"I had a photograph of T.G. Masaryk on my bulletin board because I was teaching about the First Republic, and next to it was a photograph of Adolf Hitler, because the Second World War followed. So when the inspector came, of course, he only reproached me for the Masaryk photo and said that I had better remove it from the bulletin board. I asked if I could leave Hitler there. I was told, 'He doesn't matter. You can leave him there, comrade.' Actually, in a logical way, he was right."
"I went to Prague. We never got to the main station, the train ended in Vršovice. That was the end of my plan to go to Wenceslas Square. And instead, plan number two came – the radio. That's where big things always happened. So I went to the radio. Vinohradská Street, where the radio is located, was full of people. There were thousands of people there. And in that crowd were three Soviet tanks. Tired Soviet soldiers were limping on them. We had compulsory Russian at that time, so everybody knew at least a little Russian. The people there were trying to explain to the soldiers that there was no counter-revolution in our country. They didn't care. They were tired after a night move, they were limping. I don't think they knew where they were or what was going on. So it was a futile persuasion. And then something happened that I don't know if some provocateur set up. Someone broke through the tank and threw a match in. And it caught fire. A young officer jumped out of the tank with a machine gun and started shooting at us. Not over their heads, not in their legs, but right into people. I confess I got scared. You wouldn't believe the noise an automatic makes in the streets in a confined space in a city. So I ran around the corner into Balbín Street to the first entrance that was there, and I did very well because the young man who was running after me didn't make it. Shot through the kidneys, that's no fun. Plus, there were no cell phones in those days, so look for a landline... And if you find one, how on earth is an ambulance supposed to get there if there's a shooting... So the young man died there before any ambulance ever got there, and I'll remember his screams for the rest of my life."
"Education has, of course, been marked by the times. While it is true that there was some relaxation, it was not very noticeable in education. The textbooks, especially the history textbooks, were always along the lines that the only one who had a patent on truth was the Communist Party, and our only really loyal friend was the Soviet Union. So, somewhat perhaps, it was a relief to no longer have to explain to children the difference between dogmatism and opportunism, as I had experienced in elementary school. I tried to avoid topics where I would have to lie, or I tried to sort of round it out so that the kids could see that I had an opinion. It meant walking a tightrope that was easy to fall off."
Jiří Chvojka was born on 23 July 1943 in Pyšely near Prague as the second child of Arnošt and Jiřina Chvojka (née Drastilová). His father believed in the values of the First Republic, greatly admired T. G. Masaryk and led both his children to a similar democratic way of thinking about the world and society. The whole Chvojka family was never associated with the communist ideology. After 1948, the communists transferred the father from the office in Pyšely, where he had worked until then, to distant Prague, where he had to make a long and challenging daily commute because of his non-communist attitude. The family hardly saw the father during that time. In 1960, Jiří Chvojka got into archaeology at the Faculty of Arts of Charles University, but he was unable to join the faculty because of his cadre profile. He was only allowed to attend the Pedagogical Institute in České Budějovice, where he graduated in 1963. Jiří Chvojka was an eyewitness to the shooting on Vinohradská třída in Prague in August 1968. From 1964 to 1981, he worked as a teacher of history and Czech language at a primary school in České Budějovice. Although he received his doctorate in 1977, he was only allowed to work at the primary school because of his political views. He was often denounced and constantly came into conflict with the school management for his political views. Several times, he had to be interrogated by State Security, where he was offered cooperation, which he refused. By 1981, the situation at the school was no longer sustainable for him, and he left the school system. He joined the South Bohemian Museum as a numismatist, where he worked until his retirement in 2008. Since then, he has been lecturing at the University of the Third Age. He is the author of many publications on regional history and numismatics. In 2023, he lived with his wife, Ludmila Chvojková ( née Zmrhalová), in České Budějovice.
