Interview with Jana Švehlová, DVD #1, December 7, 2010

Interviewer: Katja David-Fox (KDF) Interviewee: Jana Švehlová (JS)

KDF: This is tape one of an interview with Jana Švehlová. And it's taking place on December 7,

2010 in McLean, Virginia. First, can you begin by stating your full name?

JS: Well, the Americans call me Jana Svehlova. In Czech, it's Jana Helena Švehlová.

KDF: And can you please state where and when you were born?

JS: I was born in Cardiff – in South Wales, which is Great Britain – on Christmas Day. That

means December 25, 1943.

KDF: And your parents had come here from Czechoslovakia?

JS: Correct. My parents left Czechoslovakia in 1939. But they married in England – they met in

England. My father was with the Royal Air Force – with the 311 Czechoslovak Squadron. And

my mother managed to get to England as a domestic person. And her War duty was delivering

milk to English homes. And all her life she complained about those dirty English women not

washing those glass milk bottles properly. (Laughs)

KDF: So, both of your parents fled the Nazis.

JS: Yes, they fled the Nazis. And my father and mother met in Cardiff, because my mother went

with her friends to an official Air Force Club in Cardiff. And she was still very sad because her

boyfriend in Czechoslovakia told her he wouldn't marry her. But she was persuaded by her

friends, and she went. And in walks a group of handsome Czechoslovak airmen. And one of

them asked her to marry him – I mean, I'm sorry, to dance with him. And she said yes. And next,

he asked her to lend him money for cigarettes. (Laughs) And next thing, they have a date. And

then he asked her to marry him because he said, "look, I'm going to get killed anyway. So why

shouldn't a nice Czech girl get a good pension?" And so they married in May 1943. And I must

admit, I was born December 1943.

KDF: So, when did you then return to Czechoslovakia?

JS: Well, my father couldn't wait to get back to Czechoslovakia. So in August 1945 –

immediately after the War when they demobilized – he went back to Prague. And my mother did

not want to return because she was from the Sudetenland, her first language was German, and

she didn't have the best memories of Prague just before the War. So she wanted to stay in

England, but my father wouldn't hear of it. So, first the families of people who fought with the

Allies were flying back. But so many planes crashed that the Red Cross organized that the

spouses - basically the wives and the children - would go by train and boat. So my mother and I

then came by train to Czechoslovakia in 1945. So I was two years old, and my first language was

English. But my father, the great Czech patriot, said “She can always learn English” – that's the

only thing I've always held against him – “She needs to learn Czech." So I am a product of what

was called jesle1, basically the state nursery at that time – not yet state, but nursery. And then

kindergarten. And so I learned Czech, and forgot all my English. (Laughs)

KDF: So, were you going to the day care because both your parents were working?

JS: No, not yet. Because I don't remember the nursery, and I don't remember the kindergarten.

Because basically my memory is not very good before the age of six, when my father was

arrested. And so I'm not very good at what was happening before. Some memories of when my

father would put me on the table in the kitchen, and I would sing political songs for his friends.

Because we lived in the part of Prague where there is the park Hvězda – the star. So people used

to go for a walk to that park and then they would stop at our place for coffee and cake. And they

1 Jesle (or jeslička) is a playgroup or crèche for Czech children before they reach kindergarten age.

had to listen to this poor brat singing songs. But that's about all I can remember. And of course I

do remember the day my father was arrested. That's very clear in my memory. And I was six – I

just turned six.

KDF: Could you explain why your father was arrested?

JS: Well you know, obviously, everybody knows the Communists took over in 1948. And many

people who fought with the Allies then became the enemies of the state. And so my father was

arrested three days after Christmas, December 28, 1949. And I remember that they were turning

the apartment upside down and looking for stuff, knowing that they wouldn't find anything. I

know that they confiscated his Air Force uniform and the flight jacket – that was the first thing

they took – but they also took all our photographs. I do remember my father standing there, and

his face was white like this wall. The wall is not as white (Laughs) as my father's face was. But

that's all I remember of that day. And I remember asking one of the secret police agents, “Where

are you taking my daddy?” And he said, “Oh we just need to ask him a few questions.” And I

can still remember my mother standing by the window, waiting for my father to come back. And

of course, we didn't know... I learned later that it took six months before they let us know where

he was. We just didn't know. And I just kept asking – I kept asking my mother later, “How did I

react?” Because I adored my father. Because my mother was the disciplinarian. Because I would

kick my father and he would say, “Isn't she sweet?” But she told me that I just kept asking,

“Where is daddy? Where is daddy?” And that she told me, “Well, when he comes back he'll be

back." And I remember her crying a lot. But that's about all I can remember.

KDF: Do you know much about your father's activities between 1945 and 1949? Was he

politically active?

JS: Well basically he was in England during the War. Then he came back. And when he came

back he stayed – well, let me back up a little bit. My father wanted to be a journalist, but his

parents were not too happy about it. So he went to study law. He was from Plzeň, he went to

study law in Prague. Because he just finished law school when the War broke out. And when I

asked him, “Why did you choose law?” He said, “Because the law faculty had the best

cafeteria.” That was kind of my father. He was the typical student of the [19]30s; very much to

the left, sitting in cafés, drinking coffee, smoking, and dreaming how to make the world better.

So when he came back from England, my mother and I were living in this suburb of Prague, and

my daddy was living it up - sitting in those cafés, talking to those pre-war friends. And my

mother's version of why he was arrested was always, “If you didn't sit in those cafés talking

nonsense you wouldn't have been in prison for 10 years, and I wouldn't have had this horrible

life.” And that's what I kind of had all my life. So, if you call it a political activity sitting in cafés

and dreaming about a better life then yes, he was politically active. But not beyond the café

doors.

KDF: And during this time he was working as a lawyer?

JS: Well, he had some kind of a job. He wasn't – because lawyers in Czechoslovakia could do

just about anything. And he was working for some economy department of some kind. But it was

basically between 1945 and 1948 - until about December 1949.

KDF: So, how did life change for you and your mother at that point when your father was

arrested?

JS: Well, when I was a child, I basically thought that my life was normal. I didn't know any

children in the neighborhood that also had parents arrested or imprisoned. But where we lived it

was like a village. And I was playing with the children. I really didn't feel much of anything...

but because, looking back, I don't know if it's all repressed. I had the best memories from my

childhood. So it's hard to tell how I felt then. And when I asked my mother later on, you know,

the only answer I would get was, “Well I had other worries to worry about [rather than] what you

were saying, or...” So, I don't know. I don't know what it was like then going to visit my father in

prison. But I have nice memories from my childhood because I felt that that was kind of as it was

supposed to be.

KDF: So you didn't feel you were ostracized?

JS: I wasn't ostracized. As I'm saying, it may all be repressed. Because I have met people now –

my former schoolmates – where one of them told me that until this day she feels terrible because

her father was our local physician. And supposedly, I had tonsillitis and had an appointment with

him and didn't go to school. And of course we didn't have a phone then. And my mother had to

look for a job, because when they arrested my father his salary immediately stopped. I mean, that

would be another story. They came, they confiscated stuff, because he bought furniture basically

on credit. And basically everything with his signature was confiscated. So, you know, some

friends gave us some furniture so we could sleep on something. And they moved another family

into our apartment... but that's kind of another story. But –

KDF: They moved another family in with you?

