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Strrtarmcn. Salea. Orw Sunday. Sept IX 1S53 Cec. 2 0
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By WILLIAM OATIS
(Copyright 1853 by Tha AuocUtad Press)
I was to spend ten long years in a Communist
prison. The judge's sentence struck me almost un
conscious. Then I heard the other sentences :
Thomas Svoboda 20 years.
Paul Wyodinek 18 years. .
Peter Mantt 16 years.
IS Minutes to Decide
We were all to forfeit our
property to the state. And I, as a
foreigner, was to be expelled
from the country after complet
ing my prison term.
Judge Novak then allowed us
to sit down, and he read a state
ment of the court s reasoning on
the case.
Finally, we were told that we
might either aoeept sentence or
appeal. Tor the benfit of the
foreigner," the judge added that
In case of good behavior, a con
vict might petition for his own
release-after serving naiz ms
sentence.
He adjourne d court for 10
minutes. We were led out s side
door of the courtroom and across
hall and placed with our per
sonal guards in separate cells.
Advice of Counsel
i As I paced the narrow wooden
floor of my cell, in came a neat
middle-aged man in a gray busi
ness suit. He was a fidgety little
man with a poker face and the
quick, sidelong glance of an ap
prehensive rabbit. He had been
introduced to me, only a week
before, as "your lawyer, Dr. Bar
tos." Dr. Bart os had with him a po
lice interpreter, for he spoke no
English. He had come to advise
. me on the next move.
"Ten years!" I said to him.
That's pretty stiff, isn't it?"
"I thought you'd get 15 years,"
he said.
"What do you think I ought to
do?" I asked.'
"I think you ought to accept
the sentence."
I had pleaded guilty .Fourteen
people had testified against me,
and I was one of them. A denial
of my guilt in the face of all that
would set me nowhere. There
was no use of appeal on the
question of guilt
I had. got the lightest sentence
(aid down in. the law for a case
like mine. There was no reason
to appeal on the question of the
length of the sentence.
rhe Die is Cast
I stood a chance to get out of
prison after five years maybe
even sooner. I could hardly hope
to get out so soon if I antagon
ized the police or the judges. And
If I appealed,;! might antagonize
them.
An appeal could do me no
good, and it might hurt me. I
agreed with my lawyer. I would
accept the sentence.
I had a question for Dr. Bartos:
The police had told me that the
United States Embassy had tak
en charge of the few clothes and
books I had brought with me to
Prague. I wondered if the author
ities meant to claim them, since
the court had ruled that my
property should be confiscated.
The lawyer waved his hand in
a gesture of deprecation.
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(Story continued from page one) I rrr-' Jv " 11 "'" ." ' 1 t
That," be said, "was just for
the public."
I grabbed at bis promise that
he would petition President Kle
ment Gottwald, within the next
next few days, for my pardon.
A Promise
I gave him the address of my
wife, Laura belle, in St Paul,
Minn. I asked Mm to cable her
that I had got 10 years in prison
but that with good behavior I
could get out in five and that
he was petitioning for a pardon
that might get me out even
sooner.
He promised me he would. He
also assured me that, whenever
I wanted to consult him, I had
only to tell a prison guard and I
would be taken to him. Then he
left
A few momenta later, we four
convicts were back in the court
room, and Judge Novak was ask
ing me, "What is your decision?
I had framed my little piece be
forehand, and I stood in the stall
and spoke it:
"I accept the sentence of the
court and ask that I be sent
somewhere where I can do some
useful work."
I hoped that I could go to a
convict labor camp, where I
should have sunshine and fresh
air and room for a stroll and
above all something to do, some
thing to help me pass the time.
I went back to a cell. I
stayed in a cell until, after 24
months and 23 days in prison, I
was pardoned.
If Mr. Bartos asked for my
pardon, I never heard of it If he
sent a cable, to my wife, she
never got it And if he really be
lieved my keepers would let me
consult him at will, he is a
dreamer. I never got to talk to
him again. I suppose I am just
as well off.
What Happened?
That is what happened to me
on the Fourth of July, , 195L
Why? What made it happen?
In my cell,1 in the months that
followed, I had time to think
about that more time than I
wanted. I thought about it more
than was good for me. And I
suppose the answer is about like
this:
The setup in Czechoslovakia
while I was there was made to
order for a case such as mine.
I realize now something I never
realized then: In all of eastern
Europe, there was no mora dan
gerous place for a Western cor
respondent to work.
If a man gets too close to a
fight he gets hurt.
A fight was on in Czechoslo
vakia the Communis ta's cam
paign to wipe out the opposition,
to complete their revolution.
