Television is now clearly opening up to report the revolution. Beside the live broadcast of the mass it shows an interview with Havel: down with the leading role, he says, up with free elections. And the crowds outside grasp that as the essential point: “Free elections,” they chant. As in Poland, in Hungary, in East Germany.…
Day Ten (Sunday, November 26). 11 AM. A delegation led by Prime Minister Adamec, and formally described as representing the government and National Front (uniting the Communist with the formerly puppet parties), meets with a Forum delegation led by Havel. “We don’t know each other,” says the prime minister, extending his hand across the table. “I’m Havel,” says Havel. Just in case you didn’t guess. It’s a short getting-to-know-you session, but they agree to meet again on Tuesday. The prime minister promises the release of political prisoners (several of whom do indeed appear in the Magic Lantern in the course of the day), and also to come to this afternoon’s rally.
2 PM at the Letná stadium again. Adamec arrives before the Forum leaders, and stands around stamping his feet in the cold. How do you feel? someone asks him. “Very nice,” he says, “I think this was necessary,” as the crowd roars, “Dubcek! Dubcek!” I notice his aide trying to suppress a broad grin. Havel delivers a brief speech, describing the Forum as a bridge from totalitarianism to democracy, and saying that it must exist until free elections. Then they give Adamec his chance. But he blows it, talking about the need for discipline, for no more strikes, for economic rather than political change. You feel he is talking as much to the emergency Central Committee meeting that will take place this evening as to the people in front of him. And they feel it too. They boo and jeer.
The crowd again displays an extraordinary capacity to converse with the speakers in rhythmic chant. “Make way for the ambulance,” they cry, or “Turn up the volume.” When a long list of political prisoners is read out they chant, “Stepán to prison.” “Perhaps we should give him a spade,” says Václav Malý from the platform. “He’d steal it!” comes the almost instantaneous response, half a million speaking as one. And then “Here it comes!” Sure enough, there is a spade held aloft at the front of the crowd. “Stepán. Stepán,” they cry as in a funeral chant, and once again they ring their keys, as for the last rites. (Next morning we have the news that Stepán, along with other discredited members of the leadership, has resigned at the emergency meeting of the Central Committee.)
6 PM. An important plenum at the Magic Lantern. Havel poses the “fundamental question” of the future of the Forum. He personally doesn’t want to be a “chief,” he says, or a professional politician. He wants to be a writer. Václav Malý says much the same thing, except that he wants to be—he is—a priest. Yet it is clear to everyone that Havel must carry on at least until the elections—and “in the elections,” Dienstbier jokes. “I don’t give you any chance!”
Someone else reports telephone calls complaining about undemocratic methods. Here is the familiar conflict between politics and morality, between the requirements of unity and democracy. The students insist on the need for unity, continuity, and Havel’s leadership. But other voices are raised in favor of immediately founding political parties. A social democratic party will announce itself within the next few days. The Forum, everyone agrees, must not be a centralized, partylike organization. What is it then? How do you describe a civic crusade for national renewal?
Inevitably, the discussion swings abruptly between the great and small issues—from what to say to Adamec on Tuesday to what to say to the press in an hour’s time, from socialism vs. liberalism to whether to go by car or by bus. In the midst of it, Václav Klaus, the glinting economist, suddenly starts to read an amazing document. It is called “What We Want” and subtitled “Programmatic Principles of the Civic Forum.” It proposes a new Czechoslovakia with the rule of law guaranteed by an independent judiciary, free elections at all levels, a market economy, social justice, respect for the environment, and independent academic and cultural life. A normal country in the center of Europe. Three typewritten pages, prepared by the members of one of the commissions in a short weekend. First I saw them sitting up on the stage of the Magic Lantern, then sweating away in the dressing room. My friend Petr Pithart, a lawyer, historian, and author of one of the best books about 1968, who was reduced to doing menial work after signing Charter 77, just dropped in to the Magic Lantern to make a modest suggestion. Within minutes he was asked to work on the commission, writing the blueprint for a new Czechoslovakia.
