Havel’s Progress : THE CZECH PRESIDENT IS COMING NEXT WEEK TO CONVINCE THE U.S. THAT HIS COUNTRY IS STABLE AND WORTHY OF SUPPORT. BUT FIRST HE MUST CONVINCE HIS COUNTRYMEN.

ONE MONTH AGO, VACLAV HAVEL threatened to resign as president of Czechoslovakia. * The date was September 24, approximately 21 months after he took office and four weeks before his second official visit to the United States. The place was the Czechoslovakian Parliament, where Havel delivered an extraordinary speech in which he implored the assembled delegates to “rise above what divides you” and keep their country from splitting apart. * A mood of anticipation had greeted Havel when he arrived at the Federal Capital Assembly Chambers at five minutes past one. Making his entrance from stage right, the playwright-turned-president walked beside the assembly president, Alexander Dubcek. It was a moment rich in symbolism: Dubcek, the Slovak whose attempt to create “socialism with a human face” had been crushed by Soviet tanks in 1968, escorting Havel, the Czech who had been swept to power by the Velvet Revolution of November, 1989. The 300 delegates rose and applauded. Havel turned to acknowledge the ovation, smiling briefly and bobbing his head in his customary, somewhat awkward style before taking his seat. * The president’s mood was somber, however, when he stepped behind the microphone. He put on his half-lensed reading glasses and declared, “Since our democratic revolution, the situation in our country has never been as dangerous as it is today.” * Havel was referring to the very real possibility that the Slovak Republic--roughly the eastern half of the country--would declare itself an independent state. In Czechoslovakia, as in so much of the former Soviet empire, the overthrow of the old regime has opened the door to nationalistic passions. Just one week earlier, the Slovak National Council, or Parliament, only narrowly voted down a motion to consider an immediate declaration of sovereignty. The Slovak prime minister, Jan Carnogursky, had already declared that Slovakia would eventually like to join the European Economic Community as an independent state. * Although Czechoslovakia has avoided the hatred and bloodshed that have accompanied the eruption of nationalism in Yugoslavia and some former Soviet republics, the conflict has taken its toll. The federal government has been reduced to near paralysis by endless bickering over the federation issue, while other urgent business is put on hold. Most citizens seem particularly anxious for a solution to the economic crisis that has sent inflation soaring and driven 83% of state-owned enterprises into insolvency. Meanwhile, the foreign aid and investment that Prague officials regard as crucial to the rejuvenation of the economy have been held up by investors’ fears for the country’s stability.

In his 15-minute speech, Havel contended that it was imperative to settle the federation question and soon. He urged that a national referendum be conducted before year’s end--all Czechoslovakians should vote on whether or not to live together in a common federation. True to his dramatist instincts, Havel saved his most fateful words for last. He asserted that the handling of this crisis would reveal “whether our democratic revolution brought to power people capable of bringing the country through a difficult moment--whether we are responsible politicians . . . or whether we will miss the great chance for our peoples, leaving us no other option but to depart (our offices) in shame.” Then, without pausing, he dropped his bombshell: “If we fail, I personally will have to draw my own conclusions from this.”

The speech made the front pages in Czechoslovakia and was shown in full that evening on national television. But Havel could not have been very pleased with the response it generated. Vladimir Meciar, former Slovak prime minister and a leading nationalist, called it “another mistake” by the president. Even moderate Slovak leaders, such as national council premier Frantisek Miklosko, expressed doubt that Czech-Slovak differences over the referendum would be overcome any time soon; similar pessimism was voiced by Czech politicians.

Thus Havel, who visits the United States this week, arrives as his country is in danger of disintegrating before his very eyes, and as he himself has threatened to resign. Whether Havel is able to guide his country through this crisis in one piece is likely to determine his legacy as president.