JS: Okay, when my father was arrested they came from the Town Hall, or the People's Council,

then. And they said to my mother that they are moving us out to this border town, or village. And

my mother didn't have anybody, no relatives left in Czechoslovakia. Neither did my father,

except some cousins. But the main thing is, people started to stay away from us because they

were afraid. And even the former friends stayed away from us. And the only people who would

be friendly with us were the wives of other imprisoned people. Well, they were not much help,

they had to look after themselves. And so my mother said, “Okay, you move us and I'll kill

myself and I'll kill my child.” And I think she was going to do it, because she was at the end of

her rope. Then there were three members of the neighborhood who found out about it - they were

all members of the Communist Party - and they went to this People's Council and they said, “Oh

why don't you just leave her alone? She's not political. And we'll be sure to look after her.” Or,

not so much “After her,” but “See what she's up to.” So they let us stay. But they moved another

family in. And what we had, it was what here would be a townhouse. But it was an apartment,

somebody else lived there. And then we had, on what would be here – okay, there it was the

ground floor, it was an apartment. And we had the first floor; there was the kitchen and the living

room. And then in the attic kind of space were two small bedrooms and the bathroom, the

bathroom was upstairs. So they moved this young couple, a young couple with a little boy, into

those two bedrooms upstairs, and the bathroom. And I need to say that here (Laughs), and if you

want to talk about persecution, this woman would empty her little boy's potty – with the poo-

poo – in the bathtub. And, I will never know... was it because she wanted to make my mother's

life miserable to force her to give up and move out so they could have the whole place? Or, did

the Secret Police tell her, “Be sure that you make their life miserable?” But what she didn't

realize was that my mother had been through worse, so she bought a little baby basin and we

basically bathed every day in the baby basin in the kitchen. So, I always say I am – I hope I am

Americanized – but the only thing is, I do not take showers. I love my baths. (Laughs) And I

think it's psychological from those days. So they moved that family in, and we stayed. But now,

about ostracism, I did not really feel it until I was in eighth grade when the principal called me to

his office. And I had good grades, so I didn't worry about anything. But he said, “You are done

with your school.” And I said, “But I want to go to high school because I would like to be a

pediatrician.” And he wasn't looking at me and he just said, “Well, no, you can't. You need to go

to the Town Hall to the Labor Department, and ask for a job.” And so I said, “Well, that's good

because I will be making some money.” Because when I would ask my mom, “Oh mommy, I

would like new shoes.” She said, “Well I don't have any money." And I said, “What do you

mean? The state gives you 70 crowns. So, why can't you buy me shoes?” (Laughs) I was quite a

naughty girl. But then the principal told me my mother was in the hospital because she suffered

with stomach ulcers. And so she was hospitalized, so I went to see her in the hospital. I said, “Oh

mommy, I won't be going to school anymore. I'm going to make some money, so you won't have

to worry about money anymore.” She said, “What?” And I was 14, it was eighth grade. So she

was devastated, and I couldn't understand like, what's the big deal? I thought she would be happy

that I am going to make some money. So I did go to the Labor Department and still see that

comrade woman sitting there. She said, “Well I do have a job in the border town where they are

making some material and I could send you there. But you have good grades, maybe I'll find

something else for you.” I'm still waiting (Laughs) for her to find me a job. So my mother by

then had a job. First, she was washing floors, then she was working in a bakery, and by now she

was working in an office – kind of a low-ranking job in an office. But when she told her

colleagues what happened, somebody – you know, in Prague everybody knows everybody – so

somebody found me a place in a factory. TESLA, they made TV sets. But because of my

political background, I was not allowed to do the three-year apprenticeship. No. I was put in a

six-month training [program] and my title was “Assistant Laborer.” And there were other girls

who, I guess, had such bad grades that they felt that they wouldn't even be able to finish the

three-year apprenticeship. But they were really very nice. (Laughs) And some of them were

older, they just failed the grade so many times that they didn't let them continue. I think there

were 14 or 16 of us in that classroom. And I walked in, and I saw the tables with all the tools and

I said, (Gasps) “I'll never be able to manage.” And I must say that the first or second month –

and I'm still proud of it and I'm 66 years old – the gypsy instructor woman voted me as the best

student of that month. Not the whole time, but just the one month. And I was so proud of myself.

But there was something going on that – I was fourteen, but I was very young... when we were

fourteen in those days it was very different than girls who are fourteen today. I mean, we were

children. And I noticed that some of the girls were really quite well-developed because they

might have been sixteen, seventeen by then. And I saw them touching each other. And I said,

“Oh my god, what's going on here?” And then I saw this one big girl coming towards me, and I

hit her. She was much taller than me, but I hit her so that she fell into what – we had those

wardrobes, we didn't have closets for clothes, we had wardrobes, and I had hit her. She fell into

the wardrobe, and I don't remember anything else except that I cried a lot, came home, and I said,

“Mommy, I'm never going to go back.” And my mother called the instructor, and I don't know

what they said to each other. But all I know, my mother said, “You have to go back.” And of

course I didn't realize that (Laughs) I of course had no choice. Because if you don't work and you

don't go to school, you were a parasite of the society. So, I don't know what they would have

done to me. But anyway, I did go back, it never happened again. But I know I was petrified. But

then the six months were up, and I was on the floor working on those TV sets and enjoyed it, but

I wanted to be a pediatrician. So I thought, “How do I get into the healthcare environment?” And

once again, somebody said, “Well I know somebody. And maybe she could be a nurse's aide."

So at the age of 15, I ended up in an operating room of the hospital Bulovka, in Prague. So I was

15 when I saw a first naked man on the operating table. And I was waiting when the surgeon

asked for the scalpel, for the knife. I said, (Gasps) now the blood will be all over! But it wasn't

(Laughs). But I was there to clean up the blood.When they were throwing out all the gauze and

stuff on the floor; I was the one that was cleaning it up. And I was 15, and they made me work

night duty because it was an operating room, so it was there for emergencies. So the excuse was,

even though I was only 15, we were only up if there was an emergency surgery – they needed

somebody to clean up the blood, because it would be dry by the morning. So I was there, and I

enjoyed it. Only one time I passed out, because in those days, they did abortions in the hospital.

And I don't know if they have abortion clinics now, but at the time they did not have abortion

clinics. And they had different speculums than they have here. So the surgeon, or the

gynecologist, had to have somebody to hold on to this speculum when he performed the

abortion. And so I remember sitting there and the blood kind of flowing over my hand. And the

next thing I remember I was on a stretcher (Laughs). I did pass out. But, that's the only time I

passed out. But I still wanted to go to school; I wanted to be a pediatrician. So, I asked the

committee of physicians - what did they call themselves? It was the Communist Party physicians

of the hospital committee... I can't remember the exact title. But basically, they had to be

members of the Communist Party, and they were all physicians (because nobody else counted).

So they asked me for an interview because I applied to go to high school. Some of them I knew,

because they were the surgeons that came to the operating rooms. So I wasn't worried about

anything. And they were okay but then, they gave me a question: “If we allow you to go to

school and you become a pediatrician, would you treat a capitalist child?” And I didn't know

what to say. So they didn't give me permission. And so they didn't let me go to high school

either.

