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Particularly galling to the Soviets was the irrepressible irreverence of Czechoslovak publications, despite the rigid new censorship rules. The newsweekly Mladý Svět ran a cartoon showing a customs official lifting the top of a traveler's head and peering inside to find out whether it contained any counterrevolutionary thoughts. The Reporter, a spunky newsweekly banned by the Soviets three weeks ago, returned to circulation with transcripts of Dubček's speeches—accompanied by eloquently uncaptioned pictures of invading Warsaw Pact tanks and troops. Last week alone, four publications were shut down —three by armed Soviet troops.
The spirit of low-key resistance was evident in ordinary Czechoslovak citizens, too. At the Brno Trade Fair, a wine-drinking Czechoslovak shouted tipsily across a cellar bar: "Do you know why the Warsaw Pact troops are going to be here a long time? Because it will take them forever to find the people who invited them in." At the crowded fair itself, the exhibits of Warsaw Pact nations were islands of emptiness, and many of them barely opened on time because local workmen took their time assembling them.
Man on the Spot. No one can say how long the Russians will permit such tactics to go on. Though Czechoslovak leaders announced that the Russians would soon begin a "phased" pullback of some forces, a Soviet armored division remains encamped in the Prague suburb of Troja, its artillery zeroed in on the downtown area. Soviet troops also occupy nearby football fields moving out only at game time and returning soon afterward to resume their vigil.
Dubček managed to postpone his trip to Moscow until this week, departing instead for Brno and a tumultuous welcome from the crowds there. But he will have to respond to the summons some time, and when he does, the question will not be whether the Russians can handle him, but how rough their handling will be. These same dark uncertainties about the future are keeping more than 50,000 Czechoslovaks—including many professionals and intellectuals—in at least semi-exile in the West, and consigning those who stayed at home to lives of perpetual anxiety. Returning to work last week after a brief absence, a prominent pro-Dubček journalist ran into a member of the Presidium. "What are you still doing here?" asked the party man, astonished that his friend had not fled. Demanded the journalist: "Won't you be able to guarantee our security?" The reply bespoke a bittersweet mixture of sadness and courage. Said the Presidium member: "We cannot even guarantee our own."