by Peter Kysel
“Komárek is not in a good mood tonight,” sighed Pavel when the deputy prime minister rose halfway through dinner and went downstairs to the gents. I shrugged my shoulders.
“If we treat him with respect, he’ll tell us his grand plan.”
When Komárek returned, adjusting the zip of his trousers, he dropped a bombshell.
“Privatisation is stupid,” he said, as he sat down, adding,
“Your Mrs Thatcher took ten years to prepare for it.” Pavel and I did not rise to his challenge.
“What reforms should there be in Czechoslovakia?” I asked instead
“Modernisation and restructuring of the existing enterprises which should be kept under state ownership. Gradual modernisation will take at least a decade. Only non-essential companies should be privatised,” responded Komárek.
“So, we’ll continue to keep the socialist economy without privatisation?” asked Pavel, and Komárek snapped back,
“We are not ready for your reforms. You have no understanding of our conditions. You live in a bubble of luxury in London.” He began to get agitated, again exposing his prickly character. He was quick to introduce a note of discord. His anti-emigrant view had crept into his manner and polluted the atmosphere. As we became increasingly uncomfortable with Komárek’s attitude, we steered the conversation to neutral topics, until Valtr left the restaurant.
“The economy is imploding, but Komárek refuses to launch reforms?” I exclaimed in alarm after we escorted the old comrade to his Mercedes.
“He’s an obdurate Marxist. He won’t accept the market economy” It occurred to us that the Velvet Revolution could fail.
“When we told him about our experience, he didn’t ask a single question,” observed Pavel.
“The KGB report stated that Valtr didn’t have the brains to handle reality.” We contemplated the implications for a while and ordered another drink.
“With Valtr in charge of the economy, we will end up like Cuba.”
“God helps the Czechs,” chuckled Pavel, but I was angry.
“Komárek has to go, for the sake of the country.” We ordered more drinks, which helped me articulate my views.
“I have visited ten thousand companies around the world and seen their operations, analysing them as investment propositions. The worst managed companies are in the former Soviet bloc. Czechoslovakia was at the forefront of industrialisation in the 19th century and ended up as a decaying industrial swamp. Companies need urgent surgery, not modernisation.” Pavel nodded in agreement.
“We’ll have to fight these people.” But it wasn’t clear what we could actually do. We paid for dinner and left the restaurant, disheartened. Under his reformist mask, Valtr remained a stubborn Marxist. There had to be so many more like him.
#
Tomas, Ministry of Industry
“This country has no money for investment and no management skills for modernising industry and making it competitive” said Tomas, from the ministry for industry, when he visited London a few weeks later. He paused and added,
“Our managers are used to supplying shoddy products to the Comecon markets. They have never had to face global competition.”
“Can you keep imported goods out of the Czech market for a few years?” I asked and remembering Komárek’s ideas, I explained,
“Just to give manufacturers time to adjust.” Tomas shrugged his shoulders.
“There is a huge pent-up demand for foreign goods. We are allowing people to travel. They will soon start smuggling goods into the country. We are going to have to open up our market to imports.”
“What will happen to the domestic firms?” I asked Tomas
“Most of them will go to the wall, unless they are sold off,” he concluded simply but firmly. His message was clear. State-owned industry faced an existential threat. It had to be privatised, or it would vanish. Millions of jobs would go too. Tomas contradicted his master, the deputy prime minister. Whose views would prevail?
Chapter 4
President Havel in London
“Jsem tak hrdý že Vás poznávám, pane prezidente (I am so proud to meet you Mr president)” was how I addressed Václav Havel in Czech, shaking hands with him at a lunch, arranged in late March 1990 by the Confederation of British Industry (CBI) at their Centre Point offices. Centre Point is a concrete and glass skyscraper towering above Tottenham Court tube station. It was constructed in the brutalist architectural style and became famous for being empty for decades after its construction in 1966.
“I am so glad you speak Czech. Come and sit next to me so we can talk during lunch,” responded Václav Havel and took me by the arm, showing me to my chair. As a result, apart from making a short speech in English, president Havel spent the entire lunch chatting amiably to me. He listened to the story and was mystified by the practice of keeping a building empty, to maximise the developer’s profit.
“Businesses were probably reluctant to rent it, because of its position. Centre Point was built on the site of London’s gallows,” I ventured, to Václav’s amusement. After a brief chat about my background, our conversation turned to non-business topics.
Václav Havel was a chain smoker. He puffed on his Marlboro cigarette, held in his left hand, while playing with his food with the other hand and chatting at the same time. Not that the food was up to much we both agreed and left our plates mostly untouched. He became animated when the conversation steered towards the deeper subjects of personal liberty and responsibility and to anecdotes about western democracy. He was at ease me, without the truculence of many native Czechs on encountering an emigrant. Václav aired his favourite topic of the national acquiescence to totalitarian regimes, while the British business elite were trying unsuccessfully to grab his attention.
“You visited Prague recently. So, what were your first impressions?” he asked me and studied my face.