KDF: Well, first of all, how did you feel about your school and the education you were getting

as a child? And then also, do you think there were other things that were setting you apart from

other children during that period of your life while your father was in prison?

JS: Well, that's not very easy to answer. I can say more... for example there may be a lot of

repression. Because when I went back after the fall of Communism a former classmate from

fourth or fifth grade told me that I had an appointment with her father who was a physician in

our section of town; I didn't come to school, my mother didn't call because we didn't have a

phone. And she tells me that the next day a person came from the People's Council, and

screamed at me in front of all the children, how dare I not show up in school and not to let

anybody know? And she felt, she says that until this day she feels guilty, because she knew that I

had an appointment with her father, the physician, but that she didn't speak up. And that this

woman was yelling, and screaming, and saying there would be consequences. I don't remember

any of it. And I asked her, “Why would they care?” And she said, “Don't you know that they

followed children like you to make sure that they would not be taken abroad?” And I wasn't

aware of that. About my education, I think that sometimes friends here – I'm talking now about

Czech and Slovak friends here, who came over here in let's say 1968 – don't understand me, how

can I be a liberal in America after what happened to me under Communism? Well, I'm not one of

those who says if you are a liberal that means you are a socialist, and if you are a socialist that

means you are a communist. Because I call it social issues and social conscience. I don't want to

be political. But what they don't understand is that, I got my indoctrination in school about

“Stalin the savior.” There were no relatives telling me, “The Communists are really bad.” And

my mother wouldn't say a word because she was scared to death that if she said something, and I

blabber it outside, she too will go to prison. So people don't understand that the only input I had,

was from school. And just to give an example, my mother was working and I was home with

tonsillitis listening to my beloved radio – we had two stations. And suddenly, they announced

that they would be singing Stalin's favorite song, Sulika. And we all knew from school that that

was Stalin's favorite song. I was in bed with scarves and everything around my neck to keep

warm. I pulled it all off. I was maybe 10 years old, 11 years old. I stood in attention – nobody

told us ever, “You need to stand in attention when they sing Sulika.” I stood in attention, and I

was listening to Sulika from the radio. Because Stalin, in a way, was my temporary father. And I

just never know how to explain it to people. I had no other input, that's what I believe. That that

guy, who sent my dad to prison, became my temporary father. Then of course I have the kind of

memories when we visited my father in prison. I did research about the psychological effects on

children of political prisoners. And I was very interested, mainly, how were they affected when

they were not allowed to pursue education in Czechoslovakia where people didn't have much.

And all you had were those little letters behind or after your name... it was a big deal. I - because

I didn't have it, and I know how it has affected me all my life - I wanted to know how other

people felt. But at the same time when I was interviewing them, I learned also about our different

attitudes when we were visiting our parents in prison. For me, it was like going on a school trip.

Those hardboiled eggs never tasted so good like on the train to the prison camp. Of course it took

all night, because they had special trains from Prague. We were lucky we were in Prague –

imagine the people coming from the other parts of the country. But it was an overnight train,

with all the people going to the same place. Then we would go to Jáchymov, Příbram, and I

remember the train would arrive let's say at four o'clock in the morning. Then they would let us

wait in the train station for the little train to take us to the labor camps. Of course, I have plenty

of stories about that. But for me it was kind of an adventure. I was very proud because when we

visited the prisoners, every prisoner had a guard standing right next to him, following our every

word. The visits were about every half a year for 15 minutes, and I was told by mother to be sure

to shove some food into my father's pocket. So I always had to watch for the guard not looking

for a second, and I always [was] proud of myself when I managed to get something in. But I

remember when I was 14 – okay so, my father was taken away when I was six, and he came back

when I was 16. When I was 14, my mother had one of her migraine headaches, and that was the

only time when she could not go to visit him. She sent me alone. And it was Příbram, and today

it may take an hour by train, but I remember it took forever. And I arrived at the town square, got

off the train, and there were buses that would go to the labor camps, and I didn't see anybody.

Except there was a bus with the driver kind of sleeping there, and I said to him, “Oh, I don't

know what to do. Where are all the buses? I must have missed it.” He said, “Where are you

going?” I said, “To see my dad, he's in the labor camp, and my mother will kill me if I don't get

there.” He said, “Well, get on.” He took me to the labor camp, and I see that they were already

closing all the gates, because this was a place where it was just for the visits, it wasn't the real

place. It looked kind of like when you see some of the wooden barracks from the concentration

camps, though they were just for the visits. So I come to the gate, and the soldier is closing the

gate, and I start crying – I'm 14, I look like I’m 11 – I said, “My mother will kill me if I don't see

my father!” And he said, “Well, stay right here.” Actually, it was the commandant of the labor

camp that came out, and he said, “Okay, here is a piece of paper. You will go to the place where

your father is, and show them this paper.” So, you need to imagine that this was in the middle of

a field with nothing, except on the little hill, those watchtowers where you could see those

soldiers with their guns. But mainly, you saw all those signs everywhere-- in Czech it would be

Nevstupovat! Střílení bez výstrahy! (“Do not enter! Shooting without warning!”) – or something

like that. And it was everywhere. And I still remember running – I was running with this piece of

paper holding it in front of me and thinking, “How will those soldiers then know that this paper

says that I can be here?” But I managed to get to some place, and there were other soldiers, and

they were whistling at me like you see in old Italian movies. And I was only 14, but they must

have thought I was visiting one of those soldiers. And I said, “I'm here to visit my dad, he's a

prisoner.” They immediately calmed down. They were so sweet to me, and they said, “Well, you

are not in the right place.” See? I still get emotional. “You have to go a little further.” (Cries)

Anyway, I'm sorry. So, anyway they told me, “No, you have to go a little further.” So, I get to

the real labor camp. They led me into a room with tables, and chairs, and curtains – I still

remember the red and white checkers. I said, (Gasps) “What is this?” And then in walks my

father, and no guard, and we sit at a table. And I said, “Oh, tati!” I called him tati – “Tati, what a

nice place you have here [unintelligible].” And he said, “Moje holčičko,” – you know, my little

girl – “This is the dining room for the guards.” And they let us stay for an hour – no guards – we

talked. Of course I don't remember what we talked about. But I will feel guilty until the day I die,

because I could have given my father any food I had... I had none, I ate it all on the train.

(Laughs) And I had no food for him. So I still feel guilty to this day. But I remember... that visit

will definitely stay with me. Yeah, but, so –

KDF: And what physical condition did your father seem to be in while he was in prison?

JS: I know he was skinny. I mean, of course I learned all that later, after the arrest. Because they

arrested him in December, and the trial wasn't until June. So I know that – later, you know – that

they woke them up every 10 minutes and they didn't give them food and drink. And you know, I

don't know. And to be very honest, I know about it but I try not to go into it, not read about it.

My father never, and you will here this from most of the political prisoners, they never talked

about it. And of course, in psychology we know that that is where the word “unspeakable” comes

from. That if they did go through some horrible stuff, they are unable to talk about it. But I do

remember one time that I came home, and they didn't realize I was home after he came home

from prison. And my mother was yelling at him. He probably made tripe soup, and used a lot of

garlic, and the place smelled. And my mother was probably yelling at him that, you know, the

place smells of garlic. And she told him once, and this is what I heard, that she said to him:

“Well, if you didn't sit in those cafés talking nonsense, you wouldn't be in prison, and I wouldn't

have had such a horrible life.” And I still remember my father in his very calm voice said, “Well,

I didn't have it easy, either. There were days that I didn't know if I would be alive the next day.”

