Alexander D

cIN Ankara, Turkey, as in a score of other capitals, the Czechoslovak embassy held a reception last week to celebrate the country's liberation day. What made the occasion in Ankara so special was its host. Alexander Dubcek, who led Czechoslovakia through its "spring of freedom" in 1968 and became a hero to reformers both inside and outside his country, has served as Prague's ambassador in Ankara since January. He has been stripped of all political power; two months after taking up his duties in Turkey, he was even suspended from the Communist Party. TIME Correspondent James Bell recently visited Ankara to find out what has happened to the man who sought to give Communism "a human face." Bell's report: sb

The last important diplomatic problem between Prague and Ankara involved the divided island of Cyprus, and Dubcek's predecessor settled that last summer by agreeing to stop the flow of Czechoslovak arms to the government of Archbishop Makarios. In other words, as far as the Soviet-dominated government in Prague is concerned, Dubcek's main job in Ankara is to rusticate. He is doing his best to comply. But after more than three months of keeping a profile low enough to step on, Dubcek remains the Turkish capital's star diplomatic attraction.

When he appears at receptions and parties, he is instantly surrounded by newsmen, Turkish officials and other diplomats. In a capital not noted for its excitement, the diplomatic gossip mill seems to run on practically nothing but Dubcek tidbits. "He told me he gets a letter every day from each of his three sons in Prague," one woman reported. Even the local children have taken to looking out for him on his quiet walks through Kurulu Park, behind his residence. "Sometimes when the children see me they shout, 'Dubcek, Dubcek!'" he mentioned recently. "But they don't bother me." -

Their elders do. Dubcek's press secretary has curtly turned down every request for an interview, usually with the snapped words: "I have no instructions." Dubcek, when introduced to journalists at social occasions, prefaces most conversations with a warning: "What I say must not be considered an interview." On my visit to Ankara, while passing the gate of the plain, brownish gray building that serves as the chancellery of the Czechoslovak embassy, I happened to see Dubcek come out of his residence next door. He smiled when I wished him good morning, but the smile left his eyes when I told him that I was an American journalist. "No," he said in English. Then he paused and added, "Please."

Not surprisingly, Dubccek is seen most often with Soviet Ambassador Vasily Grubyakov, whom he visited even before presenting his credentials to President Cevdet Sunay. "That call," said one observer, "was his real presentation of credentials."

At receptions, Dubek has carried on long conversations about farm tractors and spoken of his wish to see more of the world. Once, his ever-present wan smile turning a bit mischievous, he observed that the best place to learn English, which he is studying, would be the Turkish-American Association. But, he went on, he doubted whether he could take advantage of it. The U.S. embassy has bent over backwards to be circumspect in its contacts with Dubcek. One American official, asked what the U.S. would do in the extremely unlikely event that Dubcek tried to defect, replied: "I'd give him the address of the Canadian embassy."

sb

Actually, there seems to be little likelihood that Dubcek will do anything but serve his government loyally in the mediocre job to which he has been assigned. He and his attractive blonde wife Anna, who is soon expected to return to Ankara after a long visit home to care for the Dubcek boys, live quietly and frugally in the embassy compound. When there, Mrs. Dubcek answers the residence phone herself and personally does the shopping, usually in Ankara's most inexpensive open-air markets.

Dubcek is said to be working on a book in his spare time, but few believe that it will contain any explosive indictments. "This is not a bitter man living in the past," says a friend. "He is a prophet of the future --although you would never get him to admit such a thing." He has spoken excitedly in private of West German Chancellor Willy Brandt's Ostpolitik, and urged that Eastern Europe respond with a creative Westpolitik. Without criticizing either the Soviet Union or the present Czechoslovak leadership, he has left the impression that the reforms he worked for are inevitable. But that is a thought that Dubcek must keep to himself, at least for the time being. "After a while," as one admirer puts it, "you are impressed that this is a man of strong opinion and great courage. But he is also rather pathetic in this place."

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