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Many of Moscow's guests were unabashedly reluctant about their presence, and ready to resist any Soviet attempt to railroad unpalatable resolutions through the assembly. Over the conference hung the shadow of Russia's intervention in Czechoslovakia—a shadow that even the presence of a docile Czechoslovak delegation led by new Party First Secretary Gustav Husak was unlikely to dispel. Still echoing were the gunshots exchanged by Soviet and Chinese soldiers along the Ussuri River. Then there were the ghosts at the banquet, the men who had refused to come: China's Mao Tse-tung, North Viet Nam's Ho Chi Minh, Yugoslavia's Josip Broz Tito, Cuba's Fidel Castro. They are the most famous figures of contemporary Communism; their stature, by any measure, dwarfs Russia's present leadership.
Soviet Party Boss Leonid Brezhnev and his coruler, Premier Aleksei Kosygin, obviously decided that the summit, for all its perils, was worth the gamble. In the complicated mystique of Communism, the right of the Soviet leaders to rule, in their empire and at home, is intimately linked to their ability to command the obedience and fealty of Communists abroad.
Their legitimacy derives from their role as custodians of the Communist faith. One important measure of their stewardship is the maintenance of Moscow's primacy as the leader of world Communism. The Soviet leaders need a successful conference to prove to their own people that they are indeed the legitimate heirs of Lenin. "To justify one-party rule," says Kremlinologist Victor Zorza, "you must have an international sanction." The Soviet leaders also need the international endorsement to reassert their primacy within Eastern Europe. For all these reasons, Leo Labedz, editor of Survey, a London quarterly on Communist affairs, calls the conference an attempt to find "an ideological fig leaf" to cover Russia's own self-interest. None of this, of course, would be so brazenly expressed in St. George's Hall in the days ahead.
The Soviets made careful housekeeping preparations for the conference. In the Kremlin gardens, the beds of long-stemmed tulips and multicolored pansies were especially neatly tended, and squads of plainclothes security agents checked passes and guided the delegates to the huge hall. For several days, Brezhnev, Kosygin and other ranking officials shuttled to Moscow's four airports welcoming arriving delegations. For trusted comrades like East Germany's Walter Ulbricht and Mongolia's Yumzhagin Tsedenbal, there were Slavic smacks on the cheek. There were no kisses for the arriving Rumanians. Brezhnev proffered a perfunctory hand to Rumania's independent-minded President and Party Boss Nicolae Ceausescu, who has often opposed Soviet plans.
Chinese Criticism