My Crazy Century

by Ivan Klíma

  When the German occupation ended, in addition to millions of Germans who had until recently been Czechoslovak citizens, there were hundreds of thousands of people who were somehow connected with the occupying power living in the country. They had served the Reich, informed on their fellow citizens to the gestapo. They hated both the Jews and the democrats. When the Communists carried out their well-planned coup, besides the jubilant crowd in Old Town Square in February 1948, besides the misled proletariat and several hundred deluded, naive, cunning, or party-disciplined artists who had signed the manifesto of cultural enslavement, there were many in our country who believed in democracy and had fought for it in armies abroad. There were many who refused to accept that in the works of Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin human knowledge had reached its zenith. There were many who believed in God in the heavens, not in the palace of the Kremlin. There were thousands who owned something and suspected that the new regime would take everything from them, things that had often been the work of entire generations. But they were caught unaware by the impetuosity of the changes, numbed by the roar of the victorious crowd, the ruthless determination of the new leaders. Some decided to bide their time, others fled, and still others, out of anxiousness or calculation, decided to join the victors.

  Every euphoria caused by societal change quickly disappears, and suddenly it turns out that the number of defeated outnumbers that of the victors. If the revolution enthroned a dictatorship, the new power tries to destroy the defeated by force, drive them from their cities, silence and imprison them. The most defiant are executed. Thereby an all-pervading terror is created, but at the same time disappointment, which gradually becomes apathetic inactivity or hatred, often precisely among those who allowed themselves to be lured by false promises. All of these will gradually prepare the fall of the revolutionary power.

  If the dictatorship falls or even if it retreats in the face of democratic change, the elated victors soon realize with horror that the recently defeated representatives of totalitarianism are once more struggling to seize the power of which they have been deprived. One cannot defend against this intermingling of the defeated with the victors, not only because democracy refuses to persecute anyone who does not conspicuously commit an offense but also because it is often difficult to determine who is the victor and who is the conquered. It is precisely this condition that contributes to the fact that the expected societal rehabilitation seems to dissolve and disappear, and once again those who would welcome a more visible division between the victors and the conquered appear, assuming that they themselves would be among the new victors.

  Thus swings the slow pendulum of history.

  The Party

  There were many who recognized that the goals of the Communist Party were subversive and nefarious. The moment the party took control after the war, these people were prepared to resist the new power. At that time, there were also many who believed the party would lead society to the goals that generations had longed for, and after the appalling experiences of war, the party would do everything to ensure that the long-awaited peace would endure. But even the faithful who joined the party, convinced of its ability to carry the people to lofty goals, must have seen relatively early on that it was an organization not above baseness, lies, intrigues, or even villainy.

  When I joined the party, its name signified that it belonged to Czechoslovakia. In reality, however, it had long been a mere copy of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.

  The Communist Party arose in Russia (just as the Czech Communist Party did later) through the fragmentation of the Social Democrats. At the Second Congress of the Russian Social Democratic Party (it took place abroad because the activity of the party was illegal in Russia), the faction led by Lenin garnered the majority, and from that time on its shrewd leader used the epithet “Bolshevik” (that is, the majority). Lenin’s group, composed of several thousand devoted revolutionaries, seized power relatively easily with several armed campaigns at the end of the First World War. They then announced a dictatorship. And since dictatorships like to veil themselves with lofty or at least seemingly altruistic attributes, they called themselves the proletariat and announced that they were building a Socialist society, which during the next generation would become Communist, classless, and prosperous—the most just society in history.

  The Bolsheviks were victorious in a country where political life, as far as it went, had been playing out in secret and where not only nonconforming politicians but also many intellectuals and artists were forced to spend parts of their lives underground or in exile. The party, whose fanatical leaders lived as conspiratorial outlaws, could not but differ fundamentally from political parties in democratic countries. Like every conspiratorial organization, it had to preserve strict discipline and introduce a military hierarchy. There could be no doubt concerning the leader’s orders; they were to be fulfilled without hesitation. In theory, this principle was called democratic centralism. The members of the party had the right to defend their opinions until a resolution was accepted, and then they had to comply. T. G. Masaryk captured the basic outline of Bolshevism in his book The Making of a State, published a few years after Soviet power took hold in Russia:

  Bolshevik centralism is especially rigid; it is an abstract regime deduced from theory and forcibly implemented. Bolshevism is the absolute dictatorship of a single person and his assistants; Bolshevism is infallible and inquisitorial, and that is why it has nothing in common with science and scientific philosophy. Science, which is what democracy is, without freedom is impossible.

  Lenin’s concept of dictatorship was merciless and was characterized by barbaric cruelty. Immediately after assuming power, he established a political police force that had the task of uncovering all genuine and imaginary enemies of the new regime. Lenin repeatedly demanded that the new power be ruthless. In the name of the revolution, it had the right to shoot, hang, or take hostages. Then it would take entire families hostage. If the enemies did not submit, the adults were executed and the children taken off to camps where most of them perished.