A fight was on in the world,
too the diplomatic struggle for
preponderance between the re
spective spheres of influence of
the Unitd States and the Soviet
Union. The western border of
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I A -M- (
WILLIAM N. OATIS
Czechoslovakia was part of the
dividing line between those
spheres. The frontier was tight.
but It was not impassable. A lot
got over, in both directions
much propaganda, and some
spies.
I went to Prague from London
on June 23, 1930. Bedrich Runge
of the press section of the Minis
try of Foreign Affairs handed me
a booklet labeled, "journalist's
identity card, 1950." Inside was
my name, description and pass
port photo. In little squares la
beled, "second quarter' and
"third quarter," the ministry had
stamped its official seal
This meant that I was accredit
ed as a foreign correspondent for
the rest of June and for July,
August and September. To con
tinue my work after September
I must get this accreditation re
newed, with a new stamp.
A Tricky System
This was .the control the gov
ernment exercised over corres
pondents. Their copy was not
censored before it was sent out
of the country. But government
press people read it as it was
published in newspapers abroad.
If they did not like what they
read, the ministry declined to re
new the writer's accreditation.
And with the expiration of his
latest residence permit, he had
to leave the country.
(Within the six months before
my arrival in Prague, two AP
men and several other corres
pondents had been got rid of this
way, most of them on the grounds
that they had indulged in what
the government called"unobject
ive reporting.)
This system waa tricky. The
correspondent never knew quite
where he stood.
There was only one stated re
striction on the movements of the
American corespondent in Czech
oslovakia. Except on journeys in
and out of the country, he might
not enter the relatively narrow
frontier zone. Otherwise, he was
not specifically forbidden to go
where he pleased and see what
he liked.
Nor was there any stated re
striction on his contacts. He
might talk to anyone that would
talk to him.
Official And Unofficial
Under these circumstances, he
could see and hear a good deaL
As an American, he naturally
would find friends among Czechs
sympathetic to Americans live
ly, intelligent people, usually,
alert to what was going on in the
country and eager to talk about
it
So, with his own eyes and ears,
he could get news that he did
not see in the official press nor
hear on the official radio nor
pick up from handouts of the
ministries of foreign affairs and
information and the official news
agency.
Using what the government
gave him was called "official re
porting. Using what he got
otherwise was called "unofficial
repoting.'
He knew what came from offi
cial sources was what the govern
ment wanted people to know. He
might surmise that the author
ities would frown on "unofficial
reporting." But there waa no
hard-and-fast rule against it
What was more, other corres
pondents did it and got by
With it
He knew that: His home office
sometimes asked him for "unof
ficial stories that other corres
pondents already had on agency
wires or in newspapers abroad.
If some such story displeased
somebody that mattered in
Czechoslovakia, the offending re
porter was simply bounced from
the country until it came -my
turn: I got arrested.
Those Who Matter
Because I forgot who were the
people that really mattered. They
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were not press officers at the
ministries of information and for
iegn affairs. They were -net the
Czechs that like Americans. -.
They were Czechs that did not
like Americans, unless the Ameri
cans happened to be Communists
or Communist sympathizers. They
were the secret police.
I was their prisoner far over
two years. And I have my ex
perience or their own words to
back up everything I say about
them.
' They were suspicious, of me
from the day I entered Czechoslo
vakia. An innocent though incautious
act of mine two months later
strengthened their suspicions.
That act prompted the authori
ties to atop my accreditation at
the end of September. But they
did not tell me the reason, and
X could not guess.
I asked and got permission to
stay and work as usual without
accreditation. A few weeks later,
I was invited to a confidential
meeting with a secret police of
ficial On that occasion, a police
agent posing as a ministry em
ploye struck up an acquaintance
with me. Several times after that,
he invited me to dinner.
A Mystery Man
I went along, to try to figure
out this mystery man. He fished
for information on the United
States Embassy. He suggested
that I use embassy communica
tions channels to send news out
of the country. And he finally
tried to get me to work for him.
If his object was to provoke
me to a clear violation of the
law and catch me redhanded in
it he got nowhere. If his aim was
to turn me into a police spy, he
failed to do that, too:
But he did give me some "un
official information, and this was
used against me at my triaL He
also did something for me that
looked at the time like a favor.
In February, 1951, he helped get
my accreditation restored.
That same month, a secret
police agent was shot and killed
in Prague. Soon after, the police
started arresting acquaintances
of mine. They were also ac
quaintances of a man I had heard
of but never met another mys
tery man.
He was a Czech refugee that,
for reasons unknown to me,
passed back and forth across the
border between Czechoslovakia
and western Germany. And it
was another acquaintance of this
man, outside my own circle of
friends, who was arrested and ac
cused of killing the policeman.
