Marching away from communism

CZECHOSLOVAKIA TIBOR SZAMUELY

For forty-five years now the critics have been arguing about whether that immortal literary hero, the good soldier Schweik, was actually a half-witted but well-meaning fool, or was merely putting on a successful act which carried him safely through the rigours of war. The argument has been conducted with particular intensity by the Czechs themselves, who take a perverse delight in adopting Schweik as the embodiment of their national character. Today, whatever the final outcome of the Czechoslovak developments, one can at least say that the theory of Schweik the artful dissimulator has been proved once and for all. After twenty years as the most slavish and docile of Soviet satel- lites, the Czechoslovaks seem, at the moment, to be marching away from communism with the same baffling, good-natured insouciance which drove the authorities into paroxysms of help- less rage during Schweik's famous march back- wards to Budejovice.

Much has happened in Czechoslovakia dur- ing the last fortnight or so: the forced resigna- tion of President Novotny, the wholesale dis- missals of leading party officials, the public degradation of ministers on television, the voicing of ever bolder demands, the postpone- ment of local elections and the preparation of a more democratic electoral law, the open acknowledgement of the necessity for a legal opposition, promises to abolish the secret police, and now even the open questioning of the hitherto sacrosanct Soviet connection itself. Clearly, even stranger things are to come—pos- ,ibly not unconnected with the mysterious death of the -deputy chairman of the Supreme Court charged with investigating the political trials of the 1950s (this might well have the same explosive effect as the defection to the Americans of General Sejna a month before).

Two obvious questions arise in everybody's mind when viewing these extraordinary develop- ments : How far can the Czechs go? And what are the Russians going to do about it?

Before hazarding even the most tentative conclusions regarding the future course of events, one must list the various possibilities that exist at present. Probably the one outcome which can,,for practical purposes, be disre- garded is the emergence of an independent com- munist Czechoslovakia, whether 'liberalised' (as in Yugoslavia) or Stalinoid (like Rumania): such a result could be achieved only under a united and determined leadership in full con- trol of the party, the country, the police and the armed forces—all features strikingly lacking today in Czechoslovakia. We are left with three possibilities.

(1) The 'Polish solution': the revolution gradually loses its impetus, a 'reforming' com-

munist leadership establishes itself in power, and a period of stagnation ensues, during which most of the radical achievements are whittled down, and things return to a slightly improved

version of 'normalcy.'

(2) The 'Hungarian experience': events rapidly get out of control, the leadership is swept away, the people impose their own far- reaching demands (including the demand for neutrality and a break with the Warsaw Pact) upon a powerless government—resulting in a move to crush the revolution by force, either

through, an internal coup, or Soviet interven- tion, or both.

(3) A completely unprecedented outcome, which future historians might come to call the 'Czechoslovak solution': an orderly and gradual—though fairly rapid—dismantling of the communist structure of power, and a return to a form of genuine parliamentary democracy.

In assessing the odds on either of these eventualities certain basic factors must be taken into account: the demoralisation, disunity and inexperience of the Communist party leader- ship; the absence of Soviet occupying troops; the Czech national character—cautious, stolid, stubborn, amenable to discipline; the strength of the democratic tradition; the abysmal econo- mic, social and political failure of communism —much more evident here than in the less developed satellites; the fact that anti-German feeling and fear of German 'revanchism' is weaker than in Poland (thus depriving a would- be Gomulka of his most powerful weapon of blackmail)—but anti-Russian sentiment, though certainly present, is also less intense.

Taking everything into account, I would, at the moment, rate the chances of a specifically 'Czechoslovak' solution fairly highly. A 'Polish' result seems rather unlikely—for one thing, the Czechs have the advantage of knowing what happened in Poland after 1956. As for a 'Hun- garian' outcome, while by no means excluded, none of its symptoms is as yet to be discerned. In other words, it is quite possible that the Soviet leaders will shortly be confronted with the most (to them) distasteful of all three alter- natives: the orderly, peaceful and bloodless restoration of democracy in Czechoslovakia.