But the separatism debate is only the most pressing of the many problems that Havel inherited upon his inauguration. Czechoslovakia’s centralized economy, although relatively prosperous--the deal between the Communist regime and the populace was dubbed “Salamis for submission”--was antiquated and overwhelmingly geared to trade with the Soviet Union. The environment was the most polluted in Europe--as a result, Czechoslovakians lived five to six years less than average. And the nation’s economic and administrative structures were dominated by the same bureaucrats who had been running things for the past 40 years.

As the Velvet Revolution’s second anniversary approaches, it seems timely to ask: What hath Havel wrought? How has he coped with the challenge of holding his country together and reinventing it from top to bottom? As a dissident, Havel insisted on “living in truth” and ended up spending a total of 4 1/2 years in prison. As president, his life seems to be a balancing act: between his high-minded principles and keen sense of pragmatism; between his desire for a private life and the demands of public office; between the temptation to resign and the call of responsibility.

It all seems quite fitting for a playwright who made his reputation in the theater of the absurd. He has noted more than once that all his plays are concerned with the crisis of human identity--”the disintegration of man’s oneness with himself and the loss of everything that gives human existence a meaningful order.” These are the very issues that, inflated from individual to national scale, are now threatening to tear his country apart. Likewise, Havel is where he is today in large part because of his great abilities as a mediator and conciliator. As his brother Ivan Havel puts it, “He took the job (of president) as an emergency role, because he could bring people together, make friends from enemies. It is part of his Libra character.”

Yet there is the distinct possibility that Vaclav Havel will end up presiding over the dissolution of the country that he worked so hard to free. Which would, of course, be the ultimate irony.

VACLAV HAVEL WORKS IN AN OFFICE THAT IS LITERALLY FIT FOR A king. Located on the third floor of the spectacular Gothic-baroque castle Hradcany, its vaulted windows offer a marvelous view of old-town Prague, arguably Europe’s most beautiful city. The room itself looks big enough to accommodate a game of half-court basketball, with 25-foot ceilings and richly patterned Oriental rugs. One entire wall is covered by fully stocked bookshelves made of black polished woods.

On the day of our interview, Havel entered through a back door, tugging his way into the same banker’s black jacket he wore two hours earlier during his speech to Parliament. He shook hands firmly and motioned to a large black coffee table in the corner of the room. As he sat down, a steward set a glass and a bottle of local mineral water in front of him . A lifelong smoker, Havel pulled out a handsome gold pocket lighter and a box of Camels, which he smoked more or less continually.

We talked for 45 minutes. I posed my questions in English; though Havel’s English is adequate, he occasionally needed his interpreter’s help. He looked me straight in the face only while listening to questions. His answers, in Czech, were delivered while he gazed at the floor, into his lap or at his interpreter. His voice, which seemed to rumble up from his throat, was deep and even, almost a monotone.

The same sense of temperance and balance that Havel has brought to the job of president were on display throughout the interview. He was understated, even-keeled, almost laconic. His gift for seeing issues and problems from all sides, for appealing to people’s higher natures, was evident in nearly every answer. For example, he explained that he invited the Dalai Lama to Czechoslovakia shortly after he became president for both principled and practical reasons. Not only was the Tibetan Buddhist leader “a personality near to me in his way of thinking,” Havel explained, but his visit, when the nation was preparing for its first free elections in 40 years, helped to direct people’s minds “toward something higher than their own personal horizons.”

Halfway through the interview, I asked Havel whether he was truly prepared to resign if the referendum went against federation, or if it failed to take place before the end of the year.

“If the referendum turns out against federation, which I don’t believe will happen, then the process of gradual separation of our (two) republics will begin,” he replied. “Under the law, this process will last one year, and someone will probably have to watch over its calm, legal and civilized execution. What would happen then to me, I don’t know.”

It was a typically careful answer that neither repeated nor retreated from his statement to Parliament, fully in keeping with Havel’s tendency to maintain an open-ended approach to every situation. It is entirely possible that Havel’s resignation threat was simply an effort to shock the delegates into taking action. But the threat is bound to complicate his relations with the outside world. One of Havel’s main reasons for visiting the United States is to portray Czechoslovakia as a desirable investment target. If all goes as planned, he and President Bush will sign a bilateral investment treaty later this week. But in the eyes of the world, Havel himself is the symbol and guarantor of a stable Czechoslovakia. How many business and political leaders will want to put aid and investment money into Czechoslovakia if they think Havel may resign?

