“We had our ‘personal Communist’, Comrade Fulajtar, who used to visit us in that cellar flat, and he’d come in, put his feet on the table, he had this long leather coat, and he’d say: ‘Comrade Brocková, where did you hide that wagon full of Persian carpets? If you don’t tell us, we’ll lock you up and your children will be sent to an institution. My brother and I broke into tears. That was a kind of folklore. After a time we got used to the fact that they didn’t lock Mum up, they didn’t send us to an institution, so we didn’t cry any more, but we were glad whenever Fulajtar was gone. Though, for example, he’d take something with him - my father had white shirts, so Fulajtar took the shirts. My mum was always witty and ironic, so when she gave him the shirts, she said I hope you don’t mind they have my dead husband’s monogram on them...”
“The normalisation was terrible in that respect. You couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. It was as if it was plugged with concrete. I went on strike in 81. I just refused to do various things. For instance... one small rebellion was that I refused to print invitations to Party meetings of the chairwoman of one Party organisation. If they’re so clever, let them do it themselves. Or, I didn’t procure sandwiches for the Party chairman Valter Šenkár for one Party soirée, and the chairman called me: ‘Mira, why didn’t you... it wasn’t a Party meeting, he wanted sandwiches.’ And I told him he can fill out an order form and I’ll procure it for him. To which the chairman replied: ‘But you know he’s an idiot and he couldn’t fill out an order for the life of him. Mira, don’t fuck around, do it.’ So I did those kind of little rebellions. But then I realised that - that was in 81 - that what I’m doing is going too far. Why am I there... You said it exactly, it was a long evening.”
“In 68 I wanted to amend the faults that were perpetrated against my father. So they kicked me out of university in 69 in the fifth year. I was active in the newspapers and the radio in 68, and they wanted me to say I was talked into doing it by the Party secretary Comrade Tariančik. So they could persecute him and lock him up. And I told them: ‘But that’s not true.’”
Miroslav Brocko se narodil 5. srpna 1946 v Bratislavě do rodiny právníka JUDr. Karola Brocka a profesorky Anny Brockové. Měl bratra Dušana. Za války se pamětníkův otec Karol zúčastnil SNP, za což dostal vyznamenání. Protože se otcovo smýšlení radikálně rozcházelo s idejemi nastupující komunistické garnitury, byl jako vysoký státní úředník obviněn z vlastizrady. V rámci akce B byla rodina vystěhována do Piešťan, kde musela sdílet byt s více nájemníky. V roce 1969 si za novinové články kritizující komunisty vysloužil Miroslav Brocko vyhazov z Vysoké školy dopravní. Jako novinář působil dále, ale psal pod pseudonymy. Aby nebyl „příživníkem“, musel se nechat oficiálně zaměstnat. Osm let práce ve družstvu jako kulturně společenský referent považuje za své největší kolaborantství s režimem. V roce 1981 z družstva vystoupil a začal pracovat v divadelním Štúdiu S jako vedoucí výroby. Prosazoval česká avantgardní divadla, jako například Ypsilonku. Začátkem 90. let se přestěhoval do Prahy, zapojil se do kuponové privatizace a začal podnikat.