  During the reign of Lenin’s successor, Stalin, the leader had already become infallible. His views were indisputable. Anyone who dared act against them was branded as a deviationist. Even those who only appeared to deviate from the official dogma were not only expelled from the party but were also accused of antistate activity. Thus, political life, the exchange of opinions, disappeared from the only existing political party. The party was transformed into a mere privileged echelon whose task was to ensure that the orders of the dictator were carried out.

  The First World War aroused a revolutionary mood not only in the Russian empire but also in most European countries. When revolutionary fervor cooled, Communist parties remained in these countries, and the Russian Bolsheviks saw them as allies. To ensure that these allies were truly reliable and would defend the interests of “the first country ruled by workers and farmers” (as the Bolsheviks craftily and deceitfully characterized their dictatorship), it was necessary to impose the same principles the Bolsheviks had employed in governing their own party. They founded the Communist International, which then arrogated to itself the right to intervene in the politics of the individual Communist parties anywhere in the world. The Soviet government—that is, the Soviet dictator—was supposed to stand atop the entire movement.

  The history of the Czech Social Democrats was different from that of their Russian counterparts. From its beginnings, theirs was a legal party and had no reason to accept Bolshevik methods. Czech Communists who split off from the Social Democrats in 1921 were not denied a part in the political life of the new republic, and their leader, Bohumír Šmeral, believed that he could push socialism through parliament. Jacques Rupnik in his History of the Ruling Communist Party of Czechoslovakia cites the aphoristic assertion by the Austrian Social Democrat Otto Bauer: “I know two good Social Democratic Parties: the best is of course the Austrian Party and immediately after it is the Communist P
arty of Czechoslovakia.”

  The Communist International could not accept the moderation of a subordinate party. Following their conspiratorial tradition, Soviet Bolsheviks prepared a putsch of Czechoslovak Communists. It had one goal: to exchange the current leadership for one that would accept Bolshevik principles. In 1929 the coup was realized, and Klement Gottwald, a man with neither education nor scruples, became head of the party. He revered Stalin and shared his hatred of democracy. Most Czech Communists departed the party in protest, but this did not bother the new leaders. They possessed the mind-set of a sect: Only they knew what was correct, and their goal was either to convince the others of their truth or to destroy them. There were far fewer Russian Bolsheviks when the party took power. Power—absolute, uncontrollable power—is what the Czech Communists had to acquire if they wanted to realize their plans, plans of which most citizens had no understanding. Twenty years later, Gottwald and his henchmen did indeed acquire this power.

  They saw the victory of the allies as the victory of their Communist truth. With Leninesque deviousness, they exploited the fact that the Red Army had occupied most of the republic. They presented themselves as defenders of the interests of Czechoslovak citizens; they fashioned themselves as the true spokespersons not only for the workers but also the farmers, intelligentsia, tradesmen, and small-business owners. They promised to defend their interests, call to account traitors and the greatest exploiters, and quickly introduce prosperity throughout the land. They pushed through (with the assistance of three naively acquiescent or mistakenly calculating democratic parties) the nationalization of large enterprises, mines, and banks, and prohibited most prewar political parties, which they saw as threats dangerous to healthier social relations. In reality, they sought absolute power and attempted to infiltrate every institution of the still democratic state. They occupied the most important ministries and prepared their armed militia. It would be needed when the moment came to strike the final blow to democracy.

  After the war, the Communist Party became a heterogeneous group in which the old adherents of the Communist vision were joined by both those who yielded to Communist demagoguery and those who rightly suspected where the rule of society was headed and, along with it, the advantages that come with loyalty. After the February coup, thousands more joined the party: former Social Democrats who were forced to unite with the victorious Communists, and also opportunists or just frightened citizens who were presented with an application form and made to understand that if they did not sign, things would go badly for them. Finally, there were the young, who knew little about the rest of the world and democracy. As early as the 1950s, the party was merely pretending to be just another political party. Although it appeared that members of the higher political organs were elected, in reality they were merely approved, since the candidates came from precisely these organs. The general secretary ruled the party without restraint. He then chose a small body of members to make up the presidium. The only task of these so-called elected officials was to carry out the orders of the head of the party (and as happens in a dictatorship, of the state). In his turn, the head of the party was obliged to conform to the orders of the Soviet dictator in all fundamental decisions.

  The power the Czech Communists acquired was only seemingly absolute. It was primarily derived from and subordinate to a foreign power. This was ensured by Soviet advisers, the secret police, and party organs that had been painstakingly screened. Only discipline, subordination, and expressions of enthusiasm or hatred, depending on what the party needed at the time, was required of the party members. It was unthinkable that a member raise objections to party policies. If you refused to sign a petition, or even dared express disagreement with forced collectivization or political processes, you would appear as an enemy and be dealt with accordingly. On the other hand, if you painstakingly advocated everything considered proper policy, you could expect the appropriate rewards. The party leadership decided everything: which era was worthy of following, which should fall to the wayside; which thoughts were necessary to disseminate and which to forbid. Who was a hero, who a coward, who was an inventor, who a scientist, who a cheat, and who an ally, and, most important, who was an enemy, a subversive, a saboteur, a revisionist, a cosmopolitan, a Zionist, a Trotskyist. Nothing announced by the party could be doubted unless the party doubted it. The party decorated its general secretary with the highest honors and a year later had him hanged. The party had a monstrous monument built to Stalin, and then the party had it destroyed. Whoever refused to curse that which a year before he had to approve became an enemy. It was a period of perverted values. The uneducated were promoted to ministers, party secretaries to attorneys; tailors and lathe operators became army commanders, while the experienced pilots who participated in the Battle of Britain, army generals, and members of the democratic resistance were sent to concentration camps or even the gallows.