But they didn't know that I could hear them, and that's the only time I realized that it wasn't

smooth sailing. After he was sentenced, they sent him to the uranium mines. And he was all

over, he was in Jáchymov and Příbram. He was also in the horrible Bory, which is well known.

My mother said that he told her during the one visit that he was terribly cold and terribly hungry.

Why she had to tell me, I don't know. But again, it stayed with me. Then there was a strike in the

prison and he was transferred to Ilava, Slovakia. They did that – they would have Slovak

prisoners in Czech prisons; and Czech prisoners in Slovak prisons. And Ilava, I was there only

once because for us from Prague, it was just too expensive. You know, I hear people used to go

skiing in the Tatra Mountains from Prague. Well, you know, I don't want to be “Poor me, poor

me” but, my mother basically could’t afford the train ride. So she went, but I only went once

because she couldn't afford to pay for both of us to go. But I mean you know, this is 10 years, so

there are a lot of stories about that. But I still kind of have good memories from childhood. I

think it's more when I look at it from now, I realize what it was like. But during the times... you

know, I mean children live in Africa under horrible conditions, and they are probably happy

because they don't know any better. That's the thing, I didn't know any better.

KDF: And generally the conditions were not so great under Stalinism –

JS: For anybody, for anyone. So, you know, I was never hungry. My mother told me, and I have

lived with this – my mother complaining, not having money for example for coal. So, I know

that one of the neighbors – we found out later that that particular neighbor was the one that was

reporting on us to the Secret Police. But she was very nice to us. (Laughs) And she gave us

money, or lent us money for coal. And also, when my mother was writing to the president and

everybody else, you know, “Let my husband out; he's been out there now five years; I think he's

reeducated.” Because her first language was German, she was never sure about the Czech

grammar. So this particular neighbor was also helping her with those letters. And I – after my

mother died, she died when she was 92 in England – and I found she kept all the letters from my

father from prison. All those 10 years, year-by-year. So I found those letters and it was kind of

funny. Oh, and some of the letters she wrote to the president. And she also wrote a letter to the

commandant of the labor camp, “My husband has been there for seven years now; let him out.

I'm sick, and my child needs a father.” And he wrote back, “Your husband's behavior is not right.

He is not reeducated and he plays cards.” Because sometimes when they were down in the mine,

you know, the guards wouldn't go down there. So, somebody obviously must have said it that he

played cards. (Laughs) My mother wrote back, “Well, he was a gambler before he went to

prison, and I guess the prison hasn't cured him yet.” (Laughs) So, they didn't let him out. Maybe

because he was playing cards. (Laughs)

KDF: Now, you've mentioned that you didn't have any relatives. Is that because all your

relatives were in fact killed during the War? Or did you –

JS: No, my three grandparents were killed during the War. My one grandfather died before the

War-- my mother's father. But my mother's mother and both my father's parents were killed

during the War. And my mother's relatives left and they didn't come back.

KDF: And did they go to England?

JS: Yeah. Yes.

KDF: So were you at all able to rely on the families of other political prisoners over the years?

Or was it mostly a few neighbors here or there that your mother could rely on for help, like the

woman that you mentioned?

JS: Well, I remember because we had so many visitors while my father was still at home that

that was the greatest change that I noticed, that suddenly nobody was visiting us. Yeah, my

mother had a few of the women – a few of the wives of the other prisoners that were friends of

my father and they were also imprisoned. But not that many, I don't remember. You know,

where we lived in the neighborhood, I remember playing with the other children. And then there

was this one neighbor, I have to mention her, Mrs. Machová, who looked after me if I was sick

and my mother went to work. You know, she was wonderful. She always popped over and made

me lunch. And she was a much better cook than my mother. My mother was a good baker, she

baked good koláče2. But this woman – her son was my school classmate – and she was very

good to me. And she would also, I remember that she took me to her mother's place in the village

Vičice[?] – or maybe it's a town – with my school classmate Zdeněk[?]. I remember the

grandmother gave us chopped up dumplings and sauerkraut all mixed together in one big dish.

And we were all sitting on the ground, with spoons, eating from that same dish. And I know that

since then, it's my favorite meal, dumplings and sauerkraut. We were eating with a spoon, which

is kind of an interesting observation that I realized after talking... I have a very good friend here

2 Koláč is the Czech term for cake (Koláče is the plural form).

in Washington, she is Belgian, married to an American. And she comes from Antwerp. So I can

always imagine – her father was a judge – the table with the lace tablecloth having a lunch in

Antwerp. And I was telling her that in Czechoslovakia, people were executed for no reason at all.

And my father, being innocent – my mother always said he was innocent – he was a big hero,

and in prison. And that didn't seem to impress her; she thought that wasn't very nice. But when I

told her that in družina, which was like a kindergarten for school children, where I of course was

doing my homework and got my lunch because my mother was working. I told her that we were

not allowed to use fork and knife, we had to eat with – every meal was with a soup spoon,

because forks and knives were bourgeois. Now, that impressed her. She could not get over it.

(Laughs)

KDF: So it wasn't because they were afraid you would use the fork and knife as weapons?

JS: No, no. That was bourgeois decadence.

KDF: So, when you finished at your school and you were told that you had to become a worker,

at least initially, did the idea of becoming a worker give you any pride? Did you think because of

the glorification of workers in Czechoslovakia and under communism that this actually might be

a good path?

JS: I don't think I was that indoctrinated. (Laughs) Maybe it's my personality; I kind of always

enjoy what I am doing. So I enjoyed, you know, when I learned the craft... I enjoyed it. And then

when I worked at that hospital, I left the operating room, and they allowed me to work on the

floor. It was the urology floor. And the nurses, I will always be grateful to them, because some of

them preferred to sit at the nurses' station and talk and laugh, and do nothing, if possible. And of

course I was eager, so they taught me how to give injections and how to change dressings. And

of course, we didn't have to worry that anybody would be sued. (Laughs) And, so I loved it. I

enjoyed it, I had the best time, I loved my job; I didn't have a good title. I was also humiliated,

interestingly, that also stayed with me. Because there were now girls – women – 18 year olds

that had just finished [school]. They became registered nurses at the age of 18, because it's a

different system. And of course they were basically my superiors because they had the diploma,

and I didn't. And I still remember one of the girls – and I was told that she hardly managed to get

through the nursing school. She wasn't very bright, but she had the power: she had the diploma.

And I still remember how she told me, “Go to the blood bank, and bring the blood transfusion for

the patient.” And I still remember the tone of her voice – no “Please”, no “Thank you”. It stayed

with me. It was the humiliation. And I'll never forget, there's an American philosopher, [Richard]

Rorty, who said that one of the worst things you can do to another human being is to humiliate

them. And I saw it as a humiliation, because she was my age. We were the same age.

KDF: And did you think that you had acquired some skills that were, in fact, equivalent to the

skills that these nurses had through your practical experience at that time?

