CONGRESSIONAL RECORD – EXTENSIONS OF REMARKS

July 1, 1964

PAGE 15774

Senator Muskie Pays Tribute to Polish Constitution

EXTENSION OF REMARKS OF HON. ROMAN C. PUCINSKI OF ILLINOIS IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES

Wednesday, July 1, 1964

Mr. PUCINSKI. Mr. Speaker, our distinguished colleague from Maine, Senator EDMUND S. MUSKIE, delivered an eloquent address at the Polish Constitution Day observance in Cleveland, Ohio, on May 3.

It is a pleasure to call Senator MUSKIE's inspiring message to the attention of my colleagues. Senator MUSKIE'S speech has universal significance, for it reaffirms and acknowledges the cherished ideals of freedom and independence which burn in the hearts of Poland's captive people.

Mr. Speaker, Senator MUSKIE'S speech follows:

ADDRESS OF SENATOR EDMUND S. MUSKIE, DEMOCRAT, OF MAINE

I consider it a great personal privilege to be with you today, on the 173d anniversary of the Polish Constitution of 1791. May 3, 1791, was a day of significance for all freedom loving people. For on that day, a group of brave and visionary Poles wrote an important page in the never-ending book of freedom.

Few events in Polish history match the drama of the May 3 constitution. The partition of 1792 had once again imposed the yoke of foreign domination upon the people of Poland. But in 1786, Frederick the Great of Prussia died, and Prussian policy became one of opposition to Russia and friendship with Poland.

Russia was distracted by war with Turkey, and Austria by the French Revolution of 1789. Thus -- for one brief moment in history -- the Poles were free to fashion a future for themselves.

In 1791 the spirit of freedom was sweeping across the globe like a fresh spring breeze. The American Declaration of Independence and Constitution were new and noble documents. The French declaration of the rights of man made an important impression upon the members of the Polish Diet. And concern over renewed Russian interest in Polish affairs added a sense of urgency to the deliberations of that spring of 1791.

Finally, on May 3, amid wild excitement throughout Poland, the constitution was approved. Its noble purpose was stated in these words:

"All power in civil society should be derived from the will of the people, its end and object being the preservation and integrity of the state, the civil liberty and good order of society on an equal scale and on a lasting foundation."

The Constitution changed the Government of Poland from an ‘absolute monarchy’ to a hereditary monarchy, with regular meetings of the Parliament, and responsible Ministers. The Third of May Constitution reorganized the life of Poland, providing for political, economic, and social reforms. The powers of king and nobility were reduced, and relations between peasants and landlords were placed under the rule of law. The schools were reformed, and the new organization of her society would have enabled Poland to develop her resources and gain a new sense of democratic national consciousness.

As we all know, the Constitution was never put to work and the Polish people were again subjugated by force. But the spirit which gave birth to that great document cannot be subjugated by force. It has lived through centuries of conquest and oppression. It lives on today, in the hearts and minds of Poles everywhere.

It is the spirit of freedom.

Every person of Polish ancestry who came to America in later years brought with him a part of that Constitution. They brought with them the burning desire to be free, and we are all richer in spirit today because of it.

Being here with you today, seeing many old friends and acquaintances, brings back memories of my father and of a trip I took to his birthplace a few years ago. In 1959 I made a 27-day tour of the Soviet Union. At the end of that trip, I took advantage of the opportunity to spend two all-too-brief days in Poland.

As you may know, my father was born in Poland. He left it 64 years ago at the age of 17 in search of freedom and opportunity. He found both, not only for himself, but also for his children -- and for that we will be eternally grateful.

At the same time, he always spoke to us warmly of his homeland, the loveliness and the scenes of his childhood.

Remote as the possibility seemed, I wanted to find the village where he was born, in order that I might tread, in his name, the soil to which he never found it possible to return in his lifetime.

I found it -- a tiny rural village called Jasiomowka, 20-odd miles north of Bialystok, not too far from the Russian border, in what was described to me as the saddest part of Poland.

To reach it, I drove 75 miles northeasterly from Warsaw. The main roads in Poland are excellent and we made good time -- thoroughly enjoying the flat but pleasant and attractive countryside and the mild and sunny autumn day. As we approached the village, we passed, of all coincidences, a lake with a familiar name, Augusta. At this point, I became profoundly moved as I considered that in a matter of minutes my eyes would see fields, streams, and trees, and possibly even faces, that my father's eyes had last seen more than half a century before.