When Klaus finishes reading there is a discussion. Václav Benda, a conservative Catholic and one of the original political brains of the Charter, says that although he helped to edit the text he doesn’t agree with parts of it: the passage saying that Czechoslovakia will “respect its international legal obligations” (by implication, including the Warsaw Pact) and another saying the state should guarantee a social minimum for all. This is a tricky moment, for if the plenum plunges into a serious political discussion, then the deep differences that have been covered by the broad yet minimalist platform, first of Charter 77, now of the Forum, will surface with a vengeance. Fortunately the moment is saved by Petr Miller, who rises to his feet and says that although he has no higher education he can understand it all, finds it good, and thinks we should just adopt it. In effect: you intellectuals, stop blathering! Sighs of relief all around. A quick vote. Adopted with just three abstentions. Thank heaven for The Worker.
Of course the program contains passages of fudge: for example, on the Warsaw Pact issue, on the role of the state, and on the ownership question. On the last point, it talks of “real competition” coming about “on the basis of the parallel existence, with equal rights, of different types of ownership and the progressive opening of our economy to the world.” This is a compromise formula, bearing in mind the sensibilities of the revisionists, social democrats, and even Trotskyists who are part of the Forum rainbow coalition, and who still believe in various forms of social(ist) ownership. In effect it says: let the best form win! But privately the economists have no doubt which kind of ownership will actually win out.
Yet the truly remarkable thing is not the differences about the program, but the degree of instant consensus. In 1968, even in 1977, it was almost unthinkable that there would be so much common ground. This is a Czech phenomenon. But it is not just a Czech phenomenon, for in different ways it is repeated all over East Central Europe. Take a more or less representative sample of politically aware persons. Stir under pressure for two days. And what do you get? The same fundamental Western, European model: parliamentary democracy, the rule of law, market economy. And if you made the same experiment in Warsaw or Budapest I wager you would get much the same result. This is no Third Way. It is not “socialism with a human face.” It is the idea of “normality” that seems to be sweeping triumphantly across the world.
But that’s enough philosophy. For in the next ten minutes they have to work out what to say to the prime minister—and to the world. At the press conference, they are of course asked about the fudging formulas on the alliances. Dienstbier says: we have to start from the existing situation, but our long-term objective is a Europe without blocs. Spoken like a foreign minister. As for the Soviet Union, this very evening Soviet television is broadcasting a program about the Prague Spring, including an interview with Dubcek. The Dubcek interview has been supplied by the samizdat Videojournál.
Day Eleven (Monday, November 27). The general strike is a success almost before it has begun. Television declares it so. Just before noon, the announcer demonstratively shows himself preparing to join in the strike. Then, from the stroke of noon, they show squares filled with people all around the country, in Prague, in Bratislava, in Brno, in Ostrava, wherever, and excited reporters describe the “fantastic atmosphere.” A subtitle explains that reporting on the strike is the television crews’ contribution to the strike. (Yet for the last twenty years they have been grinding out propaganda junk.)
Petr Miller
drives me up to his factory, the large CKD electrotechnical works. Miller drives hair-raisingly fast in his sporty Lada. He enjoys hooting at traffic to let us through, shouting “Civic Forum!” “I’m just a very small figure in the opposition,” he says, gesturing with his hand just a yard above the ground, to show how small. But in fact he is well on the way to being described as the Czech Walesa. On the road we pass an astounding sight: a line of taxis at least one mile long, taxi after taxi after taxi, crawling out up into the hills, wives or girlfriends in the passenger seats. It is the taxi drivers’ strike.
In front of the factory gates, the workers are listening patiently to a long lecture on economics by the head of the Prognostic Institute, Dr. Valtr Komárek. “Komárek! Komárek!” they chant. The meeting ends with the singing of the national anthem at one thirty, so that everyone can be back at work by two. Miller says they will make up the lost work in unpaid overtime. On my way back there is, of course, not a taxi to be found.
