A Step in the Darkness

Every morning, the 93 Czechoslovak tourists went sightseeing in a group, returning to their simple hotel near Stockholm's docks for lunch. Afternoons were free, but few of the Czechoslovaks used them for sightseeing. Singly, or in small family groups, the tourists slipped away to local police stations to apply for political asylum.

At first the tourists were afraid to discuss their plans with each other. Appearances to the contrary, they had not plotted their defection in a group before leaving Prague on the five-day, $170 Swedish tour. The idea had come to them individually, and each had kept it to himself. But the word eventually leaked out of the rash of requests for asylum. By Christmas, the last day of the tour, the tourists were sharing anguished doubts whether they should go through with it or return to the familiarity--and growing repression--of their homeland. Pointing to some of the eleven children on the tour, one man said: "Some of us parents are too old to really ever be happy in a new country. We are doing it for our children. They must have the chance." A blonde, her eyes red from weeping, worried about her mother at home. "If I were the only one, I wouldn't stay here," she said. "But there are so many of us." Though Sweden is short of skilled workers and professionals, some of the refugees were understandably worried about their near penury. Nobody had more than five or six days' change of clothing or $12 in pocket money--the maximum that Czechoslovaks can take out of their country. Said one woman: "It's a step in the darkness."

Christmas night, two buses drew up to the hotel. One left entirely empty. The second was less than half-filled, mostly with people in their forties or older who wanted to go home. The others, mostly in their twenties, waved goodbye from the hotel's entrance. All told, 21 tourists returned to Czechoslovakia. Seventy-two remained behind.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.