Eva Joachimová

"I was at Wenceslas Square. I was up there, I think the Parliament was there again. I was on that side where the Parliament is, when Jan Palach ran out burning. I didn't see him entirely, I didn't see his face, but I witnessed the event and it was absolutely insane because I understood completely. I understood him completely. Basically, there were rumours at the time that this wasn't going to be the only action, that there were going to be more of these people. It was horrible. I struggled so much with everything that surrounded me that I tried to commit suicide. I came to the conclusion that I didn't want to live in this world, that I didn't want to live like this. However, I survived and they found me. That was kind of interesting because that was when my mother, who didn't really go there at all, came home. I slit my wrists in the bath and my mother came in. I had the bathroom in my room, so in the evening when I went to bed nobody came in and I went into the bathroom and I was really determined. And that night my mother came to get some things and she wanted to check on us and, well, she couldn´t check on me. They took me away and saved me."

"It wasn't Sunday, it was Monday. It was a flow of people that was going to the National Street and was stopped on the bridge. So it was Monday, I was going..., I was simply in the crowd. Suddenly I was walking across Jungmannovo Square and I saw Máša in the window. Anka was at a demonstration somewhere. I saw Máša and children in the windows. It was freezing and the kids were simply just in T-shirts and I couldn't get home to dress the kids. The crowd wouldn´t let me go at all. So I tried to shout at least and I shouted, 'Máša, put their caps on!' And then, of course, these people saw that someone was shouting like that, that it was such a strange slogan. They saw me throwing up my hands and trying to convince the kids, and suddenly they started shouting, 'Máša, put their caps on!' And soon the whole Jungmannovo Square started chanting: 'Máša, put their caps on! Máša, put their caps on!' Máša disappeared and reappeared in the window. Of course, the children had their caps and jackets on, and Máša was leaning at the window."

“Every six months they summoned me to the city hall, to the social affairs department. Unfortunately I don’t remember the lady, I do know what office it was, I do remember the chair, the table, but I don’t remember people. Every six months they would ask me how many children I had, what were their names, when they were born, as if that could change in six months. It would last for hours. I was employed at the time so I had to take a day off to answer their questions. My older children were fortunately quite good pupils and went to school, but a huge problem arose with my fourth child who didn’t speak. My last daughter didn’t move much, she didn’t speak, she was totally calm, and to this day she is absolutely serene, she keeps her cool. In spring of 1989 it was getting pretty rough. I obviously didn’t know what kind of checking they made, I couldn’t lie, and I was really afraid at the time. At that point they told me that they would take my children away. They had to realize that I was extremely vulnerable when it comes to children. In spring of 1989 I just cried, I had no idea what would come next. My husband was a doctor, I hadn´t got a university degree, but I did not consider myself uneducated either, it was just insane. In autumn of 1989 they summoned me again. I obviously couldn’t have known that the revolution was going to happen but I told myself anyway that I wouldn’t go there, I wasn’t able to prevent anything from happening, if it’s only supposed to exhaust me it doesn’t matter, plus Jája started to speak a little – I simply didn’t show up. The result was that the lady came to my workplace. I was sitting there with my boss and two colleagues and she had those usual questions. My colleagues who had been going through that with me for years and didn’t entirely believe me back then – when they heard it themselves, my boss stood up for me.”

“My daughter was just a new-born when she became the youngest distributor of AFP (the French News Agency) news, for Professor Hájek. This was done using a double bottom of her swaddle. Wherever, whenever one went back then, one had to present their ID card. Máša would scream because she hated strangers and I would always take her out of her pram and push her onto the first cop I saw, usually a secret police officer in plain clothes. Máša would start screaming into his ear so he would hold her at arm’s length and I would spent a long time thoroughly looking for my ID, then I’d give it to him and went to see Professor Hájek. I think he said then that I was his distant niece. We went for a walk with the pram, with Professor Hájek, him being a gentleman, somebody like Oldřich Nový, who truly fitted much more into the First Republic era than into the communist regime. Once we met this scruffy, dirty man, we’d probably call him homeless today, he had a large tool bag, and when the professor came up to him they both bowed: “Good afternoon, professor!” and “Good afternoon, docent!” and they went their own ways. Professor Hájek turned to me and said in his distinguished, slow way: “You have to admit, the communists really succeeded in making us have immense respect for the working class.” I laughed for about four days after that…”