Prague Spring

To quote Wiki:

In April 1968, Dubček launched an "Action Program" of liberalizations, which included increasing freedom of the press, freedom of speech, and freedom of movement, with economic emphasis on consumer goods and the possibility of a multiparty government. The program was based on the view that "Socialism cannot mean only liberation of the working people from the domination of exploiting class relations, but must make more provisions for a fuller life of the personality than any bourgeois democracy." The program would limit the power of the secret police and provide for the federalization of the ČSSR into two equal nations. The Program also covered foreign policy, including both the maintenance of good relations with Western countries and cooperation with the Soviet Union and other communist nations. It spoke of a ten year transition through which democratic elections would be made possible and a new form of democratic socialism would replace the status quo.


Like all great plans that come to naught, so was my mother’s yearning to revisit the heart and soul of her ancestral domain. It was no longer the “golden city”. The age of Stalinism had reduced its former glory to utter dilapidated grey. Even the areas permitted access by western tourists showed the obvious signs of strain under the meagre coats of paint and plaster. Beyond those buckling facades, much of the city was in total disrepair- as if time had stood still there in the aftermath of WWII. Ironically, “Solidaria” was the name of the hotel where we stayed. What the tourists didn’t know was that two floors of the huge building had been quartering a contingent of red army troops. We had just got back from our own shopping venture, when a strange kind of fatigue overcame us. I distinctly remember a strangely sweet odor before passing out. We came to, only to discover 24 hours missing. Whatever the gas was, my mother took a seizure and suddenly the place was in a panic. I asked the other travellers if they noticed anything peculiar, but as I might expect they were completely oblivious, assuming we had gone off on our own. Fortunately the hotel manager had retrieved our passports and took us to a floor still under construction, where he could explain it to us, away from any listening devices. My mother carrying a Canadian passport with a NATO stamp in it, had obviously aroused suspicion, being as the Red Army was preparing to lay the city under seige. Nothing like being in the wrong place at the wrong time. How we ever managed to get out of that one I’ll never know, but I was only too glad when we were back in West Germany. It was bad enough enduring my mother’s horrific tirades about her past, but nearly winding up in the clutches of some secret police, no thanks.