A Secret Life (52 page)

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Authors: Benjamin Weiser

Tags: #History, #Europe, #Germany, #World, #True Crime, #Espionage

BOOK: A Secret Life
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Asked when he would return to Poland permanently, he replied, “I don’t want to leave here at all.”
 
Afterward, Kuklinski was driven to the cemetery in Rembertow, where his mother was buried and where, on her headstone, his father’s name was also engraved. As the car pulled up, Kuklinski could see a crowd of well-wishers near the gate, some carrying small bunches of lilacs. He placed some of the flowers on his mother’s stone.
 
On his first night in Warsaw, Kuklinski was invited for dinner to the apartment of Roman and Barbara Barszcz, where he and Hanka had spent their last evening in Warsaw in 1981. One guest, a representative from the coal-mining region of Katowice, gave Kuklinski a brick from a wall that a Polish tank had demolished in an attack in a Silesian coal mine on the first day of martial law.
 
The next day, Kuklinski flew to Krakow, where he spent the night in a VIP apartment in the Wawel Royal Castle. He awoke the next morning, April 29, to a glorious sunny day. At noon, a trumpet blared in the city council chamber to announce the beginning of a gala session. Guests were ushered through rigorous security. A choir sang hymns, and the audience broke into loud applause as the city’s mayor bestowed honorary citizenship on Kuklinski.
 
He then delivered an address that was widely anticipated and broadcast live on national radio, saying in part:
 
 
I never doubted that I would return to a free Poland, to the land of my ancestors, of my childhood, adult life, and action which was devoted to that Poland. I did not think, however, that the road to the homeland, so rough and long, would lead in the end through the Royal City, which ennobles truly outstanding people by its heritage. I never aimed, nor do I now aim, so high.
 
I consider myself to be an ordinary soldier of the Republic, who did not do anything beyond the sacred duty of serving one’s homeland in need. What perhaps differentiates me from the enormous number of people involved in the historic transformations of Poland and Europe is the specific nature of the mission I undertook and the [consequences it caused.] It is, therefore, still hard for me to believe that everything I am experiencing at the moment is really happening here in Krakow, and not in my dreams about Poland; that the Republic is today a sovereign state and Poles can unrestrainedly not only talk about their struggles against the evil empire, but honor so highly one of the participants in those struggles, which by some decree of fate, is me today.
 
 
 
There was enthusiastic applause as Kuklinski thanked his hosts, calling honorary citizenship not only “the highest distinction which I could receive in my lifetime,” but an unequivocal statement to restore “the respect which was taken away from me and my good name.” He thanked all who had supported him, a list he said was too long to recite. But there was an exception. “I cannot fail to thank,” he said, “the greatest living Polish poet, Zbigniew Herbert, whose open letter to the former president of the Republic [Walesa] I took as an act of moral cleansing of my name.”
 
Kuklinski said he hoped someday the Polish people would understand his “true goals, intentions, and motivation” and would be able “to acquaint itself with the facts and documents prepared in those years by the evil empire” for a “war of liberation” in Europe.
 
Kuklinski said the white and red banners of Solidarity had shaken the Polish foundation of the Communist empire, but the Soviet “military challenges in Europe and the world could only be met by the defensive alliance of the free world.” NATO had to be made aware of the threats and react appropriately.
 
“I cannot tell you how effective or even how helpful the [secret] mission in which I―as a Pole and a soldier―had the honor and privilege to take part, was. I profoundly believe, however, that it was in the deepest interests of a homeland that was enslaved and subordinated to the imperial aims of the Soviet Union, and that it took the road leading Poland to freedom, and never against.”
 
Kuklinski said his mission never would have succeeded without the Americans, but it was not an American idea; it was an idea that crystallized in Poland, in the General Staff, in the operations directorate, where he and other officers pushed for a reversal of the military’s “suicidal offensive concepts.” But they had been ignored. Only later did he start to consider whether there was any other way out, to develop a plan that would protect Poland from the potential holocaust that threatened it.
 
The 1968 Czech invasion made it clear, he continued, that reform of the Soviet war machine would not happen. He said many Polish officers recognized that the Soviet Union, “which attacked Poland in collusion with Hitler and which divided up the Polish spoils in collusion with Hitler, which was weighed down with the crimes of the mass deportation of the Polish population, Katyn, and the betrayal of the Warsaw Uprising, was not an ally but an oppressor who had enslaved Poland, [and] imposed a vassal government and a communist system on it.”
 
The army’s role in the crushing of the Czech revolution and in the massacre of striking workers on the Polish coast in 1970 settled his conversion, he said, “from enigmatic words and desires to deeds.”
 
He described his “desperate attempt to enter into operational military cooperation with the United States.” He explained how he had first contacted the Americans and how they rejected his proposal of a conspiracy between Poland and the West.
 
“In that way, I remained on the field of battle alone―in the minds of a certain part of Polish society still someone without honor―who acted to the detriment of Poland. I believe that history will correct this at some time.”
 
Kuklinski noted he had worn the uniform of a Polish soldier for thirty-four years with pride, but he did not condemn officers who had made other choices. “I not only never placed the mission I had undertaken in opposition to the selfless service of my former comrades in arms,” he said, “but I never placed it higher either.
 
“Collective opposition to Soviet hegemony in the army was impossible and pointless. There were among us people who saw in servility towards the Soviet Union their road to a career and to promotion. In the great majority, it was however a deeply patriotic army, and a cadre concerned about the security and the fate of our state.”
 
