Tomáš Kulík

* 1927

  • “Four blokes stormed in[to our home]: ‘Hand over all the weapons and seditious material you have here, right now!’ They turned our flat inside out, they left Grandma in the kitchen, I was sitting there [in the bedroom]. They started looking through everything. They confiscated a stack of books this big and all my documents. Even under the circumstances, I found some moments hilarious, say, when they found typewritten copies of some English texts, which I had for my final exams. They showed them to me and said: ‘This here will ruin you!’ They were just ordinary textbooks. They tried to intimidate a lot, one of them kept saying ‘khorosho, khorosho’. So I spoke Russian at him, but he didn’t know a word more.”

  • “So we kept guard on Libeň Bridge, where there was a barricade and where, to tell the truth, there was no fighting. So it wasn’t until 9 May that we saw the first Russian soldiers who came to liberate us. I’ll never forget the first Russian soldier I saw. Quite the bloke he was, he seemed awfully old to me at the time, although today I’d reckon he was about 35 to 40 years old. He was walking down the street alone, towards me, bedecked with grenades, a Kalashnikov rifle, and he was leading a new lady’s racing bike. So I wondered whether he had rode on the bike all the way from Berlin, but somehow I never found out.”

  • “I remember that my granddad Kulík Foma went to the grocer’s one day and bought himself a 300-gramme box of cocoa. He opened it, and it was half full, or half empty, whichever you prefer. All he said was: ‘Look here, this is supposed to be 300 grammes?’ And he intimated that the government was robbing the people. He just said that as an aside. They came for him three days later, three months later we received word that he had been sent to Siberia, and seven month later, that is, after a year in total, we were informed that a tree had fallen on him and that he had succumbed to his severe wounds.”

  • “The second phase started; for many, it was a phase of freedom. But for me, from what I heard and from what I felt, what my mum told me, for me that freedom was not so great. Because basically what happened was what one [man] said back in the days when I was assigned to forced labour at the Hejduk and Faix factory in Vysočany. One Werkshutz there told us: ‘When the Russians come, we’ll throw these Protectorate badges away, put stars on our caps, and carry on as usual.’ Well, that’s pretty much what happened. Except they weren’t Werkschutzes any more, they were gatekeepers, then they were the People’s Militia, and so on. But the freedom... we actually choked on it to begin with. But I could still see, I could sense that we were headed into what my mum told me about Russia, the Soviet Union, and that’s what happened in the end.”

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    budova Čs. rozhlasu, Vinohradská ul., 17.03.2016

    (audio)
    délka: 02:00:17
    nahrávka pořízena v rámci projektu Stories of 20th Century
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If it’s good for individual freedom, it’s good for collective freedom

Tomas Kulik - young
Tomas Kulik - young
zdroj: archiv pamětníka

Tomáš Kulík was born on 8 February 1927 in Prague-Holešovice. When he was a child, his family was repatriated with his father to Ukraine, which was part of the Soviet Union at the time. When his parents divorced, his mother returned to Czechoslovakia with her four-year-old son. During World War II the witness was assigned to forced labour at Hejduk and Faix. He took an active part in the Prague Revolt. His working-class background enabled him to study at the University of Economic Sciences. He and his classmate Zdena Jakešová copied out leaflets with translated economic articles, which Zdena had access to through the Czechoslovak Press Agency, where she had a holiday job. In 1952 Tomáš Kulík was arrested and sentenced to six months of prison. He served his sentence in Vinařice Prison near Kladno, in the local coal mine, Fierlinger Mine Shaft. While there he met the Barrandov film director František Sádek, which changed his life. After his release in 1953 he was employed by Czechoslovak State Film, Barrandov Studio, where he started from scratch. In 1961 he was fired for a year for alleged political unreliability and contempt for the working class; to better understand the working person, he was employed first as an unskilled labourer and later as a steel fixer at the concrete producer Armabeton. He started to study at the Film and TV School of the Academy of Performing Arts in Prague. He believed in the ideas of the Prague Spring of 1968, and he later left the Barrandov studios of his own volition, before the profiling committees started their pruning the workforce. He worked as a director for Czechoslovak Television. He was one of the co-founders of the Civic Forum in November 1989. He retired in 1992. He and his wife have two sons: Tomáš and Michal. They currently (2016) live in Prague-Holešovice.