Of the Soviet government's attitude to such a prospect—and, indeed, to everything that has

'Quits! What on earth does quits mean?'

happened in recent months—there can be little doubt. Pravda has maintained a stony silence about Czechoslovakia, beyond printing the briefest of official communiques on Novotny's resignation and the election of his successor— apart, of course, from its spluttering outburst last week against 'imperialist pen-pushers,' 'bourgeois slanderers' and 'hired ideological saboteurs of the monopolies' (i.e. the entire western press), who, in their customary reptil- ian way, have dared to insinuate that someone in the USSR was dissatisfied with some unspeci- fied goings-on in Czechoslovakia.

An even more revealing indication of pro- found Soviet alarm over Czechoslovak develop- ments and their possible repercussions in other parts of the communist empire was given the other day by Mr Brezhnev himself, in the most violent denunciation of libertarian tendencies to be made since Stalin's day. 'The role and im- portance of the Communist party is constantly increasing,' iron party discipline is just as in- dispensable today as under Lenin'—and, a more direct reference, 'the imperialists are attempting to undermine the ideological and political unity of the workers of socialist countries, using nationalist and revisionist elements.'

Nothing could be more explicit—not even the unprecedented protest to Yugoslavia regarding their sympathetic press coverage of Czechoslo- vakia, or the dire Hungarian warnings about a repetition of 1956 (and they should know what they are talking about). A particularly, and characteristically, tactless touch has been the employment of the East Germans as the spear- head of this press offensive: Germans, of what- ever variety, do not, on the whole, enjoy much popularity in eastern Europe. As they say there, 'All Germans are the same—the only difference is that we are supposed to like the eastern lot.' (It is interesting to note that the Soviet leaders appear to be far more disturbed by a satellite 'going democratic' than by its achieving inde- pendence: Rumania's successful defiance had nothing like the same effect.)

But what can the Soviet government actually do? Very little.. Numerous recent examples (Cuba, China, Yugoslavia, Israel, Rhodesia, Albania, Rumania, etc.) have shown up the futility of economic pressures. To speak, as many western commentators do, of Russia's 'stranglehold' over the Czech economy, which depends upon her for raw materials, is highly unrealistic.

In short, the only effective way of blocking further developments would be by massive Soviet armed intervention—almost inconceiv- able, in my opinion. As I have pointed out already in these pages, the customary parallel with Hungary is incorrect: in Hungary the Soviets only had to reinforce their troops, who were already in control of all lines of com- munications, airfields, etc, but in Czechoslo- vakia they would have to invade the country— commit an act of war. Whatever some of those who disagree with my analysis think, this does represent an immense difference.

For all their notorious lack of scruple, Rus- sian governments have, throughout history, shown themselves extremely reluctant to go to war. There is no way of assessing the loyalties of the Czechoslovak army, but it is large and well equipped, and would presumably put up a fight. Besides, other circumstances today, apart even from the military considerations, are far less favourable than in 1956: the communist bloc is split wide open, with Rumania openly supporting the Czechs and the Chinese ready to encourage anyone who is anti-Russian; the

present Soviet leadership is much weaker and less experienced than that of 1956; the wide- spread intellectual and political ferment of the last two years stands no comparison with the faint post-Stalin stirrings of the early 'Thaw.'

No, I do not see how the Russians can do much more than keep their fingers crossed and hope for a Polish' solution. Dubcek and his followers, of course, believe they can work a miracle, and give communism a new lease of life by combining it with genuine democracy. This, with all due respect, is the one develop- ment which can safely be ruled out—even in a situation where almost anything seems possible. To put it quite simply : communism and demo- cracy are mutually incompatible. This proposi- tion was regarded as self-evident—was, indeed, proudly proclaimed by the communist leaders themselves—in those days before the movement was smothered in Stalinist hypocrisy and double-talk. Forty-four years ago Lev Kamenev, then the Bolsheviks' chief theoretician, declared: 'They say today, let us have democracy in the party, tomorrow they will say, let us have demo- cracy in the trade unions; the day after tomor- row, workers who do not belong to the party may well say : "give us democracy too" ... and surely then the myriads of peasants could not be prevented from asking for democracy.'

Truer word was never spoken. The choice before the Czechoslovaks boils down to two options: communism or democracy. Their pre- ference has already been made quite clear.