Havel approaches even this conundrum with his characteristic balance and empathy. Of American officials who are cautious about investing in Czechoslovakia, Havel said: “I can’t blame them too much, because to some extent I understand their reservations. Businessmen don’t like to invest in unstable political environments. Nevertheless, I can appeal to them that boldness can contribute to stability. I can also show them the example of the Germans, who don’t trouble themselves with this and whose capital is flowing here in massive amounts.”

That’s Havel: fair, diplomatic but analytically tough. Go ahead, he is telling wary Americans, keep your money if you think you should. But you should know that our train is leaving the station, and the Germans, for one, are already on board.

ON THE EVENING OF HIS HISTORIC SPEECH TO PARLIAMENT, Vaclav Havel spent a relaxing 2 1/2 hours hanging out at the Balustrade Theatre, the avant-garde center where he first got into the theater business, in 1960. The occasion was a farewell party for Vladimir Vodicka, who was retiring after 35 years as the theater’s director. Havel showed up at a quarter after ten, having traded in his jacket and tie for a pullover and a brown leather jacket. Within minutes, he was comfortably squeezed onto a couch in the corner, cigarette and wineglass in hand, grinning and chatting with Vodicka and a couple of cronies from the old days.

I had observed Havel at arm’s length half a dozen times at official events in Prague. But the party at the Balustrade Theatre was the first instance where he actually looked comfortable inside his own skin. Gone were the nervous half-bows and semiapologetic smiles of his public persona. Here among old friends and colleagues, he didn’t have to play the part of president, nor was he treated with any special deference. In conversations, he mainly listened. When he did speak, he was engaged and animated, gesturing freely and laughing easily. It was nearly one in the morning before he walked out the door.

Time away from the relentless demands of power and stardom may maintain Havel’s self-image as a non-political politician. But to hear his brother Ivan tell it, Havel doesn’t spend many evenings like that anymore. “I used to go over to his place occasionally to watch TV at night, because I don’t have a television,” he said. “But I don’t do that now, because I know he needs to rest.”

When Havel was in prison, Ivan was the only other person besides his wife, Olga, allowed to visit him. These days the demands on his brother’s time are such that Ivan, like many of Havel’s oldest friends, doesn’t see him much. “He has his favorite pub around the corner on our street, where he would definitely like to sit with a beer, chatting with people,” Ivan added. “He still does that, but always probably after a fight with his aides. I remember one night, it must have been around midnight, he was standing in front of the house with one of his closest aides and they were arguing. He was begging to go to this pub for a beer. He said, ‘One small beer only!’ And his aide said, ‘Oh, no, it’s too late. Go to sleep.’ ”

Such moments are part of why Vaclav Havel describes being president as a personal “sacrifice.” Ivan confided that one of the things Havel likes least about the presidency is the amount of time he spends on ceremonial duties. On Sept. 4, for example, he spent most of the morning hosting the welcoming session of a United Nations conference on culture and democracy, listening to utterly forgettable, long-winded speeches by visiting dignitaries. Then, nearly an hour of his afternoon was consumed by a dedication ceremony for two massive wooden sculptures being donated to the Royal Gardens. As Havel stood there in the warm sunshine, one could almost see him mentally twiddling his thumbs.

As with American presidents, a certain amount of ceremony goes with the job. But Havel does not wield powers similar to those exercised by President Bush. In Czechoslovakia’s parliamentary system, the powers of the president, who is elected by the Parliament, not the people, are much more limited. The president does not run the government. Havel is the commander-in-chief of the armed forces and the man who formally appoints ambassadors and signs laws and foreign treaties. As president, he names the prime minister and the heads of federal ministries. Having done so, however, he is not authorized to interfere with how they conduct their business. He appoints ministers and he can fire them, but in the meantime he must leave them alone (though he is free to consult with them as often as he likes). Much the same goes for Parliament. In extreme circumstances, the president can dissolve Parliament and call for new elections, but other than that he has little direct authority over it. And, although he has the right to propose legislation, Parliament is under no obligation to consider it, much less pass it.

