Gdansk  - Tourists visiting Poland's Baltic coast often snap photos at the gates of Gdansk's shipyard, famous as the site where Lech Walesa founded the Solidarity trade union and helped topple the country's communist regime.

Today the gates are adorned with plastic flowers, posters of John Paul II and flags bearing the red "Solidarnosc" logo. A kiosk nearby sells postcards of the iconic union leader and t-shirts saying, "God, Honor, Nation."

But past the gates, inside the vast industrial complex of workshops and storehouses, much has remained the same since the 1980s: From the grimy rotary phones in the lobby to the rusty equipment that slows production and forces Polish workers to Norway for better pay.

The yards reflect Poland's larger duality. The former Soviet bloc is eager to show outsiders its face as a modern, influential member of the European Union. But inside, the post-communist transition is not over yet.

Poland is now a proud member of NATO and boasts an increased relevance in the European Union. This year, the Polish zloty shot to historic highs against the dollar and lured many immigrants working in the UK to return home.

But the Baltic shipyards stand as a relic of communism, left behind in Poland's journey to prosperity.

Since the fall of communism, the yards have run into severe financial difficulties. Since 2002, they have been kept afloat by state aid and production guarantees totaling some 3 billion euros.

The European Commission launched an investigation into state aid schemes in 2005. Under the European Union's strict competition rules, aid which is not used to rescue and restructure companies is illegal.

EU officials say successive Polish governments failed to give Brussels a restructuring plan with cuts deep enough to keep the yards alive without further aid.

Things came to a head in November when Brussels told the Polish government to sell off two loss-making shipyards in Gdynia and Szczecin.

Polish authorities have agreed to sell the yards' assets by May 2009, using the proceeds to repay creditors and return illegal aid to the state.

The deal alarmed Poland, with media speculating the yards could be bought up by investment funds that have little interest in maintaining ship production or keeping jobs.

"Will Brussels kill what Moscow couldn't?" one Solidarity banner asked at a Brussels demonstration in June.

In Poland, the case raises intense feelings. The sentiment reaches beyond Polish borders, with Kroes calling the yards "without a doubt one of the hardest proposals" she has had as competition commissioner.

As Poland scrambles to find investors before the deadline, shipyard workers worry about layoffs, an uncertain future and money for this year's Christmas.

The Gdansk shipyard was recently privatized, but is still plagued by outdated equipment and worries about the ripple effects if Gdynia or Szczecin go under, said Karol Guzikiewicz, Solidarity's deputy chairman in Gdansk.

The new investor's promises are slow in coming, he added, while other investors are holding back because of the financial crisis.

While Gdansk once employed 17,000 people and stood as a monument to Soviet-era industrial might, it now chugs along with 2,300 employees who get an average monthly salary of 1,750 zloty (575 dollars,) Guzikiewicz said.

"Everyday life in this shipyard is fear for the future, because everyone has families to maintain," said shipyard worker Tomasz Grabowski. "Often fathers and sons work side by side, and that's the worst - that pay cuts and layoffs affect the whole family."

And while Lech Walesa is praised outside Poland as an icon of freedom, the shipyard workers complain he is seen as a hero who "single-handedly toppled communism," but has now forgotten about the working class.

And the rest of the world, the workers say, have forgotten about the thousands of others who fought alongside the legend.

One worker, who did not give his name, complained that taxpayers got the bill for Walesa's recent bash that celebrated the 25th anniversary of his receiving the Nobel Peace Prize.

Others say the unionists are still fighting for the same demands their predecessors scrawled in pencil on plywood when Gdansk was called the Lenin shipyard.

"Retirement age, health care? I would hang [the demands] up once again," Guzikiewicz said.

"Things have changed for Poland because it's now a free country and there's food on the shelves, and no lines. But for the average shipyard worker, sometimes in frustration they say, 'it wasn't worth it.'" (dpa)