4 PM. A celebration demo on Wenceslas Square. The organizers try to give the platform—or rather balcony—to a Communist. “Friends, comrades,” he begins, but that is a terrible mistake. “Boo, boo,” shout the crowd, and: “We’re not comrades.” Free elections and an end to the leading role of the Party are what people want to hear. Václav Klaus, now emerging as an opposition star, reads a statement announcing that the Civic Forum “considers its basic objective to be the definitive opening of our society for the development of political pluralism and for achieving free elections.” The movement is open to everyone who rejects the present system and accepts the Programmatic Principles. There will be no hierarchical structure, but there will be a “coordinating center.” The coordinating center recommends the ending of strike action for the time being. Tomorrow they will submit their demands to the prime minister. If he doesn’t respond adequately, they will call for the resignation of the government—“resignation, resignation!” cries the crowd—and the appointment of a new premier willing to assure the holding of a free election. “Free elections, free elections!”
Then comes the portly, goatee-bearded Dr. Komárek who delivers, very slowly and deliberately, what sounds like a prime minister’s acceptance speech. There must be deeds not words, he says. “That’s it,” chants the crowd. There must be compromise between the new de facto situation and the old de jure one. The kids around me giggle at the professorial Latin, but they too shout, “Komárek, Komárek!” There should be a grand coalition government, a government of experts, men of competence and moral integrity (such as, we understand, Valtr Komárek). Then a girl student reads out, even more slowly and clearly, as if in school dictation, a letter from the students asking the president to replace Adamec with Komárek. “Pan Docent Komárek, Dr. Sc.,” she says, has a program ready. The Forum stands behind him. “We too,” cry the crowd, “we too!”
So to everyone standing on that square it is clear that the Forum—speaking for the people—has just proposed a candidate for prime minister. Go to the Magic Lantern, however, and you soon discover that the Forum didn’t mean to do that at all. In the plenum at 6 PM, in the main auditorium now, there is confusion and consternation. Our position, says Havel, was that we would give Adamec a chance to meet our demands, before calling for his resignation. That was the statement Klaus read. The students jumped the gun. Why? There was a telephone call from the Lantern, say the students. “Disinformation!” someone says. “Provocation!” Or, more likely, just muddle.
In any case, the question now is: What on earth are they to say in the negotiations with Adamec tomorrow? And who should be on the delegation? The Student. The Worker (Petr Miller). Ján Carnogurský, a lawyer and leading Slovak Catholic activist, just released from prison. Václav Malý. Perhaps Komárek? “On whose side?” someone asks. For Komárek is still a Party member. At this point Havel slips away off stage. He has to go and collect the Peace Prize of the German Book Trade awarded weeks before. (Four days ago he had to slip away to collect the Olof Palme Prize.)
7.30 PM. The press conference. Answers are delivered with great assurance to questions the Forum leaders have only just asked themselves, in this same room, a few minutes before. No matter. Make it up as you go along. Petr Miller says the strike committees still exist and will be maintained. Not only will the workers make up the time lost by the strike, they’ll also work two free Saturdays—in the week when Czechoslovakia has free elections. Will there be a Green party? “This country needs all parties to be green,” says Dienstbier. Well done, Jirí. Spoken like a foreign minister again. But now he has to dash. His boilers need stoking.
Day Twelve (Tuesday, November 28). At half past one a government minister, one Marián Calfa, gives the first account of the negotiations between the government/National Front team under Adamec and the Forum delegation under Havel. The meeting started in an “excited” atmosphere, he says. But then it settled down and ended in a “positive” spirit. The prime minister promised, by Sunday, December 3, to propose a new government based on “a broad coalition,” a government of experts. The government will propose to the Federal Assembly that the clauses about the leading role of the Party, the closed, subordinate nature of the National Front, and Marxism-Leninism as the basis of education, should be removed from the constitution. The prime minister also promised that the City Council would provide the Forum with all necessary facilities.
