Gdansk now rusty shadow for Poles

The gates of the former Lenin Shipyard in Gdansk are rusting and beyond them, the signs of neglect are unmistakable - overgrown…

The gates of the former Lenin Shipyard in Gdansk are rusting and beyond them, the signs of neglect are unmistakable - overgrown grass borders, broken windows and a chilly, silent atmosphere.

The shipyard where, in 1980, a group of workers began the protest which would lead to the collapse of communism in Europe, has been privatised and is now owned by a former shipyard worker. "It would be very difficult to have such a protest today because those who have a job are very careful not to lose it," according to Father Henryk Jankowski, the local priest and former chaplain to Solidarity.

One reason such a protest would be difficult is that the shipyard, which now employs 2,800 people compared to 18,000 in 1980, forbids its workers to join a trade union.

A few minutes' walk from the shipyard, a luxurious, new shopping arcade boasts smart boutiques selling fine wines, expensive scent and designer fashions. Supermarkets are almost indistinguishable from those in Germany, their shelves groaning with all the culinary delights that money can buy.

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"In the old days, the shops were empty and the people had money. Now the shops are full and the people have no money. There are now two classes, the very poor with monthly pensions of 300 - 600 zloty (u£62.50 - u £125) and the very rich. And the communists have now become capitalists," Father Jankowski says.

Polish incomes are low by western standards and, with almost 12 per cent of the workforce unemployed, it is easy to understand the anxiety of those with jobs to keep them. But, although economic growth has slowed in recent years, there is no denying this country of 40 million inhabitants is one of the economic success stories of the region.

The "shock therapy" introduced in the early 1990s saw half of Poland's industry privatised within five years and much trade previously linked to the Soviet bloc has been redirected to the West. Poland has joined the Council of Europe, the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development and NATO, and it will be among the first states from central and eastern Europe to join the European Union.

In a fashionable bar in the seaside town of Sopot, a few miles west of Gdansk, the customers look like any group of well-heeled young Europeans, their mobile phones chirping merrily every few minutes as they sip cocktails or drink beer.

Rafel Grad, a 22-year-old student of economics, can scarcely remember life under communism, but he has no doubt that life in Poland has improved dramatically since 1989.

"Before that, everything was in black and white. If you look around you now, you can see how colourful and alive people are. It was a great shock for older people who had to adapt to the capitalist system, but I'd like to work for a company for a few years and then set up on my own," he says.

Like most young Poles who are not married, Rafel lives with his parents and yearns for the day he can move into a place of his own. He is a Catholic who attends Mass every Sunday and admires Pope John Paul II as one of the great figures of the century, but he wants Poland to become more a more liberal society and favours such changes as the legalisation of abortion.

"I go to church regularly, but I have strong reservations about priests. They want people to do everything according to their instructions. They try to influence politics too, which is horrible."

Father Jankowski's attempts to influence politics backfired four years ago when he was forbidden to preach for a year following a sermon in which he claimed that Jews in the Polish cabinet were acting against the country's interests.

Although Poland's Jewish community numbers no more than 8,000 and fewer than 25,000 others are of Jewish origin, many Poles share Father Jankowski's anti-Semitism.

"I don't regret anything I said. I was only telling the truth," he says.

This residual anti-Semitism, which is reminiscent of the casual anti-Jewish feeling in many parts of Europe before the first World War, is a symptom of what Rafel describes as a lack of maturity in Polish democracy. A recent opinion poll showed that fewer than 50 per cent of Poles now favour joining the EU, partly out of fear that many of the country's 2.5 million farmers will be driven off the land.

"It's a normal process for countries to come together and I'm sure Poland will join at some stage. But mentally, we're not ready now," he says.

As Rafel glances around at his peers enjoying the fruits of freedom and relative prosperity, he is confident that Poland's economic future is bright, but he fears social change may come more slowly.

"I'd love Poland to become a liberal society but I don't think it's possible. Maybe when I'm my parents' age, but not now."