  In the name of the party, the leadership seized not only most of the wealth acquired over generations but also—and this was worse—all spiritual values. It claimed it had replaced mistaken religious views with scientifically recognized truth, and that a dog-eat-dog society would be replaced with a society in which comradely relations were the norm. In fact, the opposite happened. The party destroyed all traditional relationships. It introduced the cadre questionnaire and interviews in which those who wanted to continue in their work were supposed to disown their relatives. It misappropriated history; it erased great personages and replaced them with people whose only merit was membership in the party. It misappropriated peace, since it labeled its confederation of dictatorships a camp of peace, which only with the greatest efforts was keeping the imperialists from starting a new world war. It misappropriated the idea of democracy because it called its dictatorship the highest form of democracy.

  Political life in the party and throughout the country was dead. Votes on anything were unanimous. The party ruled without restraint and introduced into the constitution a clause stating that it was the sole governing power of society. But it was the members of the party who became the primary danger for the genuine occupiers of power. Therefore, it was necessary to keep even the highest members in a state of constant fear. Klement Gottwald accepted this policy of Stalin’s along with all the other principles of his rule and did not hesitate to hang all of his closest collaborators even though they had stood at his side from the very beginning and participated in the murderous (and suicidal) Bolshevization of the party. He considered self-evident his right and responsibility to hang opponents of the Communist regime.

  The theory of hidden and deceitful conspirators in the highest positions of the party could shatter the faith of even the remaining idealists or those who hadn’t completely renounced their own judgment. These, however, were ordered: “Believe the party, Comrades. The party is becoming murky by the uncovering of hidden enemies.” At the same time, it was not important if any Communists lost faith. What was important was that they be afraid. If the reign of terror for some reason weakened, the party could reawaken the slumbering dangers. To be sure, the Communist leaders constantly warned of the threats from imperialists, international reactionaries, the remnants of the defeated bourgeoisie, and various deviationists and saboteurs, but in reality they were much more afraid of those in whose name they repeatedly claimed to rule: the workers, farmers, and even the members of their own party.

  Revolution—Terror and Fear

  Fear is common to all living creatures. It is a manifestation of the instinct for self-preservation. We are afraid of pain, loss, death. If we want to live, we must be afraid. If we want to survive with dignity, we must overcome fear.

  In general, we hope that the things with which we are happy will continue while the things with which we are unhappy will improve. In youth we believe that death will not come for us, that we won’t lose our job, that a friend will not disappoint us, that if we’re decent and honorable, we will not be punished. We will start a family and have children who,
in some form or another, will continue the work that we must someday abandon. We assume that if we do good work, we will be rewarded and our position will improve, that no one will accuse us of crimes we did not commit, and, quite the reverse, genuine criminals will receive their just punishment.

  The basis of every revolution is that it categorically declares all previous values and goals wretched and demeaning. The revolutionaries pronounce the old order corrupt, unable to suppress criminality, to erase poverty, to ensure the functioning of society and thereby a dignified life for its citizens. They must do away with this order along with its values, its morality. According to the Communist Manifesto, the proletariat’s mission is to destroy all previous securities for, and assurances of, individual property. . . . The proletariat . . . cannot stir, cannot raise itself up, without the whole superincumbent strata of official society being sprung into the air. Mussolini was terser: Everything that exists must be destroyed!

  In place of a corrupt order, revolution offers the people a vision of better justice, more prosperity, a more dignified life. It promises to correct wrongs, whether to a person or the collective, and it promises the entire society (with the exception of those who are designated as traitors and determined enemies) unprecedented prosperity, even glory because it is precisely glory that will become the banner of world progress and national renewal. Revolutionary leaders announce a new moral category, which they call revolutionary consciousness. By this they mean that every citizen who joins the revolution will be freed from the tyranny of his own consciousness. The leader, who is troubled only by the infringement of the revolutionary ideals, selects this new consciousness for him. In the name of the ideals it is possible to change all values that have previously been valid. Many values that until recently have been considered base or criminal become of service to the revolution. Whoever informs assists the new society to purge itself of sinister elements; whoever plunders is merely correcting centuries of injustice. Whoever murders an enemy of the revolution (it is sufficient for one merely to designate someone an enemy) is a soldier in the revolution and deserves to be decorated. Many succumb to this confusion of values. So it happens that people who were recently honorable commit deeds that only yesterday they considered repulsive and unthinkable.