Stolen Keys Open the Lid on Prague Party Split

With his broken wrist, rumpled suit and apologetic manner, Frantisek Valabek somehow personified the Communist Party for which he spoke.

For Valabek, the problem was personal and immediate, but it spoke volumes about the state of affairs within the party.

Standing awkwardly Friday in the press room of the party’s Central Committee office, Valabek admitted his problem. A visit to the Tesla Hloubetin electric appliance factory in suburban Prague that he and a colleague had painstakingly arranged for two foreign reporters had just collapsed.

The trip had been set up so that the reporters could meet members of the People’s Militia at the factory, a unit of the party’s praetorian guard, which is being disarmed. The militiamen were eager to show off their new benign image. It fell to Valabek to inform the reporters that others were not so eager.

“We can’t get in,” he said. After a long pause he added, “They’ve taken the keys.”

Valabek, his eyes on the floor, explained that when members of the party’s local district committee learned of the visit, they went to the factory and stole the keys to the rooms that contained the militia weapons and other gear. Not even the once-powerful Central Committee office could pry them loose.

“A visit today will be impossible, I’m afraid,” Valabek said. “You need to come back next week, after the elections.”

Party elections are to take place over the weekend, to choose new committees in preparation for the emergency party congress scheduled for Dec. 20-21. The party leadership hopes the elections will end the reign of the hard-liners, exemplified by the men who took the militia keys. Reform-minded committees could be expected to send delegates who are receptive to overhauling the party for the democratic age ahead. But the message of Friday’s incident at the appliance factory is that the road ahead will not be smooth.

Echoing complaints made two days earlier by Karel Urbanek, the party general secretary, Valabek said that many regional and district party committees refuse to understand that their power is no longer absolute. “It’s like a drug,” he said. “Once you have it, it’s hard to give up.”

By mid-afternoon, the chief party spokesman, Jozef Hora, and a Politburo member, Vasil Mohorita, had become involved. But the keys were still not available.

“Today is not possible,” Hora said after discussing the situation with Mohorita. “Perhaps on Monday.”

Disarming the People’s Militia, which has been one of the most visible symbols of party supremacy, has been a traumatic experience for the militiamen. Many felt slighted when Urbanek ordered them to turn their weapons in by last Sunday in order to reduce the risk of violence in the tense political atmosphere.

“They felt they couldn’t be trusted,” Valabek said. “Their pride was damaged.”

According to Hora, the party spokesman, the People’s Militia has 40,000 to 50,000 members, all attached to factories and other institutions. The first units were formed in 1948, to defend such places against possible attack by counterrevolutionaries.

As communism itself has come into question, some militia units have voted to disband. Party secretary Urbanek announced that the militia will now be used to help in large-scale accidents or natural disasters.

“I don’t think there’s that much to see anymore,” Valabek told the reporters. “It’s probably just a lot of empty shelves.”