scattered in prisons, sentenced and
interned; the betrayal of your friends who are in hiding, who are
being hunted and prosecuted; the betrayal of all those who will
defend you-in Krakow with a leaflet, in New York and Paris with a
public statement. Nothing is definite yet. Your road is still open to
you. You yourself can still choose, but you know instinctively that to
abandon your dignity is not a price that should be paid for opening