Add to this the fact that Czechoslovakia has not one government but three--the federal, the Czech Republic and the Slovak Republic--and that these three governments claim overlapping jurisdictions, and the constraints on Havel’s power are clear. Yet Havel has hardly been a figurehead president. “First of all, he put this country back on the map,” said Michael Zantofsky, Havel’s official spokesman. “Czechoslovakia is now well-known, and well-respected, around the world. Second, he got all Soviet troops withdrawn (a process completed in June, 1991). Czechoslovakia is now as sovereign as it has ever been in this century. Third, he made sure free elections were held as soon as possible (in June, 1990). The elected government has had its problems, but by every standard it is a stable government. Fourth, he got the economic reform started. The privatization of small enterprises, such as restaurants, should be completed by the end of 1991, and the privatization of large enterprises starts this month. Eighty percent of our industry will experience a change of ownership, and we hope to complete it in three to five years. It took (former British Prime Minister) Margaret Thatcher seven.”

The economic-reform program illustrates the limitations on Havel’s authority. There is a saying in Prague that Havel is the most famous man in Czechoslovakia, but Vaclav Klaus, the finance minister, is the most powerful. Klaus, a conservative economist with a reputation for arrogance, is the mastermind of the government’s economic reforms. In a country where everyone talks about a market economy but precious few have ever experienced one, Klaus is the man who claims to have all the answers: Squeeze the money supply, let prices rise to their true “market” level, encourage the inflow of foreign investment. In short, Klaus has imposed his particular definition of how capitalism should work.

The immediate consequences of Klaus’ policies have been punishing for many Czechoslovakians. Prices of food, gasoline, housing and other basic living expenses have increased dramatically, in some cases by more than 100% since last year. Meanwhile, wages and old-age pensions are unchanged, while unemployment is steadily climbing.

And what has Havel’s role been in all this? If he were to find fault with some elements of Klaus’ program, as his writings and some of his associates suggest he might, what could he do about it?

“Nothing,” said Karel Schwarzenberg, who serves as chancellor to Havel. “He can give a speech to the effect of, ‘Look at the poor people living in the railway stations. Something should be done about it.’ But beyond that, all he can do is propose legislation to Parliament.”

Actually, that’s not quite all. Havel may be removed from many of the day-to-day decisions of government, but he can have an important influence on the big picture. The main tools at his disposal are his personality and moral stature. Without doubt, Havel is the most trusted politician in Czechoslovakia. He is perceived as a wise and good man, untarnished by the pride and personal ambition that motivates most elected officials. By speaking out on issues of his choosing, he can sway public opinion and influence the national mood, as he did recently on a trip to northern Bohemia. There he focused public attention on the environmental horrors of a coal-mining region where it is literally painful to breathe for much of the year. Likewise, by meeting and working with members of Parliament and federal ministers, he can broker compromises and shape the tone and content of executive and legislative decisions. In short, he can use his prestige and powers of persuasion to advance his convictions.

His speech to Parliament on the federation issue is a good example. Havel cannot force Parliament to carry out the referendum he wants. But by making his case in a reasonable and compelling way in front of the entire nation, he put the onus on the delegates to act. Havel acknowledged that he favored a continued Czech-Slovak federation, but he stressed that his belief in self-determination and constitutional procedure required him to insist that the people themselves be allowed to decide this issue. That was why, he said, he had suggested back in December, 1990, that a referendum be held. Parliament had approved this idea in principle in July--”to my great delight,” Havel noted. Now all it had to do was agree on the exact wording of the question and set a date when the vote could be taken.