“Sadness! Prague is a tired and decaying city. The country does not take pride in it. I found state-owned shops and pubs so neglected. The economy is a stagnant swamp which is bound to implode and undermine the new democracy. When people start losing their jobs, they will blame the government.” He wrote something down on his napkin and I quickly added,
“Mr President, we met at your corner table in the cafe Slávia in 1965. You suggested that I should give maths tutorials to your friend’s son. It was my first paid job and I never had the opportunity to thank you for it.” Havel laughed.
“My maths is terrible. You should have given me lessons too. Did you tutor just maths?”
“No, I also tutored Bill Clinton on the socialist economy over a beer in Oxford in 1970.”
“What? Why?”
“We used to drink at the Bear pub. Bill was about to go to a conference in Moscow and wanted to know how their economy worked. I was never paid for his private tutorial.” Havel chuckled and lit up another Marlboro. Before the end of lunch, he looked at me again and asked unexpectedly.
“What’s your view of our master economist, Valtr Komárek?” I took a deep breath.
“Well, I met him in London. Valtr is a Marxist not a master economist. He’s ignorant of the market economy. He managed to ruin the Cuban economy and he’ll do the same at home. The economy will crash under his management.” I probably raised my voice. I noticed that other guests were looking at us. Havel paused, made another note on his napkin, and changed the subject
“You are well connected and bilingual. We’re short of people like you, who can build bridges with the civilised world. Would you like to become our ambassador?” I gulped, unsure of how to respond.
“It’ll be an important ambassadorship. We’ll make it worth your while” president Havel added. I gave him my business card and we said goodbye.
I liked Václav Havel and went away impressed. He was a curious and approachable man. I felt proud that he was the president of my homeland. I admired his high moral stand, as the leader of dissident intellectuals. I hope
d that my warning about Komárek might have some effect
#
Reforms
The government proposed economic reforms in April 1990, against Mr Komárek’s opposition. The National assembly (parliament) approved the programme, which included voucher privatisation. The currency was devalued from eight crowns to a dollar, close to the black-market rate of twenty-eight crowns, and became convertible from 1st January 1991.
Devaluation, together with the liberalisation of consumer prices, gave domestic companies the breathing space to face up to foreign competition in the run-up to privatisation. Inflation shot up. Consumers were badly hit, but accepted the short-term pain, for the expected long term gains from the proposed reforms. The government announced the voucher privatisation of fifteen hundred state companies, allowing all adults to benefit.
The financial sector was to play a crucial role. It was staffed by prominent people from the former CSSB who moved seamlessly into pivotal roles in the post-communist financial system. Their network included the new governor of the National Bank (the central bank) Josef Tošovský, a member of the KSČ since 1976.
Many prominent people in this new society emerged straight from the elites of the old regime, their networks reaching the highest political, judicial, security and business levels. These elites abandoned the communist party in 1990, for the new political parties. One of them explained to me,
“Only fools admit that they ever believed in Marxist ideology.”
#
My Country
At the beginning of May I returned to Prague for the performance of Má Vlast by the Czech Philharmonic, conducted by its conductor Rafael Kubelík. The opening concert was traditionally performed in the art nouveau building of the Municipal house, from which the independent Czechoslovakia was proclaimed in 1918.
Shortly after Vojta and I took our seats, the fanfare announced the arrival of Václav and Olga Havel in the presidential box. The orchestra played the national anthem, which begins with the question “Where is my home?” and continues in the second verse with the emotional response “and it’s the Czech land, which is my home.” The concert hall, packed with twelve hundred people, fell silent in respect. People in the audience were crying.
The music of Má Vlast conjures up evocative images of the nation. Kubelík raised his baton and from the opening notes of its first symphonic poem Vyšehrad I sat in my seat, in tears. Pent up emotions swept over me. I was hearing the call of my homeland through Smetana’s music.
Vojta noticed and echoed my sentiments over dinner after the concert
“Má Vlast stirs every Czech’s emotions and tonight we heard it, for the first time, in a liberated country.”
“Which are your favourite poems in Má Vlast?”
“Tábor and Blaník.”
“Why? Most people prefer Vltava.”
“They are close to me. I was born near the city of Tábor, founded by the Hussites. We belong to the Czech Hussite church and our ancestor was the Hussite commander. His coat of arms is somewhere in my flat, I must find it.” Some of this was news to me.
“I want to hear the whole story. And why were you affected by Blaník?”
“You know the legend of the Blaník mountain?”
“About the knights asleep in the mountain? They will awaken and, led by St Wenceslas, come out to save the country?”
“Yes. We need those knights now.”
Over coffee and brandy, I described my earlier meetings in Prague and my desire to help. Vojta’s response was candid.
“Your privatisation ideas to restore the country’s assets to its people are good but will be a magnet for vultures to steal. Are you clear about your own motivation?”
“I don’t understand”
“You have to decide what you will be. Will you be a knight or a vulture? People will watch you and make judgements. As a family. we have kept our dignity throughout the generations, and I hope you won’t blemish this.” Vojta gave me a timely warning.
