East Germany: Over there

As the neutralists dithered and Khrushchev cracked his grim jokes, the Communists kept up their harassment of West Berlin, complaining that some of the passengers flying in from West Germany were "revanchists, militarists, spies and subversives." This, said Moscow, must cease forthwith. Tartly, the U.S., Britain and France replied with joint notes, bluntly reminding the Soviets that the passenger traffic in the corridors to Berlin is no business of the Communists. A passenger buys a ticket, boards his plane and goes. This, said the U.S., is "well understood in societies where free men regulate their own lives in accordance with free choice. That the U.S.S.R. should characterize such activities as criminal does not make them so."*

TV Traitors. That this might be confusing to Communists was demonstrated by the way Moscow's East German satellite bosses were running their own society. Under a new decree, hundreds of East Germans were being snatched up and "resettled" in small isolated towns in the interior for "work education." Reason: they were suspected of planning to escape to the West or of encouraging others to do so. Hordes of uniformed "Free German Youth" youngsters were sent out to inspect every East German's rooftop television and F.M. aerial, tear down those that were pointed toward the stations of Wrest Berlin or West Germany. "Anyone listening to Western radio or television broadcasts is a traitor," cried an editorial in Leipzig's Sächsische Zeitung.

Now that the Berlin barrier to the West is complete, East Germany's Communist Boss Walter Ulbricht feels safe in squeezing the workers in a way that might have brought revolt—or a sudden surge of escaping refugees—a few months or weeks ago. Calling for greater factory production last week, the regime announced a new slogan: "More production in the same time for the same money."

It Stinks. Even in Leipzig, where Western salesmen have long met their East German counterparts on free and easy terms during the twice-yearly sessions of the famed trade fair, TIME Correspondent Robert Lackenbach last week found the citizenry pale and nervous, shooting looks over the shoulder before daring to speak frankly. At dinner in a private home, a wife anxiously discussed the letter she got that morning from Communist Party headquarters, inviting her to attend a lecture on world politics. Should she go? The debate occupied the entire meal. "If you do not attend, we'll have a party official here tomorrow morning asking why. and it will get us in trouble,'' decided her husband.

At a neighborhood bar, the buxom waitress first tried Russian, then German on the foreign visitor. "American? Don't talk politics with my customers. They're too drunk to know what they're saying, and there's an F.DJ. [Free German Youth] in the corner."

But as soon as the young party stalwart left, the clients gathered round to talk. "This whole thing stinks," said an elderly laborer as he finished his beer and rose to go home. "You are asking too late what I think about things. You should have asked me three weeks ago. Now we can't get out. You Americans had Leipzig once after World War II. Why don't you come back again and take the place?"