Dictator Gets the Message

One by one, by swift plane to soft exile or by swifter bullet, most of the hemisphere's oldtime rightist dictators in fancy uniforms have given way to democracy or to the new kind of nominally democratic strongmen who rule heavily while spieling the jargon of social reform. On the entire South American continent, only one old-school tyrant remains: a trimly mustached, part-German artillery general named Alfredo Stroessner, boss of backward Paraguay. Last week, after a trip into Stroessner's stronghold, TIME Correspondent Piero Saporiti reported that the survivor is under pressure to retire or reform. Reported Saporiti:

With the chill of southern hemisphere winter compounding the police-state stillness, Asuncion appeared even quieter than usual. The capital's cobbled, orange-tree-lined streets were mostly deserted except for a few trudging, overcoated citizens. But beneath the icy surface of Paraguay there was a thawing new ray of hope. Men whispered word of it across the marble tabletops of kerosene-heated coffeehouses, over steaming mate, the herb tea sipped from a gourd through a metal straw. The hope, still dim but voiced seriously for the first time, is that outside pressure--chiefly from the U.S.--will eventually force the dictator to go.

One-Sixth Exiled. There is no doubt that Stroessner, 48, is still in command. Telephones are still tapped. Plainclothes cops still lounge near opposition homes. Cells are still packed with political prisoners. The army, so far, backs Stroessner resolutely. Some 300.000 Paraguayans--one-sixth of the population--live in exile; hundreds of others waste away in concentration camps that he maintains in the "Green Hell" of the Chaco jungle.

Stroessner's worries begin with backwardness. Today the landlocked country, the size of Sweden, has only 118 miles of paved road. Its people are 80% illiterate, earn a per-capita annual income of only $115. The government is almost bankrupt: reserves are down to a mere $500,000.

Bobbing Bodies. The opposition has become emboldened. Eighteen months ago, guerrillas aided by Cuba's Fidel Castro invaded Paraguay from Argentina, but Stroessner's army beat them off, and machete-chopped corpses of rebels were soon bobbing down the Parana River. Today new bands of anti-Stroessner rebels reportedly stalk Stroessner from behind the laxly guarded Brazilian frontier. Last March the entire town of General E. Aquino--along with its Stroessner-appointed mayor--rose up in revolt, and had to be cowed by army bullets. Three died, 100 were arrested. During Independence celebrations last May, 2,000 students paraded through Asuncion in competition with the official ceremony. Stroessner's police broke them up with clubs and chains.

The dictator's most recent concern began three weeks ago with the arrival of Adlai Stevenson. President Kennedy's special envoy dutifully heard Stroessner out, then had U.S. embassy cars sent to fetch half a dozen opposition delegations. In his farewell airport message. Stevenson said pointedly: "The protection of civil rights, free elections and democratic procedures would greatly enhance international respect for Paraguay, and confidence in her future development and prosperity."

There was little doubt that Stroessner, anxious for a slice of Kennedy's Alliance for Progress pie, got the message. He promised Stevenson that he would hold a "free election" in 1963, kept hands off the opposition Liberal Party's increasingly critical newspaper, cut short an anti-Yankee campaign unleashed by his Interior Minister in outrage against Stevenson, hurried up a conference scheduled at week's end with visiting President Arturo Frondizi of Argentina, and asked to meet with Brazil's Janio Quadros in July. From both of those neighboring democrats Stroessner is expected to ask help, but will probably get little more than the same sort of advice that Stevenson gave.

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