Occupation
the first couple of pages from the second chapter of my memoir (in progress) I was 15 years old when the Armies of the Warsaw Pact invaded Czechoslovakia. This part of the chapter describes the event
The morning of August 21 was total chaos. TV was off the air. Radio broadcasts had been cut off just after dawn. It had been the Soviets’ first target to be occupied and neutralized. Fortunately, some of the radio personnel were able to set up an emergency broadcast location and starting around 9 am, the stream of news continued. Bulletins came in fast, a breathless stream of confusion, chaos and despair. There was sporadic fighting on the streets of Prague though we had no idea of the extent of it until later. Before dawn, the noise of the invading armies was deafening. Columns of tanks and armored vehicles rolled down the road under our windows, fighter jets shrieked overhead. By nine in the morning, the troops were mostly in place, and it was relatively quiet – at least in our neighborhood. Public transportation had been halted. Pedestrians streamed downtown on foot to join the massive crowds already there, to take pictures, to protest, to yell at the Soviet soldiers: “IVAN GO HOME” The news kept changing every hour. We learned that Alexander Dubcek, the whole cabinet and the top echelon of the Party were in Soviet custody. A few names were suspicious by not being on the list: those, as was later confirmed, were the official “inviters”. Men who had understood that Prague Spring and the political thaw spelled the end of their career. A good way to salvage those careers was to stay on Brezhnev’s good side. And what better way to do that than to “invite” the Warsaw Pact into the country to save us from Dubcek’s “American sponsored counter-revolution”. The Cabinet and the Party bosses were flown to Moscow later that day. This turned out to be a brilliant trick on Brezhnev’s part: an act even more humiliating than the invasion itself. In Moscow, the leaders were kept in solitary for a few days, deprived of food and eventually coerced into signing a document confirming that what had been going on in Prague had indeed been an attempt to topple Communism and “commending the fraternal help of the Soviet Union in repelling forces of imperialism and regression”. We recalled Dubcek’s shaking voice on the radio before he was dragged away by Russian thugs. He was swallowing tears: “My dear Czechs, my dear Slovaks, fellow citizens. As you know, early this morning, the combined forces of the Warsaw Pact entered Czechoslovakian territory. We are going to deal with this situation and restore order. In the meantime, I ask you, I beg of you, do not resist. Let us not spill innocent blood. We cannot turn back the course of events, we cannot resist powerful armies with our bare hands. Stay at home for now and let your leadership solve the situation along with our Soviet comrades. I wish you strength. We shall get through these trying moments. We know we can count on your full support. We are with you – please be with us!” (This became the slogan of the period, in Czech “Jsme s vami, budte s nami”)
I felt there was something profoundly wrong with that speech. I understood the tears, but they were not just tears of sadness. They were tears of defeat. I had studied enough about the Munich agreement and the betrayal of Czechoslovakia. Here we were, witnessing yet another betrayal. Dubcek, his Cabinet, and the top cadre of the Party were meekly admitting helplessness. One felt for the man. Dubcek spoke fluent Russian, had studied in Moscow, and considered this not only a tragedy for the nation but a personal slap in the face. Still, the nation did not hear resolve in his voice, we did not hear courage. We just heard fear and disillusionment. The word “occupation” was never mentioned. It was an “entry” – the word subsequently used exclusively for the following twenty years. “The entry of our fraternal armies prevented the dark forces of counter-revolution to take hold in our country” They were going to “negotiate” with their “comrades”? People who drive tanks onto your sovereign territory are no comrades. What the nation needed to hear was: “The Soviet Union, the country we had all admired and followed, stuck a knife in our back last night. I command our armed forces and every able-bodied man to offer full armed resistance to this vile betrayal. We shall fight and we shall reclaim our freedom!” People’s morale had not een broken by the invasion. Not yet! The contrary was true. We were all willing to fight, and, despite Dubcek’s speech, we *would* have confronted the tanks with our bare hands. Any uprising would have been put down and much blood would have been shed, but the moral victory would have been total no matter what the military outcome. The strength of that moral victory would probably have ended Communism in Eastern Europe in a matter of months or a couple of years at most. The United States would not have sat idly by while blood streamed through the streets of Central Europe. Liberty for the continent would have been restored, of this I have little doubt. Additionally, the Czechoslovaks would have gone down in history as a nation of heroes, changing their own political, moral and social trajectory forever.
As it was, confusion continued. I wanted to go out, at least for a walk, talk to people, hear the latest, but I was strictly forbidden to do so. We climbed up the stairs to have lunch with our neighbors. They knew the Russians and their methods inside out, having spent years in Communist prison. “Those fucking rats,” said blind old Mr. Janousek. “What else do you expect? That’s all they know. The power of the gun, their snitches, and torturers. May they burn in hell forever. Hitler had nothing on these bastards!” We sat there and listened to the radio together. There was some solace in togetherness. We were truly struck dumb. The adults chain-smoked and drank many cups of Turkish coffee. We stayed all afternoon, went down to walk our dog, Peggy, and went back up. More neighbors joined. The room filled with smoke and sighs.
But, as always when a few Czechs get together, many good jokes began circulating shortly after the occupation – even if that tragic afternoon there was only time for coffee and tears.
A bunch of guys sit around in a bar, nursing their pints. All they can talk about is the occupation. It’s all tanks and guns and demonstrations and politics and recriminations. Finally one of them gets fed up and says: “Guys! That’s enough politics. Let’s change the subject.” “Oh yeah? What do you want to talk about?” The guy says: “I don’t know…how about sex?” There follows about ten seconds of silence. Then one of the men spits on the floor, bangs his fist on the table and says: “The fucking whores!”