In closing, Havel invoked the memory of T.G. Masayrak, the founder of modern Czechoslovakia. Born of a Slovak mother and a Czech father, Masayrak became the country’s first president in 1918, and he is the ultimate symbol of Czechoslovakian unity. In urging the delegates to “forge a common solution,” Havel recalled Masayrak’s injunction that “democracy is discussion. But discussion is not just speaking. It is also listening. Let us try to listen to one another, and to the voice coming from our consciences.”

It was a masterful performance, but not even Havel is a miracle worker. The extent of disunity was evident the moment he concluded his speech. Amid moderate applause, two Assembly delegates rose to initiate a standing ovation. A third, nearby, began to stand up as well, only to sit back down when he noticed no one else was following suit. Not until six delegates on the other side of the chamber rose as one did the rest of the Assembly delegates gradually lumber to their feet.

THE MORNING AFTER HAVEL’S SPEECH, I visited Zdenek Ubanek, one of the president’s oldest and closest friends. A bluff, white-haired man with a quavery voice, Ubanek is the rector of Prague’s Academy of Musical Arts and Czechoslovakia’s foremost translator of Shakespeare. He has known Havel since Havel was a poetry-infatuated teen-ager. Ubanek was also one of only two people invited to comment on the manuscript of a book Havel somehow wrote this summer. Entitled “Summer Reflections,” the book was published in Prague earlier this month. It contains Havel’s meditations on his year and a half as president, as well as his thoughts on addressing the nation’s future problems. Ubanek confirmed, for example, that Havel’s speech to Parliament was generally in keeping with the book’s strategy on the federation issue.

I asked Ubanek if he thought his longtime friend might really resign as president.

“I think he could,” he replied.

Ubanek raised another possibility: Havel could dissolve Parliament and call for new elections. This would be an extreme act, but today’s situation is extreme. Indeed, the governing process in Prague has all but ground to a halt. Until the federation dispute is resolved, progress on a whole host of issues is all but impossible. A new Constitution can’t be passed until it is clear what form, if any, the federation will take in the future. Without a Constitution, a country lacks the necessary legal foundation for approving urgently needed environmental laws, investment packages, armament decisions and the like. And, of course, the endless haggling over the federation issue has itself eaten up enormous amounts of time. Jiri Krizan, the assistant to the president for political affairs, estimated that 60% to 70% of Havel’s time over the past 12 months has been spent on the federation question.

In fact, the first rumblings of Slovak discontent were heard almost as soon as Havel became president. Slovak television broadcast a video composed of clips drawn from foreign news coverage of the Velvet Revolution. Virtually all the references were to actions carried out in Prague by Czechs; it was as if Public Against Violence, the human-rights group in Slovakia, hadn’t existed. Next, in February, 1990, came the Hyphen War. The overthrow of communism presented the country with the opportunity to rename itself. The process quickly degenerated into a shouting match. Slovak nationalists argued that merely to eliminate the word Socialist from the old name of Czechoslovakian Socialist Republic was to institutionalize Slovakia’s secondary status. They proposed the Czecho-Slovak Republic. Finally, it was Havel who managed to calm the waters with his suggestion: the Czech and Slovak Federal Republic.

But calls for greater Slovak autonomy intensified. Slovaks comprise some 31% of Czechoslovakia’s population of 15 million people, and while they share much common history with the Czechs and an all but identical language, the differences between the two groups are unmistakable. Like residents of the American South in years gone by, Slovaks are noticeably poorer than--and often feel looked down upon by--the rest of the country. Separatists blame this on economic exploitation and arrogance on the part of the Czechs. For them, the answer is for Slovakia to go it alone.

How many Slovaks share such views is uncertain. For their part, some of Havel’s advisers blame the whole problem on a handful of power-hungry Slovak politicians. They point out that only 16% of the Slovak people voted for avowedly separatist parties in the last elections, and they cite opinion polls indicating that 70% of Slovaks want to live in a common state. However, it is unclear that this presumed Slovak majority interprets the phrase common state the same way Czech federalists do; that is, they may desire continued affiliation with Czechs but within a looser, confederation structure. In any case, there clearly exists at least a minority of Slovaks strong enough to organize rallies and pressure elected officials. Five days before Havel spoke to Parliament, some 15,000 people gathered in Bratislava to demonstrate for Slovak self-government.

