Eastern Europe Below the Speed Limit

By Daniel Benjamin

Under the old East German regime, no institution was more loathed than the Stasi -- the nickname for the Staatsicherheitdienst, or state security police. So it was hardly a surprise that the angriest protests since the November revolution were ignited last week when the government of Communist reformer Hans Modrow proposed that the Stasi, declared defunct on Dec. 17, be revived in a revamped form. It was also revealed that the ministry, which had 85,000 employees when it was officially disbanded, still has some 50,000 agents on the job.

What did seem shocking was the violence of the protest. While an East Berlin crowd of more than 100,000 cheered from outside, several thousand demonstrators tore through part of the huge, 3,000-room building complex on Normanenstrasse. In November protesters entered Stasi offices, but only when accompanied by ordinary police and as part of an effort to ensure that records were not destroyed or spirited away. This time there was no such decorum. The invaders ripped through desks and files, shattered windows and upended furniture.

By the standards of most young revolutions prior to the annus mirabilis of 1989, the event was rather tame. There was even some speculation that the Communist government had fomented the trouble to spread fear of disorder. Nonetheless, the sacking of Stasi headquarters epitomized a rising impatience with the pace of change in several East European countries. Increasingly aware of the strength they can wield in open demonstrations, many East Germans, Rumanians and Bulgarians seem to be growing more restive, more insistent in their demands. Their sights are often set, as they were in East Berlin, on the efforts of Communist officeholders to cling to their old jobs, or to any jobs. Yet the protesters also seem intent on bringing about open confrontations, and this has thrown into question just how orderly life in these countries will remain.

In East Germany, even before the raid, the Modrow government acceded to demands that the issue of resurrecting a state security ministry be left until after elections are held on May 6. Even so, the question of order loomed larger, and the spectacle of the rampage discomfited the government and opposition alike. Said Konrad Weiss, a leader of the Democracy Now movement and an organizer of the protest that preceded the riot: "We found out that radicals in this country can easily misuse a peaceful demonstration."

Fears of unrest were also sounded in Bonn, where authorities are worried about ferment within East Germany and the continuing tide of immigrants to the West, which is still running at about 2,000 a day. A top official of Chancellor Helmut Kohl's government, wary of calling too brazenly for unification, urged another formulation. East Berlin, he suggested, should declare that a federal state binding together the two Germanys is the goal of both countries. That, West German officials felt, might help reassure would-be immigrants and stanch the flow.

If Modrow's grip on power is slipping, the authority of Rumania's new government seems to be splintering completely. Two weeks ago, 1,000 demonstrators converged on the headquarters of the ruling National Salvation Front in Bucharest, screaming, "Death for Communists!" The Front, whose eleven-member ruling board is made up entirely of former party members, immediately outlawed the Communist Party.

But after other members of the Front criticized the quick capitulation, the government reacted with a remarkable display of indecision. First the leadership declared that it would hold a referendum to decide the fate of the party and whether the death penalty, which was abolished after the execution of Nicolae Ceausescu and his wife, should be reinstated. Three days after the announcement of the referendum, the Front reversed itself yet again. Yes, the Communist Party had been dissolved, but anyone who wished to do so could start a new one. The death penalty would still be banned. Commented a Western diplomat in Bucharest: "We're amazed that they ((Front members)) are hanging on, but the danger of this spinning out of control also seems very close."

The fragility of the Bucharest leadership gave a measure of credibility to rumors circulating in the Rumanian capital that the army might take administrative control of the country, though there was no hard evidence to support the notion. There may, however, be a popular desire for exactly that kind of intervention. Said a Rumanian journalist: "We are all now thinking that the military could take power. Even if they don't, with ex-Communists running the country who were Communists last month, people are wondering whether anything can really change here. The atmosphere is full of fear."

The same desire to sweep Communists out of privileged positions is being voiced in Poland. Prime Minister Tadeusz Mazowiecki denounced moves by the nomenklatura to purchase state companies at giveaway prices as Poland attempts to privatize sectors of its economy. He also called for elections at the local level, a last bastion of Communist power, in April. By picking an early date, Mazowiecki hopes to keep the boulder of reform rolling.

Although Bulgaria's political life has been so dominated by explosive ethnic strife that issues of democratic change are at times obscured, the country has also been struggling with the realities of an emboldened populace. In Sofia last week tens of thousands of Bulgarians called for the immediate resignation of the Communist government of Prime Minister Petar Mladenov, multiparty elections and the disbanding of the Bulgarian secret police. Possibly prodded by the demonstration, the National Assembly ended the leading role of the Communist Party the next day. The angry crowds may have given a fillip to the United Democratic Front, an umbrella group of twelve pro-democracy organizations that is negotiating with Bulgarian officials for reformist measures and a date for elections.

The starkest evidence of how the regime has been put on the defensive had nothing to do with elections or institutional change. On Thursday the government announced that it had indicted Todor Zhivkov, 78, the man who ruled - Bulgaria for 35 years, on charges of corruption (he is said to have owned some 30 homes and hunting lodges around the country) and fomenting ethnic unrest.

Since Zhivkov was the architect of the country's discriminatory laws, his arrest seemed to signal that the government is determined to resist demands that limits on Turkish civil rights be restored. But it also showed how the government had been pushed by the crowds to cut ties with its past and how it was forced to scramble to maintain a modicum of support. After all, it was the same Petar Mladenov who lavished praise on Zhirkov for "his long and loyal service" when the veteran leader was eased from office only ten weeks ago.

With reporting by Kenneth W. Banta/London, John Borrell/Warsaw and James O. Jackson/Berlin