海角大神

It was late fall of 1987 in Poland, and the economic and social forces here were fueling tremors that would eventually fell communism across the Soviet bloc.

Among a group of influential men 鈥� law professors 鈥� at a dinner party one evening was a Communist Party member brainstorming how to throw a bone to pro-democracy activists. The group was tasked with floating a name for a human rights ombudsman; that of legal scholar Ewa 艁臋towska kept surfacing. A devoted academic who had pumped out two decades of legal research on topics as benign as consumer protections and contract law, she was a respectable but safe choice.

鈥淭hey said, 鈥榃e want a woman, because women might be easier to manipulate,鈥欌�� Ms. 艁臋towska says in an interview in her Warsaw flat, lined floor to ceiling with books and opera records. She laughs at this memory that she possesses only because her lawyer husband was among the men feasting on schnitzel at that monthly table for regulars.

If it was a wallflower they wanted, it turned out to be a miscalculation of historic proportion: They launched a stateswoman.

Her trajectory as Poland鈥檚 top human rights thinker, she says, started 鈥渓oudly, and with a bang鈥� when she was named the country鈥檚 human rights ombudsman soon after the dinner party, pioneering the balance between the state and the individual in the waning days of communism.

She was an accidental influencer who, four decades later, now in her 80s, is a sought-after talking head, issuing viral social media posts about democracy. And when voters sent their right-wing government packing last October, a coalition of progressives turned to the wisdom and experience of Ms. 艁臋towska and her contemporaries.

They鈥檙e looking for help to fix Poland鈥檚 institutions after the populists turned the country away from the European Union, rolled back civil rights such as abortion, took over the media and judiciary, and questioned the country鈥檚 humanitarian aid duties.

Ms. 艁臋towska value to Polish society cannot be overstated, says Helena Chmielewska-Szlajfer, a sociologist and assistant professor at Ko藕mi艅ski University. 鈥淪he鈥檚 a living legend, and she has the authority of this wise, powerful woman who set the institutions right in the beginning. She worked on this at a time it was the hardest 鈥� the intermediary stage between communism and democracy. And she still has much to say.鈥�

A trip to Hamburg opens her eyes

In 1980, the world saw burly Solidarity unionist Lech Wa艂臋sa leading a revolt against communist authorities for worker rights 鈥� and eventually winning a Nobel Prize for it. But it was the progressive technocrats quietly blooming in that politically fertile time who did the less spectacular but essential work of building a democratic legal framework.

Until then, Ms. 艁臋towska had forged her career as an impartial civil law professor, neither courting the communist regime nor joining the opposition. For instance, she鈥檚 on the record saying that the communist martial law of the early 1980鈥檚 was 鈥済rim鈥� but that she didn鈥檛 have enough information to say whether it was 鈥渘ecessary.鈥�

Ms. 艁臋towska now confidently says she was 鈥渁 success [as ombudsman]. I was a state official to society, who brought more dialogue, more transparency. At the same time, I didn鈥檛 want a political future.鈥�

In an era when one didn鈥檛 easily trust one鈥檚 neighbor, there was little subversive in her 鈥榞ood girl鈥� youth to suggest she would emerge a strong voice for human rights and democracy. She channeled her incessant curiosity into books and music 鈥� a passion that would later drive her to bring in literature and records that were difficult to obtain from behind the Iron Curtain.

On rare study trips abroad 鈥� few Polish scholars were trusted to leave the country 鈥� she might use German colleagues鈥� photocopiers to reproduce expensive legal tomes, like handbooks and casebooks on human rights law. Other times she would barter in the West, swapping her sought-after Soviet records for volumes published there.

After law school in the 1960s, she published articles about civic law issues, rising through the ranks as a professor at the Polish Academy of Sciences鈥� Institute of Law Studies.

A trip to the West 鈥� Hamburg, Germany 鈥� in the early 1980s was a turning point. She happened upon a demonstration by feminists who were 鈥渟habby, with unkempt hair, shouting.鈥� She has forgotten what they were protesting, but from the other side of the street, she could see citizens hurling insults at the women.

鈥淎nd in between you could see a line of police, with stone faces making sure no one gets hurt, being completely indifferent, and providing this space for demonstrating,鈥� says Ms. 艁臋towska. 鈥淚t was the first time in my life I saw police not beating demonstrators 鈥� but rather protecting them. This is how I finally understood how things should be.鈥�

鈥漈he people of Hamburg would never know how much credit they should take, quite by accident, in my education,鈥� she says.

