Meeting was humbling

Lech Walesa’s right.
The legendary leader of the Polish movement Solidarity scoffed at the announcement that this year’s Nobel Peace Prize would go to the European Union.
Walesa was, as we recall, similarly critical of the decision to hand the peace prize to President Obama when he still qualified by anyone’s calculations as a rookie.
His argument this time wasn’t that the existence of the European Union hadn’t brought about lasting peace in Europe but that the people in charge were simply doing their jobs. This is what they get paid for.
The peace prize, Walesa — a former recipient — argued, should go to people who put themselves personally at risk to change the world for the better.
Walesa certainly fits that definition. So do Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela, and F.W. de Klerk, who transformed South Africa. So does Aung San Suu Kyi of Burma/Myanmar.
And so does, we believe, a man by the name of Ales Bialiatski.
Never heard of him? That’s the way it goes for freedom fighters. If all goes well, they may have a shot at the Nobel Peace Prize. One wrong turn and it’s death behind bars or a trip to the forest with some guys with guns.
Ales Bialiatski is the former head of a non-governmental organization in Belarus called Viasna, which translates as Spring. He’s also vice president of the International Federation for Human Rights.
Viasna’s mission was to catalogue the human rights abuses of the regime of Alexander Lukashenka and publicize those abuses to the outside world.
Not surprisingly, the government soon ruled Viasna to be illegal. Its license to operate was pulled. It was, in effect, banned.
That’s where it was in the spring of 2005 when I arrived in Belarus.
My work involved visiting newspapers, talking to editors and reporters and publishers and ad directors, trying to help them figure out how to cope with conditions that seem unimaginable in this country.
And then my interpreter suggested a side trip, a trip to an underground organization, a trip to Viasna.
It wasn’t far off the main drag in Minsk, about midway between the center of the city and the place I was staying.
There was a restaurant in front with a windmill sign for a popular beer called “Stary Melnik,” which translates as Old Miller or Old Mill. Around back, we ran into some folks who were suspicious about why we were there.
My interpreter explained, and we were led to a locked door.
When it was opened, we were led to an empty room. And then a man came in.
He was gaunt and thin, with white hair. Younger than I, he looked older.
He certainly looked wiser.
I was stunned that he’d taken the time to visit with a small town newspaper guy from Indiana, but my interpreter was a third generation dissident. His name carried weight and opened many doors.
How long did we talk? I couldn’t tell you. But I recall his passion and his dedication and his resolve.
When I left, I carried with me a Viasna-published book listing a single year’s abuses of human rights by the Belarusian government. It is an inch thick.
That man never told me his name.
But based upon the numerous photos on the Internet, I’m sure it was Ales Bialiatski.
I’d ask my interpreter — in fact, I started to ask him in an email — but he’s at risk as well. That’s why I haven’t mentioned his name here.
As for Ales Bialiatski, he’s been in prison for more than one year because of his belief in human rights in the country of his birth.
I figure Lech Walesa would consider him a worthy candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize.
I agree and am humbled to have met him.[[In-content Ad]]