Kuklinski recalled the motto―“Love demands sacrifice”―embroidered by the women of Vilnius on the banner that was sent through the underground during World War II to the Polish Airborne Division in Britain. He said that after he joined the army and his faith and beliefs “began to be taken away from me, I added one more word to that motto: Love demands sacrifice and loyalty―loyalty to one God, and to one, the only homeland, Poland.” There was sustained applause.
 
“Today’s beautiful ceremony,” Kuklinski concluded, “the honorary citizenship of the Royal City of Krakow―[a city] which appeared to me since childhood as the heart and soul of Poland―confirms my belief that it was the right choice.”
 
Thunderous applause and cheers erupted. In the evening, Kuklinski appeared before hundreds of students and professors at the historic Jagiellonian University, and the next day, he visited Market Square in Krakow, where he placed a flower at the site where Tadeusz Kosciuszko took the oath as leader of the 1794 uprising against Russia. He also visited the Nowa Huta steel mill, site of an important Solidarity strike in 1981.
 
That evening, Kuklinski was among the audience of about 800 people that attended a concert in his honor at the philharmonic hall in Krakow. A young girl handed him a bouquet of red and white flowers, and the music of Chopin filled the auditorium. An actor in a black suit offered a reading of a poem by Zbigniew Herbert called “Report from the Besieged City,” which was written after the 1981 martial-law crackdown.
 
 
Too old to carry arms and fight like the others—
 
 
they graciously gave me the inferior role of chronicler
I record—I don’t know for whom—the history of the siege
 
 
I am supposed to be exact but I don’t know when the invasion began
two hundred years ago in December in September perhaps yesterday at dawn
everyone here suffers from a loss of the sense of time...
The stirring words echoed through the hall as the actor concluded,
 
 
 
cemeteries grow larger the number of defenders is smaller
yet the defense continues it will continue to the end
and if the City falls but a single man escapes
he will carry the City within himself on the roads of exile
he will be the city
we look in the face of hunger the face of fire face of death
worst of all—the face of betrayal
 
 
and only our dreams have not been humiliated.
 
The next day, April 30, the U.S. Senate voted 80-19 to approve Poland’s entry into NATO. Ambassador Kozminski, who watched the vote in the Senate chamber, later spoke by phone with Kuklinski, who offered his congratulations.
 
Over the following days, as Kuklinski traveled around Poland, he received plaques and medals, miner’s hats, swords, postage stamps produced in the underground, and flowers. On Friday, May 1, the former Communist holiday in Poland, Kuklinski was taken by helicopter to a mountain near Zakopane. Accompanied by his bodyguards, he hiked down, greeting hundreds of tourists who asked for his autograph and posed with him for photographs.
 
On Saturday, Kuklinski flew to Katowice, a major industrial and mining center in Silesia in southern Poland where riot police had killed nine striking miners at the Wujek colliery in the early days of martial law. At the airport, an orchestra played folk melodies, and Kuklinski was given a tray of bread and salt, a traditional Polish welcome. On May 3 he received honorary citizenship from the Gdansk city council. A Home Army cross was pinned on his chest, and he was given a wooden armchair engraved with his name.
 
At noon he walked with many ceremony attendees to the huge St. Mary’s Cathedral, where thousands were attending mass. To his surprise, the Catholic bishop, Tadeusz Goclowski, introduced him to the congregation. The crowd began to sing, “May he live 100 years,” and “Stay with us.”
 
Kuklinski’s visit continued to spur a debate about patriotism and duty. On May 4 he told 500 students and professors at Gdansk University that he had decided he could not blindly obey Jaruzelski, and that loyalty to superiors did not rank higher than loyalty to his country. “Soldiers are not like the Mafia,” he said. “They can refuse to obey commanding officers who are disloyal to their country.”
 
Jaruzelski and other critics attacked Kuklinski on radio and television. Adam Michnik, editor of
Gazeta Wyborcza
, who had been imprisoned by Jaruzelski during martial law, wrote that Kuklinski should not be seen as a hero. “If this entire hullabaloo surrounding Kuklinski’s visit is to signify that the attitude to Kuklinski and the American Special Services is to be a litmus test of patriotic Poles, then that will be the pitiful finale to the Polish dream of freedom.”
 
On Wednesday, May 6, back in Warsaw, Kuklinski unveiled a monument to Polish officers massacred by the Soviets at Katyn. Thousands of people attended, including families of the murdered officers and an honor guard of firemen. That evening, Kuklinski paid a quiet visit to Zbigniew Herbert, who at age seventy-three was severely ill. (Herbert died three months later.)
 
The next day, after placing flowers at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Kuklinski boarded a flight to Chicago. He would never forget the rousing welcome he had received in Poland, but he also remembered the last time he had made this flight westward seventeen years earlier.
The wind turned over only one page, and your city disappeared,
Waldek had written. Kuklinski understood what his son had meant, his feeling of loss and displacement. In deciding to cooperate with the West, Kuklinski at least knew he had made a choice freely, understanding the risks.
I have boundless faith in the rightness of what I am doing,
he once had written to Daniel. He did not regret his boldness. But his family had known nothing of his aspirations or his convictions, and when they did learn, they had accompanied him out of sheer faith.
I will follow you anywhere
, Bogdan had said.
We must try
, Hanka had insisted. Maybe now, Kuklinski thought, his name would find its place.
 
 
 
 
In recent years, Kuklinski has lived quietly in the United States, making infrequent public appearances, mostly to groups of Polish veterans. In November 1999, the George Bush School of Government and Public Service at Texas A&M University held a three-day conference on intelligence and the end of the Cold War. The session concluded with a memorial service, at which CIA Director George Tenet spoke of agency officers who had fallen in the line of duty. He noted that each was represented by a gold star on the granite wall in the agency’s front lobby.

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