Staring back at Big Brother

Half a decade after that trip, she was named Poland鈥檚 first human rights official, judging the conduct of the state toward its citizens. If Big Brother had once peeked over her shoulder, she was now turning around and staring back.

Should political parties have to register with the state? No, she famously wrote in 1988, when Poland was still under communist rule: 鈥淭he constitution stated clearly: if parties want to form, let them form. Registration is required only for associations.鈥�

鈥淚t was a big deal, when I wrote that,鈥� says Ms. 艁臋towska says, raising her eyebrows as she lifts a cup of tea.

A few years later, when the police called in state television to film an arrest for demonstrative purposes, as they searched a citizen鈥檚 home, she says, 鈥淚 criticized that. I wrote that basic human rights pacts say privacy should be protected.鈥�

These were important symbolic steps, among many, that demonstrated to the watching public that the regime needed to bend to obey the law 鈥� and not the other way around.

After the communist regime fell in 1989, she found herself among the legal scholars helping to modernize the Polish Constitution. Describing the pioneering nature of how they crafted the founding documents, she smiles: 鈥淥ne of my colleagues would be sitting in the library at Parliament 鈥� and came up with the now fundamental phrase 鈥楾he Republic of Poland shall be a democratic state ruled by law.鈥欌��

In 1999, she was named to one of the nation鈥檚 highest courts, and three years later, at age 62 she rose to be a judge of the Constitutional Tribunal, responsible for judging compliance with the constitution of everything from tax reforms to trade agreements. She officially retired from the tribunal in 2011, having delivered public judgments for nearly 100 cases, but continues to mentor law students today.

Her role in shaping history gives her gravitas today as 鈥渙ne of the most important figures defending the rule of law, and also one of the most vocal of all the legal experts,鈥� says Weronika Kiebzak, a legal analyst with Polityka Insight.

Across Ms. 艁臋towska鈥檚 desk passed early, urgent questions about individual privacy and human rights 鈥� foreign concepts under communism. Her most forward-thinking ideas came with her insistence that all courts, from the highest down to the most local, should be able to interpret the constitution. 鈥淪he wanted judges to have more courage 鈥� 鈥榙ispersed constitutional control,鈥欌�� says Ms. Kiebzak, but the idea was never implemented.

That lonely position she staked out decades ago gained fresh urgency when populists took over the tribunal during the last government, leaving no other body with the authority to interpret the constitution.

鈥淢y God, how they cursed me鈥� in the 1990s, she says now. 鈥淏ut if they鈥檇 taken the trouble to do it right earlier...鈥�

A quieter voice, but still heard

Most days, Ms. 艁臋towska sips tea in her home, spending hours reading, writing, and fielding media calls. (She turned down four calls during the afternoon the Monitor spent with her.) She will also travel to conferences and public events as an invited speaker.

She鈥檚 busy being 84. Harder of hearing, slower of step, she鈥檚 keenly aware of her age. 鈥滻 have no family; I鈥檓 completely alone,鈥� she says. But she indulges her sparky stamina. A trainer comes to her flat several times a week, and she can do 20 鈥渓ady pushups.鈥�

Ms. 艁臋towska also reminisces about her husband, who died in 1999, mourning their record collection, which she is giving away. As her hearing declines, she can no longer fully enjoy it. 鈥淚t was a very valuable collection,鈥� she says, eyes resting momentarily on an empty space on a bookshelf.

But her nation, rebuilding after stumbles, draws on her elder wisdom today as it did in its early days of democracy. 鈥淚鈥檓 a lawyer and adviser 鈥�. The most I can say is that 鈥榠f you do this, it will work out here but not here,鈥� she says of her legal tinkering.

Her theorizing often plays out across social media, such as in a lengthy Facebook post last summer to her 35,000 followers that was shared hundreds of times. The post started with a nod to her own continuing role as arbiter. 鈥淲e keep asking what is the law?鈥� she wrote. 鈥淲hat will the expert say?鈥�

Might her most important thinking be ahead?

鈥淎s long as I鈥檓 mentally fit, I鈥檓 here to offer my thoughts,鈥� she says, remaining exactly as she was when she first came into Poland鈥檚 consciousness 鈥� an accidental influencer.

Piotr 呕akowiecki contributed to this report.