LETTERS Czech bravery?
Sir: With jaundiced eye I observe the recent upheavals in Czechoslavakia. It is almost 20 years to the day when, in a group of Polish students, I descended into a beer cellar of the golden Prague to imbibe the potent pilsner. Sat there was the usual crowd of the Czech bourgeoisie including even one uniformed policeman. Few jars later I looked around and, to my amaze- ment, every citizen in sight, and that in- cluded policemen, shouted and conversed in German, evidently emboldened by the brew, That stuck a bit in my gullet as it was not that long ago, in fact in the height of the famous 'Prague Spring' of 1968, that my personal hopes of glory as a proposed member of some international brigade defending the revolution were cruelly dashed. One Mr Husak, in those times party satrap in the province of Slovakia, had had me sent back in irons to face the music in Poland for defecting from my regiment. Now I was understandably aggrieved at those turncoats in the cellar and stumbled outside, into the cleaner air. Lo and behold, the Russian troop appeared as from nowhere, marching in the direct vicinity of the Czechoslovak presidential palace, rattling their canteens and evidently intent on filling their bellies.
This was too much for me. I stepped forward and started shouting to the sol- diers in Russian: 'Ivan, what the hell are you doing here? Go back to Moscow.' Intent on jolly good riot I looked around for some help. I could see people running, the terror in their faces, one old boy fell almost over his stick in his haste to depart, all a good laugh but a sad thing neverthe- less.
So, and pretty soon it will be, when the Schweiks of Prague start awarding each other medals of valour for having had the courage to have spat in the face of Mr Husak while studying the newspaper Rude Pravo in privacy of one's own toilet, when they start, en masse, as it was before, witch-hunts against the fallen idols, quiet terror against the new unpersons; would you, please, set one of your eggheads to explain to me, why is it that the Czechs are, well, the Czechs?
Christopher Robak
8 Burlington Avenue, Slough, Berkshire
Previous page
