The High Price of Victory

"It is a sad fact that for these events we will again have to pay a high political price. We do not hide from you the dangers." With those words, Alexander Dubcek last week warned his countrymen that Czechoslovakia faced its worst crisis since the invasion by Warsaw Pact forces last August. The events that he spoke of were widespread anti-Soviet rioting. The price was extracted from the remnants of Czechoslovakia's freedoms. The dangers were that the Soviet Union's 70,000 occupation troops would storm out of their barracks and impose direct military rule on the helpless land.

The Czechoslovaks lost another part of their small measure of liberty because of an outburst of joy over an athletic victory. Last weekend the whole nation tuned in on radio and television as Czechoslovakia's ice hockey team met Russia's in the international finals at Stockholm. In a bruising, hard-fought contest, the Czechoslovaks won 4 to 3; it was their second straight victory over the Soviets, and moved them into a tie with Russia and Sweden for first place. Because of the tie, the championship was decided by the total goals scored, and the title went to Russia. The technicality bothered few Czechoslovaks as they watched their team stand at attention while the measured strains of the Czechoslovak national anthem rang through the Stockholm stadium.

Ominous Visitor. Overcome by a vicarious sense of triumph, a huge and excited crowd swarmed into Prague's Wenceslas Square. One happy hockey fan carried a poster that read BREZHNEV 3, DUBCEK 4. The crowd chanted, "We've beaten you this time!" Someone shouted, "The Russian coach will go to Siberia!" Suddenly a brick smashed through the plate-glass display window at the office of Aeroflot, the Soviet airline. A small group dashed through the opening and began heaving furniture and filing cabinets onto a bonfire in the street. To make matters worse, the dem- onstrations were not confined to Wenceslas Square. Across the country, groups of Czechoslovaks stoned Soviet barracks and set fire to Russian military vehicles.

The Russians, who have grown increasingly impatient at the refusal of the Czechoslovak government to curb entirely its people's liberty, decided that the time had come to crack down. Deputy Foreign Minister Vladimir Semenov flew to Prague with orders to stamp out Czechoslovak defiance. A more ominous visitor was Marshal Andrei Grechko, the Soviet Defense Minister, whose presence in Prague underscored Soviet readiness to use force if necessary to keep Czechoslovakia in line. At a meeting in Prague's historic Hradcany Castle, the Soviet visitors demanded a pledge from the Czechoslovak government that there would be no recurrence of anti-Soviet outbursts. Otherwise the Soviets would use their own, all-too-familiar methods for imposing order. President Ludvik Svoboda, the gray-haired old soldier, rejected the ultimatum as an "unacceptable threat." But Dubcek, the unhappy compromiser, sensed the gravity of the crisis and gave the Soviets his pledge. Said one Czechoslovak who attended the meeting: "It was a cold, tough session, with the Russians making it clear that they would not tolerate any squirming out of their demands."

More Police. Almost at once, the country felt the chill. Czechoslovakia's ruling Presidium adopted a new censorship code that banned any unfavorable reference to Russia in Czechoslovakia's press, and suspended three liberal publications. The Presidium criticized Lower Chamber President Joseph Smrkovsky, a hero to students, liberals and labor, for supposedly taking part in the demonstrations. Bowing to Russian demands, the Interior Ministry announced that both secret police and uniformed patrols will be increased in every major city. Aware that any resistance might lead to a blood bath, the Czechoslovak people quietly accepted the new restrictions.

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