As a Czech, Havel tries to understand how Slovaks feel. “We must distinguish between two things,” he said. “First, a certain self-awareness of the Slovak nation that is longing for national identity and the possibility to decide their own affairs. That is a legitimate feeling, which I think the majority of the Slovak nation holds. The second thing is the ambition of some politicians who . . . are aware of this longing and are trying to use it in the interests of their own particular political aims.”

Havel has made an effort to reach out to Slovaks in recent months--attending a championship football match in Bratislava, granting TV interviews to Slovak nationalist journalists, meeting with local officials and showing up at separatist political rallies, including one in March where he was almost attacked by an angry mob.

“I didn’t know if this scene had been planned by my brother with the intention of awakening the pro-federalists in Slovakia--which is what happened--or not, so later I asked him,” recalled Ivan Havel. “And he told me he hadn’t planned it at all. It was pure curiousity. He said he easily could have disappeared before they saw him, but he was turned to stone by his curiosity about who these people are and what they want. His bodyguards had to grab him and throw him in the car.”

“Sometimes we tell each other we are very tired of this (federation dispute) and want a good night’s sleep, but then we go back to work because we’re committed to solving it,” said Jiri Krizan of himself and Havel. “It’s like a baby who cries at night. It doesn’t matter how tired and fed up the parents are, they have to get up and deal with it, because they are the parents.”

Does Havel, then, ever feel like the father of his country? “More likely, I feel myself to be a child,” Havel told me, “because our democracy is in diapers, and with it our Parliament and our president are also in diapers. I don’t have a paternalistic attitude toward our citizens. I feel that my duty is to play an integrating role, and that’s what I’m trying to do. If people feel a certain kinship with me,” he added, “it is not because they see their father in me, but because they perceive something childlike in me, a kind of reflection of themselves and their state of mind.”

BUT HAVEL IS NOT AS POLITICALLY INNOCENT AS ALL THAT. ONE doesn’t spend all those years assembling coalitions, organizing political campaigns and fighting a totalitarian regime without picking up a few tricks along the way. Havel is extremely careful about what he says--and does not say--in public. That is normal for politicians, and even admirable at times, yet it does contrast with his image as an outspoken crusader for truth. Perhaps he was tired or distracted the day I interviewed him, but his answers were not always the penetrating, fearless gems one would expect after reading his books and speeches. He was measured, moderate, general. When previous statements of his were quoted back to him, he never disavowed them, but neither did he necessarily stand fully behind them.

For example, Havel was much less critical of Finance Minister Klaus’ shock-treatment transition to a market economy than one might expect from a man who once likened multinational corporations to socialist states (for their tendency to increase alienation and depersonalize work) and condemned advertising and consumerism as “wellsprings of totalitarian thought.”

Asked whether he as a humanist had any misgivings about embracing an economic system based on greed and competitiveness, Havel replied, “I am quite convinced that competition, which has rules that are binding and respected by all, is a real motor of economics. Nevertheless, I am against the idolizing and fetishization of the market economy, because for me it is not a world view, it is only a method of how an economy works.”

With prices skyrocketing and wages frozen, did Havel fear that the economic-reform program would increase social inequality? “We have had rich and poor in this country for some time,” he says. “But those who are rich in Czechoslovakia didn’t earn their wealth by entrepreneurial ability. There will always be social and economic differences. What’s important is that everyone gets an equal opportunity and that there is a safety net for those who for whatever reasons are incapable of making their own living.”