JS: Well, you know, I really learned the skills. And they were good people there; the chief nurse

of the whole hospital – I mean, they all knew me, I was there – she told me, “Look, go to Cheb,”

which was again, kind of a border town, not really popular with anybody. She said, “They have a

nursing school, and they are looking for students. Because if they don't have enough students

they are going to close the school down. So, go there.” And then I knew somebody who was

pushed out of Prague living there – she was a friend of my father's from even pre-war times. And

so I stayed with her one night, and she told me, she said, “Look, Janička, you always told the

truth about where your father is. So this time, don't tell them the truth. You don't have to lie, if

they ask you 'What does your father do?' say, 'He's a miner'.” Because he was, in the uranium

mines. And there was that saying, “Who is more than a miner?” So, sure enough, at first there

was the written exam and they said, “Yeah you did very well.” And then they said, “What does

your father do?” I said, “He's a miner.” And the committee member said to me – there were, I

don't know, five or six of them – and she said, “You know what, if you tell us the truth, we will

tell you the truth.” So she said, “What does your father do?" I said, “He's in prison.” She said,

“Okay, so you told us the truth. We'll tell you the truth: that's why we won't accept you.”

(Laughs) So that was that. But, eventually, they gave me a recommendation to go to what they

called an evening nursing school, which was two afternoons a week. Here [in the United States]

so many of the students go to school and work, and it's no big deal. But over there, the people

who were okay, of course, would have the regular daytime status of a student. But the rejects of

the society, or these nurses who were basically just trained on the job but then they decided they

should all have a piece of paper; they gave us these two afternoons a week. But imagine – that's

where we also learned the high school subjects. (Laughs) I remember physics, chemistry, math,

all that. Plus, the nursing subjects two afternoons a week. I remember during physics (Laughs)

that sometimes I would sit because I, maybe after night duty, I was sitting there and I would hold

a pen, I fell asleep, I dropped it, and that woke me up. (Laughs) But you know, I finished, I got

my diploma. And they must have taught us something, because then when I got out, and I had to

take exams in another country like in England, I passed. So, (Laughs) they did manage to teach

us something.

KDF: And did you meet the other students who were there? Were some of them also people who

were in a similar situation?

JS: Not that I remember, no. I think they were mostly the older nurses who were kind of pushed

into it. You know, they were better than the instructors, but they had to get the piece of paper.

But I don't remember much of anything.

KDF: Well it sounds like the death of Stalin and the period of the thaw didn't help your father's

situation...

JS: No, no. Not at all. Not at all. Yeah, no. He came back 1959. And then he was not allowed to

practice law, he was a bricklayer at the place where we lived, Ďáblice3. Which was the first, I

think it was the first, place where they built those paneláky4 – the concrete buildings. And my

father, forever the optimist, used to say, “Moje holčičko” – you know, my little girl – “See? This

will be my legacy." And it's true. (Laughs) They are there and they are quite nice because they

are not the high rises, they are only three or four floors. So yeah, the legacy's there.

KDF: So, but he was able to get this steady work?

JS: Oh yeah, no, he had to work. He had to. But manual, manual labor. Because when he got

those 10 years imprisonment, they also gave them on top of it, he would get 10 years of loss of

civil rights. Or, no, not civil rights, what is it called?

KDF: Civil rights, like voting?

JS: Voting. Yeah, Civil rights. Meaning that he was not allowed to practice his profession. So,

he was a bricklayer. But, you know, it had so many advantages because he worked right across

the street from where we lived. And I would come home after night duty, and he would come

home for his coffee break, which would stretch for an hour. And all those years that we couldn't

talk, we were catching up. And it was just fabulous. But I always say, when he died, I felt like I

didn't lose a father, because I hardly had him as a father. But, I lost one of my best friends. And I

always also say that I had a hard time dating because I always felt that none of the guys, as we

say in Czech, would reach my father's ankles. (Laughs) And I would say it in front of my mother

and she would say, “Well, I can tell you about her father.” (Laughs)

3 Ďáblice is a district in the north of Prague.

4 A panelák is a pre-fabricated, concrete building. Paneláky (plural) were particularly popular with urban planners in

Czechoslovakia in the second half of the twentieth century.

KDF: So you continued to live with your parents. During the –

JS: Yes. 1959 he came home. Okay and then come [19]65, I met my future husband waiting for

a tram in Wenceslas Square. Very handsome. And he started talking to me, and I wasn't

interested, and he wanted my phone number. I don't know if we had a phone at home them, but

even if we did, I wasn't too interested in him. And I wouldn't give him the number at the hospital,

because I didn't want him to know I was only a nurse's aide. Because he told me he was a

university student, and that was all I needed to hear. And six months passed, and we met at the

same stop. And this time, he wouldn't let me go, and he actually – because his home was two

stops before mine – he wouldn't get off. (Laughs) And he walked me home. And he knew where

I lived. (Laughs) And we started dating, and I don't know at what point he told me he wanted to

get out of there. And of course he knew I was born in England. I did go to the British Embassy

before and asked them, “Can you give me a passport so I can get out of here?” Because my

mother always said, “I won't die peacefully, in peace, until I see you out of here.” And they said,

“Unh-uh, your parents are Czech. Now the minute you get across the border, go to the first

British Consulate. Of course for us you will always be British, but we can't do anything for you

here.” So anyway, we made plans, and I asked nine times, “Can I go, please, to see my

birthplace?” And nine times they said no. And then they said yes. And his [my husband’s] name

was Honza, Jan, and he said, “Well go, and I'll finish school and I'll be out of here.” So we made

plans, I actually did leave for England. And we agreed that – I left in June – that December 1, the

day after he graduates, we will meet in Vienna at eight o'clock in the morning at Franz-Josefs-

Bahnhof. He did not want me to write to him at home, because he didn't want his parents to see

that he's corresponding with somebody who is out of the country. He never introduced me to his

parents because he said that they would wonder. He said, “I never took any girls home. And they

would wonder, 'Well, how come you haven't brought her home and where is she now?'” So we

agreed that I would write to him, and I would underline Czechoslovakia and send it to my

parents' home. And they would know, if Czechoslovakia is underlined, that the letter is for him.

And it worked. Except that train from Prague came an hour late because it was delayed from

Prague. So we met in Vienna, and...

KDF: And this was in 19…?

JS: This is 1966. This is December [19]66. And Vienna wasn't ready for immigrants then, from

Czechoslovakia. It was tough. It was really, really tough. Now I got a job in a hospital, and I

lived in the hospital. But he came with his brother and then, the Czechs were giving permissions

only for four days in Vienna. And there was a rumor that after four days, the Austrians had an

agreement that they would send Czechs back. So comes the fourth day, and he comes to tell me,

“I'm going back to Czechoslovakia. We can't survive here.” I said, “Oh yeah? What about me?

I'm out illegally by now.” Because I only got their permission for three weeks. “Oh, you will just

come back and you tell them that the West is terrible, and you'll be fine.” Well, not to sound

bitter but, all he knew was going to the university and getting pocket money from his dad. And

the only punishment he ever got was that his father said, “If you come after midnight, you won't

get any pocket money.” He never visited anybody in prison. (Laughs) I said, “Well I'm not going

back. I'm scared. I will not go back.” And his brother was there and his brother kind of persuaded

him to stay. And he told me – Jan told me – he said, “If you ever reproach me in the future, I will

remind you of this day.” I said, “Okay.” And I said, “Well, nothing could be worse than to be in

prison!” (Laughs) So, he stayed. He was never happy. Then I got pregnant. Then I miscarried –

one of many miscarriages. So I don't have any children. And it was hard in Vienna, not so much

for me; I was working as a nurse. Not speaking much German, but they were pretty good to me.

