THE HIGH PRICE OF REPRESSION

IN today's Prague, practically no one works more than three hours a day. Once the most industrious and prosperous of Eastern Europeans, the Czechoslovaks are passively resisting Soviet occupation by the only means left to them: loafing. They wander aimlessly in the streets and fill the pubs from early morning until closing time. Construction sites are deserted. Office workers arrive late and often do not return after lunch. Says a factory foreman: "If you saw our plant at peak production hours, you would think we were on strike." "There is no respect for superiors, because they do nothing either," adds a Czechoslovak manager.

In desperation, Prague's purge-minded regime last week replaced the ministers of planning, finance, foreign trade and price control. The government also decreed that the five-day work week will be increased to six, apparently in the belief that production will rise proportionately. That is a dubious assumption. Visitors to Prague are assured that industrial sabotage continues unabated. Few Czechoslovaks seem to care that they themselves, and not the Soviet occupiers, are the first victims. They seem bent on committing slow economic suicide, which in its way is as tragic as the destruction of political freedom a year ago.

Chains on Baby Carriages. The consequences of the economic slowdown touch everyone. Czechoslovakia's distribution system is verging on collapse. Women must rise at dawn to search for fresh meat; eggs are often difficult to find in the cities. For long weeks during the summer, lack of railroad cars tied up 3,600 tons of meat and 105,000 tons of other Soviet goods at the border transfer point of Cierna. No one is starving, but Czechoslovaks returning from trips to Germany and Austria carry suitcases stuffed with food.

Residents of Prague find it almost impossible to buy towels, diapers, flashlight batteries, handkerchiefs, women's underwear, sheets, pillowcases and baby carriages. The shortages have spawned a new black market, and parents now chain their baby carriages to guard against theft. Construction has slowed so drastically that of 6,000 new apartments planned for this year, fewer than 100 have been completed. Because of a lack of coal, the government has reduced supplies available to schools and homes--a harsh step as cold weather approaches--and has cut electricity to "nonvital" industries by 14%.

Czechoslovakia is running into balance of payments difficulties and has had to cut back drastically on its imports of production equipment. The country's primary exports, including timber and Prague ham, are in short supply. Another reason for the export decline is the increasing shoddiness of Czechoslovak goods. A survey of fac tory managers showed that two-thirds of them give priority to the home market because, the report said, "the people are not selective." The men in charge of the economy vigorously protest the refusal of the U.S. to grant Czechoslovakia most-favored-nation tariff treatment. By stimulating sales to the U.S., such a step could give the Czechoslovaks a psychological as well as an economic lift.

Scapegoats. The beleaguered country has become a classic case study in Communist mismanagement and exploitation. Before World War II, "Made in Czechoslovakia" was a hallmark of excellence in steel, machine tools, glass, textiles, machinery and leather. The

Czechoslovaks survived the war with their industrial plants largely intact, but then came the Communist coup of 1948. Prague adopted the Soviet economic system, and the Soviets, in turn, drained Czechoslovakia, buying its production at dictated prices. One notable example is uranium. Czechoslovakia had the world's first producing uranium mine, and it supplied the pitchblende from which Mme. Curie isolated radium. During the 1950s, Russia bought most of Czechoslovakia's uranium for the cost of production, which was set artificially low because the mines were manned largely by unpaid political prisoners and located on state-owned land.

When the demand for reform became overwhelming in 1966, the rigid regime of Antonin Novotny hesitantly began decentralizing the economy while trying to maintain tight political control. After Alexander Dubcek rose to power in 1968, he added the vital ingredient of political freedom and adopted a series of reforms proposed by Economist Ota Sik. As Deputy Prime Minister under Dubcek, Sik initiated far-reaching decentralization and began rapidly to modernize the economy, particularly in consumer industries that had suffered from decades of neglect. Sik also hoped to get $400 million in credits from the West, a step that would have relieved Czechoslovakia of some of its heavy dependence on the Soviets for markets and raw materials.

The Soviet invasion killed that hope. Dubcek's successor, Gustav Husak, justly complains that he took over an economy in chaos--but unjustly blames the Dubcek regime and specifically Sik, who is on indefinite official leave in Switzerland. The chaos is really the result of the repeal of the Dubcek and Sik reforms, and of the fact that Czechs today commonly proclaim: "We are not going to work for the Russians." The Soviets, for their part, are doing nothing to help. They are withholding sorely needed credits until political "normalization" is complete.

Gradual Freeze. Bound by Communist orthodoxy, the country's new rulers have ordered a return to highly centralized planning, and they have threatened loafing workers with "ideological training"--a euphemism for force. The government has brought in Yugoslav construction crews, Polish textile workers and Hungarian railroad men, and called on Czech workers to work "voluntary" weekend shifts to commemorate Lenin's 100th birthday next year. The notion ironically harks back to the freely given "Dubcek shifts" that workers put in during their brief springtime of freedom. Otherwise, the occupation regime's tinkering with the economy has made the situation worse. A 16% wage increase in the first half of 1969 only increased the rate of inflation. Now the regime is trying to freeze wages and prices, but is applying the controls gradually to avoid antagonizing the populace. Since there are no visible results, the effort succeeds only in angering everyone.

Because Czechoslovaks expect a devaluation of their currency at any time, they are spending at a frenzied pace, even though the average monthly wage buys only one ill-made suit and a pair of shoes. As prices spiral dizzily, Prague is filled with rumors that clothing will soon be rationed. Inflation could be halted, and many other economic ailments eased, if the Czechoslovaks would return to their old habits of industriousness, but the people are manifestly unwilling to do so unless there is a general liberalization.

The Soviet conquerors are in a bind. They fear that economic liberalization and reform would lead inexorably to demands for more political freedom, which they are unwilling to allow. But if Czechoslovakia is to have an economy that can reliably produce for the Communists, the hard-liners sooner or later must provide some reforms. Meantime, there is still a glimmer of wry Czechoslovak humor, as illustrated by a joke that is making the rounds in Prague:

Q. What would happen if Czechoslovakia should gain control of the Sahara desert?

A. Within two years, we would have to import sand.

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