We had left the main road and were driving over a narrow, cobbled country road. As we topped a slight rise, there came into view in the distance a large white building, somewhat shabby, but clinging to the shreds of an ancient dignity, which I instinctively felt must be the manor house of a nobleman's estate which my grandfather had managed at the turn of the century. And so it proved to be, now converted to a state farm with a new barn, some battered older buildings, ruins of others, and a small duck pond which may have been a favorite spot for children in my father's day. A short distance beyond the pitiful unpainted, weather-beaten homes of the villagers were clustered about a broad square, dominated by the stately white church which my father attended.

In sharp contrast to the Soviet Union the folks are devout in their belief in God and extremely conscientious in discharging their religious duties. It was heartwarming to see them swarming to the churches on Sunday morning, walking, on bicycles, or in spotless wagons, behind their horses. Their extremely difficult economic and political circumstances seem simply to strengthen their faith in God's purposes.

With little more than an hour at my disposal, my first objective was to find some trace of my father's family. We proceeded to the local presidium and almost immediately located a friendly girl who recalled an old lady bearing the family name. She escorted us to a drab little house on one of the side streets. We knocked on the door and entered. In a dark little cubbyhole of a kitchen, I met the widow of my father's brother, tiny and stooped under the weight of almost 80 years. With her was my father's niece, herself a widow with a young child, her husband killed in the war. Having grasped the almost incomprehensible fact of my identity, my cousin quickly showed me pictures of my father and my mother which he had sent her long ago, and letters he had written. They did not know of his death and accepted his silence over the past 3 years as just another of the burdens which filled their daily lives.

By this time, the local grapevine had spread the word and the street in front of the little house swarmed with villagers. They were obviously delighted to welcome me and wanted to know all about me and my family. A surveillance team had picked us up on the border of Bialystok Province and followed us. The villagers were highly amused when these two representatives of the state police rather shamefacedly refused my invitation to pose for pictures which I said I wanted to show the Deputy Foreign Minister when I met him that afternoon.

It is difficult to comprehend the economic circumstances of the people in that little village -- the bareness of their lives. They have no meat; they stand in line for bread. Their diet appears to consist of potatoes and cabbage. The monthly wage is roughly the equivalent of $10 to $20. Their personal possessions are almost unbelievably meager. This is indeed the saddest part of Poland. But for my father's dream of freedom and opportunity this would be my life the life of my children.

And what of the people who live this life? They have courage. They have their belief, and their faith in God. They value friendship, and love, and family ties, and derive such happiness as they know from these. Sadly, however, they have no hope that their lot will be improved. And the result is a deep apathy which stifles ambition and interest in the public issues which will shape their future.

Poland is a country in an almost hopeless political and economic dilemma. Its people historically have cherished independence and freedom and love of country above all else. Geographically, today, they find themselves in such proximity to the Russian colossus that like the turtle they are forced to withdraw into the shell of their obvious security alliances. Were they free to do otherwise, their hearts and their traditions would take them elsewhere.

Economically, following the war, the Russians in their own interests, developed an industrial complex in Poland, notably steel and textiles, which make the country almost irrevocably committed to the Soviet Union for the necessary raw materials. It must rely upon coal and agriculture for the exports to balance its international payments and its agricultural lands are fragmentized into small holdings which are committed to ancient unmechanized methods and practices which fall far short of the production necessary to meet domestic needs and export requirements. These current difficulties, which I have probably oversimplified for the sake of brevity, plus centuries of living in the crossroads of war in Eastern Europe, have made my father's village what it is today.

The past and the present time created a far different, more comfortable, and better world for me than they have for my cousins.

Must this be?

What does the future hold?

We speak constantly of a just peace. We pray for it. But what would a just peace mean to my cousins? And there are many, many more millions in the world, living in circumstances, no better, and indeed, far worse than they.

Before I left the village, I visited the cemetery in search of my grandparents' graves. There was no trace. As is so often the case in Europe, they are probably at rest two or three layers deep. People have lived and died for many many centuries in this part of the world

            -- some with their grinding misery and their fleeting happiness

            -- some with flaming hopes, and others with forlorn hopelessness

            -- some, with lives of abundance and more with lives of emptiness.

Europe is an ancient civilization. We are an outgrowth of it, and, out of this deep past, its lessons and experience, as well as its aspirations, we seek the promise of a brighter future for all mankind. Can we find it? May God will it so.

As we drove away from the village, I caught a last chance glimpse of the white church, gleaming as it shed its shabbiness in the sunlight in the distance. Suddenly and hauntingly, I felt myself to be a second generation bearer of the dream of freedom and opportunity which prompted my father to leave his home behind him.

When I returned to America, I knew, as I never really knew before, why my father left his home. I knew, as I never really knew before, the meaning of freedom of choice and freedom of expression. I knew, as I never really knew before, the meaning of freedom for the individual,

On this memorable day, each of us has much to be thankful for.