In Europe

of the same name has a circulation of more than 500,000, spread over 20 local editions, and the group has 2,000 employees. In Warsaw I met cultural editor Anna Bikont, one of the paper's founders in 1989.‘
Gazeta Wyborcza
means “Election Paper”, and that is literally what it was,’ she explains. ‘Because of the elections, Solidarity was allowed to publish its own newspaper for two months, the first free newspaper in the Eastern Bloc. Adam Michnik came up with the idea – he always thought ahead – while the rest of us were still living entirely in that little, underground world of Solidarity. So we started the
Gazeta
, with four women at a kitchen table.’
    For the Poles, the paper's appearance was a major event. ‘The most important thing was the language in which the paper was written. We were complete amateurs, we didn't write in the officialese of the Polish press agency PAP, we wrote in normal Polish. We used news from foreign press agencies, and we called our friends to verify things, we took our news straight from the source.’ The
Gazeta
was characteristic of Solidarity's tactics: its founders and readers did not fight head-on against communism, they simply organised themselves outside the apparatus, and on a massive scale. After the communists were voted out of office, the newspaper continued to be published.
    Anna Bikont: ‘A whole world opened up for us, we got to know more and more people, correspondents began working in all the cities. At first the newspaper and Solidarity were one and the same, we were activists who were making a newspaper, not much more than that. But gradually we became more professional. We found out that there were different kinds of responsibilities: one old comrade became a cabinet minister, the other became a parliamentarian, and we became journalists. It was hard to be critical, because ministers were often personal friends as well. I remember the first time it really became messy. The Solidarity ministers had been given expensive apartments, just as under communism, and we wrote that this was completely inappropriate. They were furious.’
    Within their own ranks as well the editors engaged in heated discussions. ‘Solidarity was a myth,’ Bikont continues. ‘It was, after all, a coalition of three totally diverse groups: trade union people, democratic dissidents and nationalists. In Gdansk, the trade unionists set the tone. In Lódź it was the nationalists; the discussion there was all about changingthe names of the streets. In Warsaw, people were concerned with democratic reforms, with procedures, with maintaining the rule of law. We had had a common enemy to keep us together, but as soon as the enemy disappeared the movement burst like a bubble. For the rise of a democratic Poland, however, our myth proved invaluable.’
    In the end, Lech Walesa himself helped the editors of the
Gazeta
to break out of the dilemma. ‘The masthead of our paper included the Solidarity motto “Nothing divides us”. One day, Walşesa forbade us to use the union logo any longer. I remember how sad we were about that, it had always been a kind of spiritual anchor. But after a few months we started feeling relieved, it was as though the umbilical cord had been severed, as though we had finally grown up.’
    Today, ten years later, Bikont looks back on it all with mixed emotions. ‘It was a huge success, both Solidarity and our paper, but in the end there were no real winners. The nationalists lost, because instead of their ideal Poland we got a democracy and a European Union. The church lost, because the priests didn't gain a foothold in the world of national politics. The democratic opposition lost too, because they didn't anticipate the traumas that a tough new brand of capitalism would bring to a country that had lived so long under a planned economy.
    ‘But there may be one group that won: the young people. They're in favour of Europe, they speak languages, they've travelled, they're open to the world. Great opportunities lie in wait for them. But for the generations that spent most of their lives under communism, hope was the only thing they had, and that hope has never borne fruit.’
    That evening I dine with Jaroslaw Krawczyk, historian and editor-in-chief of
Centuries Speak
magazine. His hangover from the night before needs dealing with, and he does so with large quantities of beer. Outside the snow is falling by the bucketful, the grey flats are almost hidden by the