Vladimír Merta

“Jsem špatný člověk, co slouží dobré věci / Spasitel, který se o pár set let opozdil / Pokorně sebevědomý jako bývávali kdysi světci / Kecy, kecy, kecy… / Hlavně peníze a stálé zdraví / Decentně umlčení mlčí o mučení o bezpráví / Ale v životě jsou přeci důležitější věci / Cucáme vděčně věčné bonbónky myšlenek tak na jedno cigáro na dvě deci / Kecy, kecy, kecy…”

“Ono to s odstupem vypadá jako velká legrace, ale mně teda do smíchu nebylo, když jsem šel kolem toho vnitra a svíralo se mi srdce – to mně přetrvalo ještě asi pět let po převratu, tenhle pocit. (Čili to nebyl strach, to bylo ještě něco jiného než strach. Jak bys ten pocit charakterizoval?) To je kombinace. Já jsem to v té šedé zóně pojmenoval jako pět typů strachu. Jeden byl, že neuživím rodinu. Druhá je, že mě zavřou. Třetí je, že podlehnu. Čtvrtý strach byl, že se nikdy nedostanu k filmu, který jsem miloval, a vlastně kvůli tomu jsem šel studovat. A pátý strach byl… ten jsem už zapomněl. Pátý strach byl asi ten fyziologický, který spočívá v tom, že nevíš, s kým máš tu čest ve svém nejbližším okolí.”

“Já jsem podvědomě tušil dvě věci: že to celonárodní hnutí, které bylo neseno na obrovské emoci toho činu, že nemůže vydržet. A ty strnulé ksichty těch profesorů, kteří kráčeli v čele toho průvodu – mně to prostě přitahovalo svojí důstojností, a odpuzovalo… prostě měl jsem podobný dojem jako v kostele, když jsem se díval na ty obrazy ukřižování. A druhá emoce byla, že člověk musí okamžitě něco dělat. Tak jsem vylítnul s plechovkou barvy a maloval jsem na tramvaje nápisy, protože jsem měl dojem, že ta tramvaj projede městem a že to bude vidět velké množství lidí. Lidi mi pomáhali, kryli mi záda. Pak mně řekli, že už tam jsou estébáci, tak že mám prchat. Tak jsem prchnul, tehdy byla ještě otevřená nástupiště, tak jsem to nechal ujet, pak jsem naskočil v poslední chvíli. Ti fízlové chtěli naskočit za mnou, a ti lidi, co tam stáli, protože viděli, že mám tu barvu a jsem celej pocákanej, tak prostě udělali takhle a odstrčili je. A já jsem dojel domů, bál jsem se a pak už jsem sledoval, co se bude dít. A napsal jsem tak dvě tři písničky, které strašně nerad hraju, protože jsou patetické. Ale zkusil jsem to.”

“I was saying that I would go for it, but only at the moment when the Chartists explained to me how to feed my family, buy a car, pay my bills, and sign Charter 77 at the same time. (laughing) Pistorius advised us not to sign as long as we were allowed to perform, and so when an order not to sign came from Havel, we were happy to obey. In case of those, who have already signed before this message, like Vodňanský, it was then hushed and their names were not broadcast, all Prague knew about it but nobody told it.”

This is not a word-by-word transcription of the footage, but Merta´s authorized text taken from the recording: “November 1989 was a unique manifestation of the strength of a small nation. The dreams of individuals have met, and so did the abilities to make them come true – at all levels. From workers, public officials, students to chartists and even communists. Something like this does not happen often. I would not say it was a revolution. The crowd was disciplined, they were not breaking anything, they were not fighting. Everyone was making their dream come true. I was singing on Wenceslas Square, at that first demonstration, standing on the balcony of the Svobodné Slovo building. Great atmosphere! The song ´Kecy´ (Baloney!) begins this way: ´I am a bad man, serving a good thing, baloney, baloney, baloney… ´A seventy-thousand-head crowd was singing along, I felt like being a part of a giant orchestra. I was humming the refrain of ´kecy´ in a low voice for a while, asking the people to show that we were disciplined. The crowd was whispering, I had tears in my eyes. This menacing, tense silence united us more than any speeches. Then they all began singing louder and louder. At full volume, trying to show that no one could defy us now, that we were able to shout, Wenceslas Square was roaring from all sides! When I was then making my way through the crowd, nobody patted my shoulder or said ´you played well tonight´ or something similar, like it is done at concerts. Nobody cared about that anymore. The people were so brimming with this experience of newly found freedom. The era of us, folk singers as catalysts, or mediators of public mood, has come to an end. Paradoxically, I realized this couple of hours later, after my performance in front of the most numerous audience I’ve ever had in my life.”

“My daddy was this type of a soldier, who after firing his last bullet or taking off his uniform – which we, the boys, loved to wear when he had it at home – would with this last moment of his fighting forget everything and from that instant try to provide this lyrical home for us. Therefore, I remember him not as a warrior, but as a kind man, who had a great sense for arts, who could paint, speak beautiful Czech, and had fine handwriting. And in all this I am his straight opposite, disordered, nervous, but I hope that we do share this common point of departure.”

“The rules by which you managed to survive: don’t hang out with problem-makers. Sign only what you have written yourself. Speak only for yourself, not for a group. Do not lie to yourself, not even about the purpose of your resistance. Do not be consistent with yourself – that’s an important rule for survival. Do not think of yourself higher than of the enemy. Do not fight him behind a closed door, but make him hear it. Do not fight him treacherously – this means take him literally, when he writes up some law, it is worth trying to live by this law as you much as you can. I did not have any problem with it, I was brought up in the Czechoslovak Hussite Church and my father used to tell me: ´When the Russians invade us, stay at some high-quality university, finish a PhD there, and one day you return and you give it all back to the Republic. From now on, there will not be good times for a while.´”

“A great number of able and honest people began to serve the party, and after the Velvet Revolution they quickly switched to capitalism and learnt a few new phrases. The second thing is that in my opinion, the Communist Party should have been registered only on the condition, that all individual suits with this party would open, including cases when someone was not allowed to study by the Party, and only after the last case had been closed, and the party had made some financial compensation, it would have been allowed to register and run for the Parliament. Meaning that there would be no banning of the communists, but the opposite: letting them face the demands of their fellow citizens directly. And the third thing concerns police agents and the mass of informers. I think one way to solve that could be that these people would, within some specified short deadline, write a personal confession, about all they had done, and this document would be sealed and opened only in case they would be applying for some position in the government or the state administration, and at this moment their confession would become a public document, and anyone would have a chance to comment on it. This way, some form of direct democracy could be achieved, and there would be no need for some committees, the new BIS (Czech secret service) agents would not need to hire the old agents and people themselves could come to realize what they had done wrong. This is something I miss here, something like an attempt at direct democracy, by which I do not mean a referendum or a direct election of the President.”

“The problem was that all were telling me that I had to play the song Prague as well (a song which communist censorship found too provocative – ed.´s note). But when they were filling out the form with songs to be approved by the party officials, where we always wrote the names of these three songs, they left the line blank. I told them. ´Well, write that song there as well.´ And they said: ´Vláďa, with you it would be a provocation.´ They simply knew it would get us right in the shit, but on the other hand, it was already at a time, when even the socialist youth union’s members were pushing you and telling you: ´Hey you, don’t be afraid. Say it out loud. Say it for us. We are not allowed to.”