Jiří Chmel

“The interest from Vienna side was extraordinary. All the front Austrian newspapers wrote about us long articled and about who meets there. Austrian and German documentaries were filmed about it. They understood that interesting people went there, even from their side. Peter Handke who did not live in Austria at that time because of [Kurt] Waldheim. I will describe one scene that is wort it. After many years they finally gave him something in Burgtheater and all those prima donnas and those of that ilk had to go to the afterparty in Nachtasyl. You cannot make that up, into the terrible hole. Because his daughter Hamina Handke, my dear friend, was a DJ there. By the way, she was a DJ there even when Václav Havel arrived and run from Klestil right into the Nachtasyl.”

“A trial occurred, it was I thing on 20 October 1978, after the file was closed. Huge manoeuvres happened in all those communities, Řepčice, many people were locked up, nevertheless many would come to the trial, the public is excluded because overcrowding of the courtroom was on the line. It was occupied by members of the State Security, so that our friends would not get there, each of us was only allowed to have two people present. My lawyer was Josef Danisz at that time, which is an unbelievable story on its own. At the first trial I even got a public guarantee by ROH Geophysics whose boss was Charter signatory Komaško. That is so absurd a man cannot make it up. And this is by no means everything. The trial started and two criminals came to the court who were to testify that I put on Kryl in a pub. That was the main part of the criminal charge.” – “That you put on Kryl in a pub?” – “It was about this. They did not want to lock me up for Charter but because I outraged others this way. The criminals came to the court and said they have never seen me in their lives. So, it fell apart for them right during the trial. They even could not do the confrontations. So, they put it on the other part of the charge [mass signing of Charter in Korozluky]. In this matter they interrogated Klír, Houda and Holotová. These three said that it happened in my house the way it did. But then they withdrew their statement. And other statements – Skalický, Čuňas – they simply lied that nothing like that happened. They started to rely on that. My lawyer ended his advocacy with this case. So, it started to fell apart for them which is almost impossible because the judge Matěcha served them. It fell apart for them, they interrogated witnesses, the witnesses withdrew the statements they made at the State Security. And the conclusion is that they believed the statements given at StB and not to what they said at the court. All got sentences without probation. Including me, it was clear. One got even more than me: Ouda, singer, got two years for false testimony in my case, Josef Klír 18 months, Holotová who was only eighteen years old, Čuňas brough her there, got fourteen months without probation. Those criminals who were supposed to testify that I put on Kryl got both around two years. The lawyer Danisz who told Šabata about it got later one year without probation because he told Šabata what a pig my judge is. And I got 18 months.”

“It is an intense memory [about signing Charter 77] because later I was jailed because of that. About 20 to 30 people met in my house in Korozluky right in February 1977, including Skalický, Čuňas and others and signed Charter. It was about 15 people at our place and I am sure Čuňas would know the exact number. That happened in Korozluky in February 1977. I shall use Magor’s parable: it was the minimum I could do. First, out of gratefulness that someone was willing to stand up for the underground. That was extremely important. Even though the text was – well… It was guaranteed by the vast spectrum of people who signed it. If only reform communists signed it, I would perhaps not sign it. But because there was a whole range of other people who I already knew by that time, it was guaranteed that this was the minimum a man had to do in that moment.”

“I got pretty lucky after that, I must say, it was amazing - they must have thought they’d punish me that way - that I spent three months surrounded just by gypsies. But that was the nicest part of my whole stay in custody! They didn’t whine, they were all guilty, that was clear beyond doubt, that they weren’t innocent like all those whites. They even sang songs, it was fun; I learnt their language, the one they spoke, thought unfortunately I’ve forgotten after those thirty years - but I could speak it really well back then. They were simpletons, true, but they were much more pleasant than the white inmates. Their punishment was positive in that it was much easier for me. I learnt their songs, I didn’t have any big conflicts with them - they behave differently in prison than outside - they compete, work, you’d be amazed. So I got a good understanding of the gypsy mentality, at its best. I’m a person who’s very close to what they are. I also organised a number of concerts in Nachtasyl, so I really am very close to them. Of course, it was a bit different back then than now, perhaps, but that’s another matter, we won’t talk about that. But this punishment - I pretended that it really was punishment - was the nicest thing that could have happened to me there.”

“Back then when I was struggling to get a blue book [official confirmation that the holder is not suitable for military service - trans.], in a moment of desperation, I signed up for ten years in the mines just so I wouldn’t have to do military service - but that’s a very long story for some other time. But at that time, when I went back there, so I worked in the mines, but only until the next draft, when I got a blue book, after which I immediately got myself out of it, out of that ten-year commitment. I’d only done that to avoid the danger of being sent to military service, because I’d received a summons, which I hadn’t actually seen, but at that point I had myself put into the lunatic asylum in Bohnice - well, the way it was back then, in the early seventies, when we all fought to avoid going to the army. Some people managed it with more courage - they had themselves locked up - say, my friend Aleš Březina was one such man; but a whole load of us obtained those blue books somehow in the end, through various tricks almost or actual lunacy. I staged an attempted suicide, and I spent one dismal week in Bohnice, then I quickly signed ten years in the mines and left Prague, that was in the year 74, and when the next draft came, I got a blue book, so I had it pretty easy, because I know a whole lot of my friends from back then who spent several months [in the psychiatric ward - trans.] and were sent to the army anyway. So I was pretty lucky in that matter. It went smoothly, I never needed a psychiatrist either before or after, but my blue book contained five lovely diagnoses, and my problem was solved. [Q: What kind of suicide did you stage?] An attempt to cut my wrists, overseen by two friends, who watched over me, fainting, the poor blokes, and there I was, hacking away at myself like a real loony - I was some 150 metres away from the Petřín Hospital, just to be sure - so they took me to the lunatic asylum, and things worked out like I said there. The nice thing was that the head doctor of [Ward] Seven, which was where the young people were kept who’d come in mainly for such reasons, then at the very first interview with me - because I’d never been to a psychiatrist before - he pulled out the penal codex and read mi the whole paragraph about avoiding compulsory military service, and asked me what I thought about it. And that’s really how it began, that talk with the head doctor Fojtík. Well, and then it depended on what I’d say or not say, and he’d decide whether I’d go to the army or not. Well, so I guess I managed to form my answer in a convincing enough way, or I was so lucky that I found some sympathy with him, I don’t know, I really never worried about it later - so I stayed in Bohnice instead of going to the army, and it worked out fine, from that point of view.”

“We met up there in February 77, or perhaps mid-January - Čuňas [Porky, a nickname for František Stárek - trans.], Skalák, and a number of others - some fifteen people signed Charter 77 in my place, and that’s where the story of my prison time starts. I’d already been to a few interrogations before - they’d taken my exit permit in 77, or perhaps in 76, so the state didn’t want me to have any travel documents, I just had the exit permit, which I used to visit the “friendly” countries - so I made a lot of trips to Poland and Hungary to listen to jazz; and the last time I visited Poland, the group of us - Abbé, Kocour, Karásek, and Skalák - went to Czestochowa to see the Czestochowa festivals. It interested us somehow. They took Karásek straight out of the train, Abbé as well, maybe, and they let the rest of us go, but just two weeks after coming back home I received a letter: Come to so and so with this piece of paper and with your exit permit. And so after that I didn’t have any travel documents, so I was stuck in Czechoslovakia and later just in Bory.”