The Foreign Service Journal, December 2009

D E C E M B E R 2 0 0 9 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 49 countries signed the Helsinki Accords. Those agreements called for increased educational exchanges, media freedom and respect for human rights. Still, tight local controls remained in place in Prague. A police post across from the embassy displayed a camera visi- bly pointed at the front gate, and Czech visitors reminded us that our movements and conversations were constantly mon- itored. The American writer Philip Roth, who easily fit into the Kafkaesque landscape, was stopped by the local police after leaving our library because he was mistaken for a Czech intellectual whom the police hoped to bring in for questioning. The tension gradually got to me, as it did to others. I de- veloped a twitch on the right side of my face, drank too much Czech beer and Moravian white wine, and ate copious amounts of local fried and greasy foods in an unhealthy setting. “When did you stop smoking?” the physi- cian who conductedmy end-of-tour State Department physical exam asked. “I never smoked,” I replied. The doctor said that inhaling the Prague pollution was the equivalent of smoking two packs of ciga- rettes a day. Mystery Man At first the report writers tried to fig- ure out who I was. One said I was not a regular diplomat but a university profes- sor who had been given the Prague posi- tion as a reward. Another said I was an impeccable dresser (I wore the standard Brooks Brothers suits that were common to a generation of Foreign Service officers, but different in cut, color and fabric from the Russian-Italian suits favored by local government officials). Another report said I was careful to draw out the opinions of others in conversations while offering few of my own. I was “calm, serious and pleasant, and kept the conversation on cultural subjects.” Did I really have a doctorate in history from the University of California at Los Angeles? Yes, the writer concluded, but added that I’d claimed to have played on the UCLA basketball team — the most glaring misstate- ment in the whole file. Charlotte, he stated, was “of high so- cial standing” and also interested in history. More than 50 pages were devoted to the few days I spent one summer at English-teaching seminars in the small provin- cial cities of Presov and Olomouc, site of a language school and a large Russian military base. Professor Milne Holton, who taught American literature at the University of Maryland, had been coming to Czechoslovakia for several years to teach at these seminars, and I accompanied him on one tour shortly after I arrived. One report said that Holton had taken a photo of a Russian soldier in Olomouc, but that I hadn’t. A list of teaching materials on phonetics, the American short story, etc., that we distributed was reproduced, along with infor- mation like “his car was seen in front of the Palace Hotel and he carried two boxes of books and films inside.” Holton was given the code name COLUMBO. I was TANTAL, but have no idea what the word means. The names of informers and their targets appear to have been randomly selected. At least 20 different sources, identified by code names like MORAVA, VICTOR and PLUTONIUM, made cameo appearances over the years. And at least six different captains and majors wrote the reports. Occasionally a general was added when the contact was important enough, like the writer Pavel Kohout or the historian Josef Polisensky. The reports followed a distinct format. A large bordered space in the middle of the first page contained the name of the person and the subject. Fine print at the bottom said, “Make each subject a separate paragraph, and underline any reference to money.” Agents were also instructed to note whether the informa- tion came from an interrogation, a chance meeting, a gathering with several persons present, a third party, etc. Most documents were approved by at least two officers, and copies were distributed to at least four different offices. The report- ing format was clearly designed to keep a trainful of line officers employed writing or passing memoranda to one another. I kept looking for touches of humor or irony in the reports, but there were very few. One report on a visit to my hotel room in Bratislava when I was out to din- ner said: “His desk contained a 320-page manuscript, which we photographed.” It did not mention that the manuscript was a draft of The French Overseas Empire , a book I was writing at the time. “Ideodiversional” Activity After I had been in Prague nearly a year, Major Karl Plicka held a meeting to decide whether I was a CIA agent. He noted that I was increasingly busy with cultural and educa- tional diplomacy, but speculated that this might just be a cover for espionage. “He is conducting ideodiversional ac- tivity against the Czechoslovak state,” the report concluded. In the Communist Party lexicon, “ideodiversional” meant that U.S. educational and cultural programs represented a calcu- lated political-ideological diversion; thus, “under cover of a diplomatic function he is carrying out activities against our socialist state.” So they decided to go back through my file and interview everyone I had met, especially participants in the English- teaching seminars I had visited. The Security Services also ac- Maj. Plicka had found a set of keys to our apartment, but was not sure they still worked.