Wednesday pm

First reports of the Russian invasion from the NZBC. The "Evening Post" features [he story on its front page. Students gather outside the Russian Embassy in Messines Road at 6 p.m. An NZBC television team arrives at 6.30 and we render our anthem ("Stalin's body lies a'mouldering in the grave but his troops go marching on") in picturesque postures — publicity whores all. Gager. Logan and Wilde activate. We meet Pornography, the First Secretary, and present a hastily drawn-up petition. It reads: "We. the undersigned students of Victoria University, protest against the action of Warsaw Pact troops in invading the territory of Czechoslovakia". There arc about 30 signatures to this first edition—including that of Imre Nagy, who was there in spirit.

We leave at about 7.30 (shortly after the press). Later in the evening a spontaneous demonstration takes place at the Embassy in the course of which a Russian car drives over a constable's foot. (The police tell the "Dominion" — presumably on instructions from the Minister of Police—that the policeman has a "grazed hand".) The police friendship campaign escalates alarmingly. The slogan "Fascist Pigs" is out according to the police. "Porcine Fascists' is O.K.

thursday am

Pornography has given us an appointment with Dorofeev at 10 a.m. (There are about ten witnesses to this.) At 10 a.m. we are-told that the appointment had been at 9 a.m. and that the Ambassador is no longer available. The confusion is attributed by the Russians to the "language barrier". The language barrier sutlers under a barrage of muffled expletives. We present editions 2—5 of the petition anyway (142 signatures). A reliable source reports that Dorofeev is a pregnant lesbian.

The 90 Hours

On to the Czech Embassy—only to be beaten at the gun by the Conspicuous Christions: a group of people a little holier than us who insist on preserving their separate identity The Czechs arc touchingly grateful for our expression of support. Newspaper reporters tells us that the Embassy staff are concentrating on getting thoroughly bombed before news about their late relatives arrives.

thursday pm

Gager and I meet Pornography for about three-quarters of an hour. His manner suggests that he is either an extremely sophisticated automaton or actually has human feelings. He assures us that we will understand the justice of the Soviet action when more information becomes available. He says that "Russia's prestige has suffered in the eyes of the world as a result of Western propaganda" and that the situation in Czechoslovakia is leading to "erosion of the socialist mainstays".

The vigil begins at 6 p.m. Rain falls gently throughout the night. There is a lot of noise for a few hours. Mary Seddon arrives with coffee and folk-singers. "We shall overcome" just isn't the right song for this sort of thing somehow. And "If I had a hammer" was aborted by the folk-killers—Peter, Paul and Murray. But it's pretty music from the beautiful people. The lock incident provides a brief diversion. Nobody (genuinely) appears to know who's screwed up the lock. Josef (otherwise known as Odd-Job) gels excited. The Russians cut their way out of Soviet territory with a hack-saw

friday am

Friday dawns cold and clear but, thank Keith, dry. An icy wind whips over the hill and we feel pretty sorry for ourselves.

Wednesday and the wacky suggestions (drop manure from planes: fire rockets through the windows; lie down in the path of cars) had been funny. Thursday and the funniest ones raised a snigger. By today we are well acquainted with and heartily sick of the Ten-Minute Activists—people who tell us to storm the (unlocked) gates and carry all (including Nasili, genial blond giant and Russian Olympic wrestling representative) before us. One of the T.-M.A.'s arrives a quarter of an hour before the NZBC and tells them all about our plans before leaving five minutes later We are puzzled to discover how far advanced our plans are when he hear the next radio bulletin.

friday pm

The day crawls round. Soup, coffee, arettes, chocolates and apples arrive at regular intervals. The donors—most of them East European migrants—wave away thanks. Some bawl a bit. Preparations are being made down at Vic for a meeting in Parliament grounds on Monday. The news, that the Speaker, a Mr. Joke, has refused permission For the use of amplifiers at the meeting arrived. (A good item for the "Czechoslovakia-is-a-little-far-off-country-about-which we-know-little" file.)

Saturday

Four students on duty at the vigil. Three decide to go off for some sleep. No. 4, plaintively: "You can't leave me alone'.. A cop in a doorway: "What about me? This small hardened crew is reinforced throughout the day by members of the public. A cigarette fund is raised by allowing masochists a short purview of Mike Rashbrooke's sleeping face. Josef hands out more propaganda.

Nasili and two cops come out to get the milk. Nasili starts talking to us (in Russian) about his family. He waves a milk-bottle in each eight-inch fist. One is "Papa" and the other is "Mama". He bangs (pun) them together a few times and grins broadly. A third bottle is "Gregory". Sex—an international language.

The signs read "Bolshevik Butchers". "Socialism Si! Imperialism Non! and so on. The best one reads: "Russia: Her troops are murderers and her diplomats arc Liars!" Gager specialises in slogans of twenty words and up. One that is unusually concise reads: "It isn't Russia you're dragging through the mud—it's Communism".

Some blond horror who looks like Charlton Heston, appears twice, for half an hour or so each time. Somebody says to her that there are about "seventy people here". She says: "Yes. And sixty-five of them are kids." During her second appearance someone asks her: "Were you here all night? "No, not all night She'd arrived twenty minutes before. Simon Arnold comes up representing Simon Arnold and tells us that we will not yell at the Russians any more and that we will turn our backs on them when they pass by. Then he lakes our sings off the gate. The signs are restored. We yell at the Russians.

A small red-faced man with bulging eyes edges into view. He says he is a member of the Friends of the USSR Society and has come to see all the lies and rubbish we are perpetrating. He darts from sign to sign muttering "Dusgusting" and "Bad taste". Then he leaves. Morale goes up a few points.

A bit later the fascists (N.Z. version) arrive. The leader yells: "Dubcek is dead! They found his body an hour ago!" We don't riot. He turns on us—"I suppose you'd like to see the North Vietnamese flag up here next week. You're Commie bums!" They stay until it gels cold.

sunday

It's quiet. We've been playing dominoes, 500 and chess. The Czechs have come back with more food. Some New Zealander arrives at 3 a.m. and asks whether anything is needed. Somebody said that they'd like some aspirin. The chap says he'll go back home to Johnsonville to get them. He goes. inspite of protests, and returns with aspirin. coffee and other supplies. More members of the public arrive during the day.

A church service! We stand, heads bowed (in prayer?), as Gerald Rose, a minister in the Lower Hutt Church of Christ, reads the Word. All in all, a quiet day.

monday

The vigil is maintained until noon. Nearly everyone shoots off to Vic to prepare for the Parliament demo/meeting.

Most people who are at the meeting reckon it is a pretty good show. Bailey raves. Barry Mitcalfe attacks American aggression in Vietnam. The lads troop into Parliament to seeY ahweh. I find a Russian who is. presumably, taking pictures for "Pravda" —"Concerned New Zealanders demonstrating their support for Russia" reads the caption. He is unable to take any more photographs. It's all over now, Baby Blue.