According to people on the Forum side, Adamec actually blew his top on being confronted with the Forum’s demands—a short digest of those raised by the students and the people over the last week. He called them “an ultimatum.” After a break, Petr Miller once again defused the situation with some straight talking.
4 PM. Plenum. Perhaps two hundred people in the auditorium. Havel and other delegation members on stage. The main subject: the Forum’s version of the meeting. As well as the three points accepted by the government, the demand was made that all political prisoners should be released by December 10 (UN Human Rights Day), and there was an expression of satisfaction at the establishment of a parliamentary commission to investigate the police and security forces’ violence on November 17. The draft, read out by Radim Palouš, includes five more points. Of these the most immediately dramatic is the announcement that the Forum leaders are writing to President Husák, calling upon him to resign by December 10. The prime minister has until the end of the year to make clear the way in which his new government will create the legal conditions for free elections, freedom of assembly, association, speech, and press, the end of state control over the churches, etc. In addition, the People’s Militia, the Party’s private army, must be dissolved and all political organizations removed from the workplace (as in Hungary). If not, they will demand the prime minister’s resignation, too.
After the draft is read, Havel says, “Now I leave you to discuss it,” and scuttles off backstage, through the Minotaur’s hole. In the course of a rather confused discussion, Petr Pithart sharply points out that they have not actually said anything about the composition of the new government. What about the crucial levers of power, the interior and defense ministries for example? From the platform comes the slightly sheepish reply: yes, but we can’t really say something here that we didn’t mention there. Somehow, in the rush and muddle, that point didn’t get made. Ah well. Once again, Petr Miller ends the intellectual havering: let’s accept it now, he says, we can always elaborate later.
Press conference. The final version of the communiqué—as edited by the two hundred!—is read out. So is the text of a letter to the Soviet authorities about the reassessment of 1968. This, they report, was accepted “with pleasure” by the Soviet embassy, who promised that it would promptly be sent to Moscow, by telex. Asked about the negotiations, Havel says they were complicated, fast, dramatic, and please don’t expect all the details here. Altogether, he pleads to be left alone by the press. All questions to him, he says, he will gladly answer at an all-day press conference—after the revolution.
Day Thirteen (Wednes
day, November 29). Television broadcasts the speech of the new Party secretary, Karel Urbánek, attempting to rally the faithful at an emergency aktiv in the Palace of Culture. He adopts a fighting tone. We will not sell out to foreign capital like the Poles! We cannot concede to demands to dissolve the People’s Militia! (On Saturday, they will do just that.) The audience chants “Urbánek, Urbánek!” and “Long Live the KSC!” in the rhythms of the crowd on Wenceslas Square.
Then the Federal Assembly, the official parliament. The women with putty faces, cheap perms, and schoolmistress voices. The men in cheap suits, with hair swept straight back from sweaty foreheads. The physiognomy of power for the last forty years. But at the end of the day they all vote “yes” to the prime minister’s proposal, as agreed yesterday with the Forum, to delete the leading role of the Party from the constitution, and remove Marxism-Leninism as the basis of education. For years, for a lifetime in some cases, they have been preaching Marxism-Leninism and the leading role of the Party. But not a single deputy votes against the change. Turn your coat, just like that.
4 PM. Plenum, in the auditorium. Havel and a delegation have hurried off to Bratislava, to speak in the Slovak National Theatre. It is vital not to let the authorities divide Slovaks against Czechs, as they have done so often in the past. Yesterday’s communiqué about the meeting with the government underlined that this was a negotiation by the Civic Forum and the Public Against Violence (PAV), the sister organization in Slovakia. And the first item of today’s communiqué records their joint resolution:
The common objective of the CF and the PAV is the changing of Czechoslovakia into a democratic federation, in which Czechs and Slovaks, together with other nationalities, will live in mutual friendship and understanding.
The New York Review Abroad Page 22