Except, the nurses were very nice, but some of them were those German – well Austrian-

Germans – kicked out of Sudetenland (Laughs), actually. So two of them spoke Czech, and they

were very nice to me. They actually arranged for our wedding and paid for it. But they also were

telling me how those [unintelligible] and I just sat there, and didn't tell them that my father was

in the British Air Force. (Laughs) And anyway so Jan said, “Let's get out of here. Let's go to

England.” And we did. So we came to England, and started kind of from scratch. He went back

to the university. I mean, of course the years go by, and he went to the university, and he got his

PhD in Methodology. And NASA, American NASA, was looking for foreign scientists. Not

looking, but giving an opportunity to foreign scientists to come for post-doctoral research for two

years. But they did stipulate: you come, but you leave after two years – you are not staying in the

United States. And he applied, and he didn't think he would get it. And he did. By then, I am a

head nurse at a British hospital. And happy, happy, happy – very happy. Loving my job, loving

everything. But he got this opportunity. We always said, “Well, what would it be like to go to

America?” And that was the only time he asked me, “What do you think we should do?” And

you know, Czech men “know everything best,” but he did ask for my opinion. And I said, “Well,

why shouldn't we go?” He was at university then but that was not a permanent job. I said, “Well

why not go? We can always come back." And so comes 1974, Labor Day weekend. We arrive in

Washington, D.C.. The sky is blue – remember we are coming from London – the sky is blue.

They put us in a hotel in Hampton, Virginia. But it's Labor Day weekend, so most people leave

by then, their vacations are over. He goes to work, and I'm there all by myself, by this beautiful

pool at the motel, Hampton, Virginia. And I decided I will not leave this place, ever. (Laughter).

And so that's how I arrived in the United States of America. And that's one thing that I will

always be grateful to him. Because he was born in Czechoslovakia and the quota was not full

here when he asked if he could stay here, they said yes. I don't remember all the details, but they

did say yes. And actually, he stayed at NASA for seven years. So, he was really pretty good. And

they kept him for seven years.

End DVD#1, December 7, 2010

Begin Jana Švehlová, DVD #2, December 7, 2010

KDF: This is tape two of an interview with Jana Švehlová, and it is taking place on December 7,

2010 in McLean, Virginia. So we were just discussing your arrival in the U.S. and then

eventually your husband was able to stay on and you decided that you wanted to stay in the U.S.

But you also spent quite a bit of time in England before that and you actually got to be a head

nurse at a hospital, is that correct?

JS: Yes.

KDF: So could you talk a little bit about that time in England? What was it like to arrive there?

What did you have to do to actually get a nurse's position?

JS: Well, in England I spoke no English. I studied some German because we thought we would

stay in Vienna, we didn't plan to be in England. So my English was very limited. Basically "I do

not understand," that's about all I could say. But I did find a place in a hospital again, good

people, and they put me on this very small ward, a floor. The sister, the head nurse's sister

basically sucked me into the office and said, "This is a syringe"; "This is a window." Then of

course I took classes, and every night I learned 10 English words before going to sleep. And

instead of a prayer, I learned 10 English words. And then I asked if I could try to take the exam

to become a registered nurse in England. And there it was basically writing essays, it wasn't

multiple choice. I only saw multiple choice when I came to the States. With my limited English,

I failed the test the first time. And the matron - the chief nurse - in England when I applied again

she said, "Look, why don't you learn more English, we'll get you your money back." And I have

to give credit to Jan because he said, "It's not her money, it's our money, so go ahead and take it

again, it's a good experience for you," and I passed the second time. Don't ever ask me how,

because it was anonymous. I mean, they had to tell that I was a foreigner, but I passed. And I just

worked my way through, and in the end I became a head nurse. In England that's a big deal, and

I'm very proud of it. I enjoyed it but there's one thing about England, even though I was born in

Britain the minute I opened my mouth I got three questions, "Where are you from?"; "How do

you like it here?"; and "When are you going back?" And that doesn't make you feel at home. So,

that was England. Also, the marriage wasn't always very happy. So when I look back, I don't

know anymore, was it England or was it my marriage? Then - this is in 1968, and I left in [19]66

- my parents in 1968, two weeks after the Russians invaded Czechoslovakia, my mother came to

visit. She was supposed to come on August 21, but of course they closed the borders. But they

reopened the borders, and she came to visit me. I said, "Where's Dad?" And she said, "Oh, he's

not coming. [Alexander] Dubček said, 'Don't leave me', and so he's not coming." I said, "Well,

that's nice." So, she was not happy but she said, "of course I have to go back." Well maybe a

week later we got a cable from Vienna, from my father: I'm in Vienna. Need a ticket, coming to

England. So we arranged for him to come over. When he arrived at Heathrow the passport

control officer said, "Do you have a visa?" And my father said, "Well when I came here to fight

for you in 1939, you didn't ask me, 'Do you have a visa?'" And the official said, "Welcome back,

sir." This always kind of gets to me because my father was not happy in England... he was a

Czech, he loved Prague. He was not happy in England, he used to tell me, "Moje holčičko" - my

little girl - "I would walk back if I could." The only reason he left was because there was a rumor

in Prague that they will be arresting the former political prisoners. He was born in 1914, so by

then he was fifty-something, and he did not want to go through that again. That's the only reason

he left, and he wasn't happy. So my parents were then in England. So I spent seven years in

England, and then left for the United States.

KDF: Had your parents been optimistic about developments in Czechoslovakia in the mid-

[19]60s? With the globalization that was taking place, had they thought that now it would be a

happier place for them to live? Because your mother was still encouraging you to leave..,

JS: Yes. When I was leaving, my father didn't believe I would stay away. He said, "You will

come back, won't you?" My mother said, "Don't you come back." But I don't remember. Well,

when I was leaving, obviously it was easier because they let me out finally, but I wasn't married

and left my parents behind. Plus, I wasn’t such a loss for the country... I felt that they didn't lose

much with me. But I don't know because I wasn't there for the Prague Spring, so I don't

remember anymore. My father obviously was very happy. But my mother never felt [the same].

Her hometown was in the Sudetenland, and Prague - she really didn't have any nice memories of

Prague. And she never forgave what they did to my father, and basically to her, so she was very

happy to get out of there in 1968. She died at the age of 92, so she spent half her life in England

if you count the War years. And she spoke English so well that the English people were not sure

where she was from in England, they thought she was British she was so good. But my father

missed Prague... but I don't know. I don't know how they felt, how optimistic they were or

anything. I think they were having a good time because by then my father was a very social

person, that was one of the problems my parents had. Even when they came to England, and they

had nothing, my father started emptying dustbins in Marks & Spencer before he got a job in a

bank. And with his leftist views, working in a bank wasn't the right place. (Laughs) But I think

what kept him going was playing bridge. But my mother, she was content, she was very happy

because she loved England... she really did fit in.