As a dissident, Havel was critical not only of Soviet-style totalitarianism but also of its Western counterpart--the “dictatorship . . . of consumption, production, advertising and commerce” that, he says, drains the soul and meaning from modern life and human relations. It took a popular revolution to get rid of dictatorship in Czechoslovakia. When I asked Havel what he thought it would take in the United States, he offered instead a witty response about conditions in his own country: “The kind of dictatorship that I was criticizing is not a thing which directly relates to so-called capitalism or socialism. It’s a phenomenon of the contemporary world. And we (in Czechoslovakia) are experiencing it in an especially absurd way, because in our country the remnants of socialism are mixing with the signs of reconstructing capitalism. So we now see on our television more commercials than in America almost--commercials advertising things no one has the money to buy and no one needs. When I want to watch the television news here, I always face a dilemma: whether to wash my laundry with Persil or Ariel (detergent), because they are both apparently the best in the world.”

In the 1970s and ‘80s, Havel and other dissidents within the Soviet empire repeatedly urged American journalists and politicians to raise the issue of human rights with their oppressors. Throughout these same years, however, and continuing today, the United States was sponsoring military dictatorships in Latin America that, according to Amnesty International and other human-rights organizations, not only harassed and imprisoned dissidents but routinely tortured and murdered them. As a head of state, would Havel now consider raising these issues with President Bush?

“If I get irrefutable proof that the policies of the United States support Latin American dictatorships and support persecution of democrats, then of course I will express my opinion to President Bush,” he responded.

But it did not sound like Havel would seek out such evidence on his own. Does he, like so many Soviet-Bloc dissidents, have a blind spot regarding the shortcomings of the United States, the “good” empire?

“It’s not a blind spot; he sees them,” his old friend Ubanek told me, “but at the same time he feels that we need the support of the United States so much. I once tried to explain that there’s not as much unity between Congress and the White House (on the one hand) and the financial and business types as he thinks, and that he could criticize the politicians and still be on good terms with the bankers and others. He understood, but it was a difficult time here in Czechoslovakia, and we didn’t pursue the subject.”

“You make it sound as though he was more free as a dissident than he is as president,” I responded.

Ubanek was silent a moment, as if uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “I have noticed this change somewhat. Thank you for giving words to things I have maybe been afraid to tell myself.”

NOT EVERYTHING HAS changed for Havel since he became president. Among other things, he remains an object of constant police scrutiny. In the words of a grinning Chancellor Schwarzenberg, “I hear this from him all the time: ‘Life didn’t change at all--before the revolution, there were always two policemen with me. After the revolution, there are always two policemen with me.”

Havel could rid himself of bodyguards once and for all if he goes ahead with his threat to resign. He could go back to writing plays and essays, seeing friends, throwing dinner parties, living the life of a world-class artist and intellectual. He could have a lot more fun and a lot less responsibility.

But that’s the catch. Responsibility is the cornerstone of Havel’s moral code. As he told Congress during his last visit to the United States, in 1990, the problems confronting “the salvation of this human world lies (in) responsibility to something higher than my family, my country, my company, my success.” It was Havel’s sense of responsibility--to his conscience, to his country--that led him, in 1981, to reject the Communist regime’s offer to release him from prison three years early if he would agree to emigrate to the West. It was this same sense of responsibility that led him to confront the regime and, later, to take on the job of president.

Havel recognizes as well as anybody that, for the moment at least, he is the only conceivable person who can fill the president’s chair in Hradcany Castle. There is simply no one else in Czechoslovakia today who can play, in his words, the “integrating role” that is crucial to guiding the country through its current growing pains. It may be a challenge that is beyond even Havel. But that, too, seems unlikely to dissuade him. It is difficult to imagine that Havel’s sense of responsibility would allow him to shirk this challenge simply because it is difficult. His country needs him, and he knows it.

“I remember talking with a friend of mine the day that Havel was thrown in jail the last time (in January, 1989),” recalled Jaroslav Veis, the editor of Czechoslovakia’s most respected daily newspaper, Lidove Noviny. “And my friend told me that he had finally come to understand the relationship between Havel and the regime. The regime needed Havel. Whenever it had a problem it didn’t know how to solve, it fixed things by putting Havel in jail, or letting him out again. In a way, I’m afraid we’re still in that situation today.”

Except now, the Castle is Havel’s prison.