I had certainly not thought that far ahead. It was time to solidify my intentions. “If I do get involved, it won’t be to make my fortune. I’m lucky to have useful skills and to be able to contribute to the benefit of the country.” Vojta relaxed and smiled.
“I am so glad. I’ll drink to that.”
“But, what do you think I should do about our villa?” I asked hesitantly
“That house belonged to your mother and stepfather Josef. It was confiscated because you were in exile. The state owes it to you,” said my father firmly.
Vojta’s advice had clarity. On the flight back to London, I mulled over our conversation I don’t aspire to wealth. I’ ll go in to enable, not to loot. I will offer my skills, but I must retain my reputation. Complete transparency will be my protection against blackmail.
I was glad that my father had raised the issue of business ethics. An unprecedented tsunami of corruption was about to hit the region. His early warnings helped me to navigate through the swamp.
I was still feeling my way towards being involved in central and eastern Europe, although as yet I had no idea how I was going to participate in my homeland.
Chapter 5
Decaying Swamps
We struggled to understand the forces that precipitated the collapse of the communist regimes in Europe. Western experts misjudged the robustness of the Soviet empire. Having accepted their analysis for decades, I discovered, when the changes occurred, that their views were irrelevant.
On a family holiday, my cousin Miloš took us to explore the swamps of the Slavkov forest outside Mariánské Lázně. We drove through hilly, open countryside, with farm animals in the fields and deer jumping across the road ahead of us. The landscape abruptly changed when we reached the swamps. They were silent, putrefying areas with wooden bridges and pathways for access
“Before the war, this used to be productive land with farming villages. After the communist coup the army used the houses for target practice. Villages were destroyed and wiped off the map.” We looked around alarmed, trying to visualise, as Miloš went on,
“Then the Soviets ordered that uranium be mined here by political prisoners, for atom bombs. These swamps are the result of the environmental devastation.” It was hard to comprehend and Miloš went on, “Exposed to radioactivity, the prisoners died of lung cancer. Their camp gates carried the slogan “Práce Osvobozuje” (Work makes you free). We both shuddered.
“Just like “Arbeit Macht Frei” under the Nazis?”
“Nazis and communists had much in common”
“What will happen to these swamps?”
“They have been declared national parks and will remain as they are.” We returned to our car and left. Looking at the forests on the way back to Mariánské Lázně, Florisse asked,
“Are there wild animals in these woods?”
“Yes, deer, wolves, wild pigs, maybe even bears.”
#
Bears, Red Wolves, Wild Pigs and Deer
That visit made a vivid impression on us. That night, as I lay in bed, I had an inspiration. Those swamps could be my guide to the unfolding events in the region. By borrowing from Orwell, they helped me to grasp the questions – what is happening and why? I unfolded my concept to Florisse over breakfast.
“Communist societies were decaying swamps, ruled over by predators.” Florisse picked up on this and developed the idea.
“The predators were the Soviet bears and their subordinates were red wolves and wild pigs.”
“Yes, and the rest of the population were their prey.”
“The ruling communists were the red bears – vicious beasts with long fangs and claws. Their slogan “Who is not with us, is against us” validated their savagery. The top bear was Stalin, who ruled the Soviet imperial swamp. All the other ruling bears, in the vassal countries, were subservient to him.”
“Politics and the economy were the interconnected swamps, administered by the red wolves, who traded their l
oyalty for privileged jobs, travel, education, homes, health and shops.” Miloš joined us for coffee and helped us to develop our allegory further.
“All opponents were eliminated. Some, like birds, flew away to freedom. A few dissidents remained, at the cost of personal sacrifice. They were the most visible prey, the white-tailed deer. The bears used their existence to justify general oppression and to instil fear. The wild pigs were the ruthless secret police enforcers.”
“The population was on permanent alert to avoid being targeted. They turned themselves into reeds, bending in the prevailing winds to escape the predators’ notice. Some of them volunteered as informers – the swamps’ mosquitoes.
“The red bears decreed that access to education, travel, free speech and the right of assembly had to be restricted. They were afraid that these activities were addictive and would undermine acquiescence to the proletarian dictatorship. Human rights, like magic mushrooms, were declared toxic.” The allegory began to work. I tested it, to illustrate my exile.
“Czechoslovak bears sampled some magic mushrooms in the spring of 1968. In their hallucinatory state, they had visions of draining the political swamp by giving it a ‘human face’. They failed to understand that the political swamp could not turn into fertile land, without simultaneously draining the economic swamp.” Florisse and Miloš nodded and encouraged me to continue
“The population was seduced by these ‘human face’ incantations, but their euphoria didn’t last long. The nation tumbled from its spiritual metamorphosis when the Soviet tanks rumbled into Prague on 21st August 1968. The Prague bears recanted their ‘socialism with a human face’, as a psychedelic aberration, but it didn’t save them. They were punished, and the Soviets replaced them with more compliant red bears to rule the country for another two decades. The Velvet Revolution cast them out in 1989,” Florisse added