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living legends of Solidarity's heyday, such as Walesa hirnsel£ By the time this
essay appears in print, Walesa may well have been elected president of
Poland, if the elections are indeed to be held as early as he wishes and if
Polish people choose to remember his jump over the Lenin Shipyard fence in
1980 or his steadfastness during martial law, rather than his more recent
displays of unmitigated ambition and autocratic manner. Yes, he may be the
new Polish Republic's first democratically elected president. Yet the methods
to which he resorted in order to promote his candidacy - getting rid of
all
his
most loyal collaborators who might try to persuade him not to run; sur–
rounding himself with a circle of yesmen and people with their own petty
agendas for personal advancement or revenge; groundless attacks on Ma–
zowiecki's government; irresponsible wielding of populist slogans; stirring ir–
rational resentments and pitting social groups against each other; barely
masked aspirations to authoritarian power - leave the observer with a feel–
ing of, to use the word once again, sadness. There is every reason to rejoice
when a common man achieves historic greatness. There is every reason to
be sad when a great historical figure turns out to be a small man.
"Post-totalitarian melancholy," as Tzvetan Todorov has aptly called it,
is descending on Eastern Europe. What else could you expect after last
year's euphoria?
Omne animal post victoriam triste.
It's the unavoidable
tristesse
of human normality, of the world inhabited by petty-minded oppor–
tunists rather than noble spirits, consisting of compromises and concessions
rather than heroic struggle and resistance, lit by the pluralistic chiaroscuro of
different interests and opinions rather than the dazzling light ofcommon goals
and truths shared by all.
Still, it gives me pleasure to remember a moment last May, when in a
bus rushing through downtown Warsaw I caught myself registering two
things at once. One was the fact that I couldn't find the monument of Felix
Dzerzhynski where it always used to be. The other was the laughter and
high-pitched voices of four kids in nearby seats, apparently high-school
freshmen, who amused themselves by debating out loud Uokingly, but with a
profound knowledge of the subject) what position in Poland's government
each of them would accept, had he or she been made an offer. When these
two sensations intersected, I was struck by one thought. These kids have no
fear, and they do have hope. Whatever may happen, they stand a good
chance they will have lived all their lives in a Poland where no Felix Dz–
erzhynski is given a monument and life does not resemble fish aspic. If only
for that, it was worth it.
If
only these kids can go on laughing like that, give
us all the "post-totalitarian melancholy" there is.
August 1990
