From Peking to Berlin the rulers of the Communist world dutifully chorused delight at Khrushchev's coup. But some among them did so with an uncontrollable nervous quaver. In East Germany a spokesman for heavy-handed Communist Boss Walter Ulbricht edgily scoffed at journalistic speculation that the changes in Moscow might inspire "similar revisions" in East German leadership. In Hungary the Budapest radio feared that "certain revisionist circles" might try to take advantage of the situation and said that "necessary firmness must be displayed." Poland's Gomulka and Yugoslavia's Tito were plainly pleased: their "many roads to socialism" now seemed to bear the approving imprint of Khrushchev's pudgy thumb.
In the current Communist mythology, where Khrushchev's overthrow of Molotov & Co. is said to represent a triumph of "liberalization" over "Stalinism," more than one Eastern European satrap is sitting on a populace so restless that the last word he wants to hear is "liberalization."
Bleak Existence. Switzerland's reliable Neue Zürcher Zeitung two weeks ago reported that Czechoslovakia, whose leaders have resisted liberalization more stubbornly than anyone else in Eastern Europe, is in a state comparable to "that of Poland just before the rising in Poznan." Yet Czechoslovakia, Central Europe's most prosperous nation, has long been regarded as the least revolt-minded of the satellites.
"The important characteristic of this fermentation," said the Zurich paper, "is that it does not take place among the voiceless masses, but among the party elite—the intellectuals, the progressive workers, the workers of the new caste of technical managers. Communists as well as non-Communists are sick of dragging on their bleak existence."
Reports from Prague say that suspect army officers and security agents have been jailed or dismissed; priests and students have been arrested for "antistate activities" and "hooliganism"; trials of "foreign agents" have been stepped up and given wide publicity.
The Czech party Central Committee met just before the latest changes in Moscow, and loudly reaffirmed its unyielding (or "dogmatic") course. But this week Khrushchev is traveling to Prague. He will be accompanied by Bulganin—and Russia's Secret Police Boss Ivan Serov.
Quick Jump. Rumania, which like Czechoslovakia has been slow at reforming itself, got busy immediately. Rumania's Party Boss Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej last week fired from his Politburo two oldtime Stalinists—Minister of Education Miron Constantinescu and Central Committee Secretary Iosif Chisinevschi, long No. 2 man to Gheorghiu-Dej himself. The expulsions, announced Bucharest smugly, took place at a Rumanian party plenum which ended only 48 hours after the downfall of Molotov & Co.