KDF: Were they living in London?

JS: They were living in London, yes.

KDF: And were you and your husband living in London?

JS: No. We were all over the place. We were in South Wales for a bit. Our last place was

Brighton, which was very nice. So we kind of settled in the English way of life, and then came

the NASA thing. And so we left.

KDF: During the Prague Spring, was your father involved in any of the organizations that

formed for political prisoners? Are you aware of any of that?

JS: I don't think he was involved in it. I do know my mother told me they did go to one of the

meetings, and I understood what it must have been like for the political prisoners. What I'm

trying to say is, my mother was appalled with that meeting because she said that all she heard

was, 'Let's hang this one,' and 'Let's hang that one'. I was always brought up [to believe], don't

judge and you won't be judged, and kind of, no revenge. But my mother wasn't the one and I

wasn't the one who was tortured in the prison. But that [meeting] turned her off. As far as I

know, my father was not involved in anything... not that I know of.

KDF: Did he ever try to get the charges against him dropped, in retrospect?

JS: I know he was rehabilitated. He got some money back, and he basically didn't even know

what to do with the money. They bought some furniture and then his best friend from the prison,

who was much younger, wanted - basically my father said, "If you need money to buy a car, here

it is." And he kind of lent him the money. So he was rehabilitated, but that's about it.

Interestingly we didn't talk much about this stuff and when he was talking about prisoners, I

mentioned before, it was only happy stories he would tell me when he was in solitary

confinement and then they put a person in and he said, after 24 hours they were ready to kill each

other. (Laughs) So I understand about the - I can't think of the term now, when you are stuck

with somebody all the time - I can't think of the English idiom about it. But he also said,

(Laughs) they put a murderer in his cell who killed his mother-in-law. So when my father asked

him, "So why did you kill your mother-in-law?" He said, "What's it to you, was it your mother-

in-law?" So my father had a great sense of humor, and he would tell me only fun stories. So, yes,

I don't know enough.

KDF: Was your mother also happier in England because she was in contact once again with the

relatives that she had there before?

JS: That's a very interesting question. I think the relatives were an issue, as I always say in

America nobody has problems but everybody has issues. (Laughs) The relationship was that

while my parents were the poor refugees it was okay because they were helping those poor

refugees. Then there were issues. My father was an intellectual in the real sense of the word. I

don't ever know how to explain it, but I think people know what I mean. I mean, he was a

product of the [19]30s sitting in those cafés, talking just about everything, philosophy, politics.

And he didn't have that in England. These relatives were typical bourgeois - by then Englanders

(Laughs) - and my father had nothing in common with them. So my mother was between the

relatives and my father, and when her sister would give her leftovers from a party, why not? I

mean, why should she throw them out? But my father would say, "If you bring those leftovers

one more time..." I mean here people probably would say "What's wrong with it? Why not take it

home?" People do a doggy-bag here, could you imagine in England asking in a restaurant for a

doggy-bag? (Laughs) They do now, but they didn't then. So for my father it was a very different

world and my mother was kind of in the middle of it, [between] my relatives and between my

father. So it wasn't the happiest situation, but she was happy being in England. My father was

not.

KDF: Was he able to find a community of Czechs?

JS: Once again they were not the "intellectuals" that he had in Prague, no. No, that was another

thing. And his English - even though spoke it, he read in English, I remember he read Churchill's

memoirs. But his spoken English wasn't the best. Also he had an accident when he was in the

uranium mines, and when they were drilling the walls a piece of rock hit him in his head, so his

hearing wasn't very good on one side, and the other wasn't all that great either. So, he didn't hear

well, and he didn't have the same company in Prague when he spoke in English. The other thing,

he became very sick because of the uranium. He had horrible emphysema, he died of lung

cancer. I mean, no surprise. So he didn't really live that long, He wasn't even 70 when he died.

But I think his happiest times were when he was playing bridge. (Laughs) And he was good at it,

you know, the gambler.

KDF: And how about you and your husband, did you seek out Czechs to spend time with, or

were you friends with Czechs?

JS: No. We didn't know many Czechs, no. Because he was at the university, there were some

Americans, we were very friendly with them. We met a few Czechs, but I'm trying to think... no.

We didn't have very many Czech friends there. No.

KDF: At that time your husband had this opportunity to go to NASA, had you started to think of

yourself as English? Or have you always had a feeling that you might want to go to America, and

that…

JS: Well, I didn't feel English because the English don't allow you to feel English, especially if

you speak with an accent. Sometimes in England, as people know, it is better to have a foreign

accent than not-a-good-English accent. But I was very respected in the hospital, I mean that was

great. I really, really loved my job. And, you know, I had the respect that I never had in

Czechoslovakia. I guess we might have talked about what it would be like to go to the States but

no, it wasn't like a number one thing, but when the opportunity came we decided to go.

Interestingly, when I look back now for a home somewhere, most of the Czech and Slovak

refugees probably when they go home or [think of] a home it's Czechoslovakia. Interestingly in

my emotions, going home is to that place where my mother spent the rest of her life in London,

St John's Wood. That's kind of my home. The people there that I have known for so many years

have an apartment. So for me even now going to Prague, as much as I love it when I am there, as

much as I love the few friends I have there, when I talk of home it's almost like it is not England

per sé, but St John’s Wood.

KDF: I think maybe home is where your family…

JS: Well, my home is here. I am sorry but sometimes the Czech people ask me because I'm now

a tour guide in Washington, D.C. and very proud of it, and [I say] my home is here. When I go to

Prague or to London, and I go to the airport and I see the sign, Washington, D.C., tears come to

my eyes. This is my home. Because you know why? America has given me everything,

everything that my so-called real home never did.

KDF: So let's talk about what happened when you came to America. So, I suppose you didn't

have a work visa when you came, or a green card?

JS: No. (Laughs)

KDF: Your husband had gotten what was supposed to be a two-year fellowship…

JS: Right. And I had a J1 visa, the wife of... I didn't count. But I learned that Avon didn't care

whether you had a work visa or not, so I become an Avon lady. And I didn't know how to drive,

so in the heat of the South, in Hampton, Virginia, I schlepped in that little neighborhood with my

Avon case. I didn't make any money because when I would walk in, and this was kind of a lower

middle class section, all the women wanted to know was about my background. (Laughs) So, I

didn't make any money. And Jan would say, "Well, you didn't make any money." Because by the

end of a visit they may buy a lipstick just to kind of justify the visit. (Laughs) I never drank so

much coffee and tea! But anyway, then they opened a shopping mall in Hampton, and the most

prestigious store in the Hampton Mall was J.C. Penney. And I went to the manager of the

cosmetic department, and asked him if he would hire me. He said, "You don't have any

experience." I said, "Oh yes I do. I know how to deal with people, because I was a nurse in

England," I didn't tell him those were sick people; “I sold Avon” - I didn't tell him I didn't make

any money. (Laughs) He said, "Okay, I'll take you for three months." Well, he made me sell Zsa

Zsa Cosmetics. Now young people probably don't know who Zsa Zsa was. But…

KDF: Zsa Zsa Gabor.