Three of my employes knew
this refugee. These employes
were arrested one by one first
Svoboda, then Woydinek, then
Muntx.
Why They Confess
On April 23, the police ar
rested me, too, searched my of
fice and seived notes, news stor
ies, messages and other material.
Later, others acquainted with the
four of us were picked up. And
everybody was put through a
sun interrogation.
It is through such interroga
tions that prisoners are induced
to make the fantastic confessions
that are the hallmark of a propa
ganda triaL
They confess, most of them,
not because confessions are beat
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Dr. E. E. Boring
OPTOMETRISTS AT
mmm
Comer 12th and Confer
en out of them. I should hesi
tate to aay no suspect ever was
beaten in Czechoslovakia. But
never in my two years in prison
was I beaten, and never did I
meet another prisoner that would
say he had been beaten or that
snowed any signs of it
As for the "injections reput
edly used in Communist coun
tries. I was given no injections
of anything besides what was de
scribed: correctly, I believe as
a sugar and vitamin solution foe
my health. I heard of no other
prisoner that was drugged.
Prisoners make fantastic con
fessions primarily, I think, be
cause they feel that this is their
only chance to save something
out of the wreckage.
In my case, the police easily
established the fact that I had
done "unofficial reporting."
They even confronted me with
another suspect who testified I
had sought "unofficial news that
is, espionage news."
There it was. In the eyes of the
police, all unofficial reporting
was espionage. And if I knew
what was good for me, I should
look at the matter through the
eyes of the police, because my
fate was in their hands.
So I signed a statement to the
effect that I had gathered mili
tary information in Czechoslova
kia and that thereby I had com
mitted espionage. ,
This was still low-level espion
age, punishable by three months
to three years in prison. To in
die me for high-level espionage,
the police must show that I had
obtained "state secrets with the
intention of betraying them to a
foreign power."
In January, 1951, I had met Lt
CoL George L. Atwood when he
came to Prague as military at
tache of the U. S. Embassy.
A Plot Suspected
In talking with him, I learned
that toward the end of the war
he had gone to the Japanese
language school of the Military
Intelligence Service at the Uni
vrsity of Michigan in Ann Arbor.
So had I, when I was in the
Army. We had been there at the
same time, though we had never
met there.
Among my effects, the police
had found an unfortunate souve
nir a pass issued to me at a
similar school at Fort Snelling,
Minn., where I had spent a short
time in transit to Ann Arbor.
Neither school had anything to
do with peacetime intelligence
work. Both were designed for the
training of translators and in
terpreters to question prisoners
and sift through captured docu
ments in the war with Japan.
But to the secret police, "mi
litary intelligence" and there it
was on the pass, in black and
wmte meant only one thing
espionage. To their minds, all
this spelled a plot: I was a spy
and Atwood was a spy, and we
were working together.
It was useless for me to point
out that I never had been in
military intelligence' and that I
had cut all connections with the
Army over six years before.
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Questioned as to how certain
things had cot into my note
book. I had told them how. one
day, I had picked up a rumor at
the Indian embassy to the effect
that apartments in one section of
Prague were being commandeer
ed: tor Army otzicers, and how I
bad asked CoL Atwood what he
knew about this.
In talking to him about that
rumor, my intention was not to
live him information but to jet
information from him not for a
story, but for background help
ful to my understanding of the
country where I waa working. It
turned out, in fact, that he al
ready had heard the report.
Signed and Sealed
But that cut no ice with the
police. They made out of the in
cident what " they could. They
wrote a statement, for my signa
ture.that I had given military in
formation to Atwood. And I hag
gled about it and rewrote it And,
though it was still damaging, I
had been awake for something
like 42 hours. All I could think
of was that I must sleep. They
would not let me sleep till I had
signed it, and so I signed.
Later, they took all they had
about the two of us, and about
the school, and worked it into a
weird statement that wound up
with my saying I had given At
wood information because I knew
he was a spy.
Late one night, they pushed
that at me. and a polite police
official told me, "Sign this and
you don't need to worry."
It was so fantastic that even
as I read it I had to smile. And I
was so confused that I did not
see it for the booby trap it was.
It seems, I thought, that what
they want is to shoot off a heavy
charge of propaganda and then
to expel Atwood and maybe me
too.
I signed that statement Then
they rewrote all my previous fac
tual statements, hopping them
up, needling fact with fancy,
painting me as black as they
could.
And by now I was so used to
signing papers, so conscious of
my absolute helplessness, so con
vinced that my only hope lay in
playing their game, that on every
page I wrote, "I have read this.
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