JS: Zsa Zsa Gabor. But I had an accent, and who would know in Hampton, Virginia that that

wasn't a Hungarian accent? And Zsa Zsa didn't advertise, and the only time people knew who

Zsa Zsa was was when she was on the Merv Griffin Show. I'm telling you, that shows how old I

am! So, the next day people would come and buy her cream. And at that time, one ounce of her

cream was 32 dollars. (Laughs) But, I loved it because by then I had a work permit. (Laughs) Of

course I have to say, I wasn't that illegal. Anyway, so, I learned that there was a new program at

the Medical College of Virginia in Richmond, and that you can become a nurse practitioner. Of

course, no one knew what that meant - a clinician, they called it a clinician, and I guess the best

way to explain it is, it's something between a registered nurse and a physician... not a surgeon

because I did gynecology. So they taught us how to do a physical, and how to do GYN exams

and all that. So I did go, and I passed the boards here. Multiple choice... awful, awful. And took

that program at the Medical College of Virginia. Loved it. And I was gaining confidence because

here I was, the immigrant whose husband - God let him rest in peace, he died since - but he made

me feel like I was not good at anything. But here I was at an American University, doing very

well. So then I worked in a private GYN office, and I told the boss there, I said, "Bob, I have

some news for you." He said, "Yeah? What's your news?" I said, "I'm leaving my husband." He

said, "Oh, that's not news to me." I said, "Okay." So then I called the Immigration Department

because I thought, "I'm here as his wife." And a woman answered and I said, "Ma'am, I'm here

but I'm getting divorced, do I have to leave?" She said, "Was it a marriage of convenience?" I

said, "Ma'am, it was everything but." She said, "No problem." Because by then we were married

10 years. And so there I was in America, all by myself, but you know I'll always be grateful to

the communists because they really prepared me for life. (Laughs) Basically, my mother was

working so, I was six years old, she would leave clothes over the chair; bread and butter and a

glass of milk on the table. I had a key on a shoe string, and I went to school at age six, and took

care of myself. So, I was well-prepared for life. But my first husband did teach me how to drive.

But there I was, on my own, and I was so proud when for the first time I went to the gas station

to the self-service, and I knew how to put gas in my car. (Laughs) I felt so proud. So anyway, I

worked as a clinician at the medical center at NASA, and I was doing physicals on NASA

engineers. They were all young and they were all healthy, but their cholesterol was a little high...

I spent half an hour telling them how to get it down; I wish I would do it for myself. (Laughs)

But anyway I stayed there but then I thought, "Here I am in Hampton, Virginia.” Lots of friends,

lots of friends, great social life, I was young, I was half the size I am now, and I had a good time.

But I thought, "Is this all there is?" And I had friends here in Washington, a Czech woman who

knew my father from childhood, she was married to an American guy and they were very nice

because I used to get on the Greyhound Bus and come here to the Kennedy Center for a Saturday

matinee ballet. In the evening they would have a dinner party and invite the local Czechs. And

the next day, I would get back on the Greyhound Bus and go back to Hampton. And I thought,

"Why not go somewhere else?" And I called Washington's Planned Parenthood, and the medical

director said, "This must be a call from heaven. We are in such need for a clinician. When can

you start?" So, I had a hard time leaving NASA, because we were like a family in the medical

center and I had lots of friends. By then, I bought a little townhouse because I was making so

little money and I just had to put down 500 dollars. So, the mortgage was cheaper than the rent I

was paying. [Now] going back, we divorced. And I remember the sheriff came with the papers

and I said, "Would you like a cup of coffee?" And he said, "Lady, are you for real? The ladies

are usually ready for me with a gun, and you're offering me coffee?" I said, "Well, yeah..."

(Laughs) So he served the papers and then it really kind of hit me. I called Jan and I said, "So

after all we've been through, is this how it ends? That the sheriff brings papers?" And I think I

started to cry and he said, "I am so sorry, I didn't know that that's how they do it in America."

Basically I left him, but he said that if I don't come back he wants a divorce. I said, "I don't want

to come back." So it was a mutual agreement, we had the same lawyer... we had nothing, we

actually argued about a set of 12 books. I ordered the books but he felt like he should have some

of them, too. They are still here in my bookcase. (Laughs)

KDF: What books are they?

JS: Oh they are Anna Karenina, you know…

KDF: Classics.

JS: The classics, yes. Which I never read again. Anyway so he got six, and I got six. But we

became best friends afterwards. But anyway, I left for Washington.

KDF: And what year was that?

JS: This would have been 1979, maybe. I'm getting confused because I remarried in 1980. So I'm

confused now. I came in [19]74, and I got married in Washington in 1980, so it must have been

1979, maybe. I'm confused now, with such a long life. So here I am now, Planned Parenthood,

on 16th Street in Washington, D.C.. Fantastic. And this was the first time I'm getting into the

Czech community, actually, since I left Prague. They knew that there was a new single person in

town and they knew my now-husband Tony who was then separated from his Czech wife, and so

some friends had a party and of course they invited us and he didn't show up. Then other friends

had a dinner party and they invited us and he came with a box of fantastic pastries - I can't

remember where he got them from - and we kind of hit it off. His name is Tony, and he's also

Czech. He comes from a family that some people know was a prominent family before the War

but what I didn't know was that his father was also a political prisoner, and it's a bond that most

people will not understand. We don't have to say anything to each other, we understand. We are

the type of marriage - we have a friend here who once said that we usually argue when people

are around. And I thought that was the smartest thing he ever said, because we usually fight more

when people are around because we never talked politics, then we were both kind of on opposite

ends, which wasn't fun.

KDF: You mean here in the United States?

JS: Here. American politics. I mean, we never had to argue about Czech politics. But he's great

and he just left for Prague, so...

KDF: Did he come in [19]68?

JS: No, he came much earlier, much earlier. And his family had it really tough. When I went

back after the fall of the Wall I said, "Will you come back?" And he said, "I'm never going there

again." And I couldn't understand it, but I did understand when he told me they had a farm, and

his father had horses - I don't know how many, maybe two - and I know Tony loves horses, [he]

understands horses. But he said that the communists took over, the People's Council delegation

came to the farm and told his father, "Bring the horses to the yard." And his father brought the

horses and the official said, "Take them to the slaughterhouse." And Tony said it was the first

time that he saw his father cry. Now his father, I never met him of course, but he was to me the

typical Czech family... the father is the head of the family, so on and so forth. I came from a very

different family, my mother was the boss. [We were] a very liberal family. Not politically, my

mother said, "I hated the word communist before I knew what it meant. I was always said that

the communists were bad." And she's talking about the pre-War times. (Laughs) Anyway, he was

bitter. But anyway, he asked me to marry him and I said no. I thought, "I'm not doing that again."

(Laughs) And then my father said, "You had better marry him because by then there won't be

that many to ask you anymore." Because by then I was I guess about 35 and I said, "No, no, no.

I'm afraid to get married again." So I went to New York, to a conference, and by then my first

husband - ex-husband - was in New York and we met for coffee. I don't remember what we

talked about but I remember he so got on my nerves. So I went to the phone booth, we didn't

have cell phones then, and I called Tony and I said, "Do you still want to marry me?" And he

said, "Yeah." Because he had stopped asking. He said, "Yeah." I said, "When?" And he said, "I

guess when you come back." (Laughs) And I really never took a day off without telling the

people at work because I had patients scheduled, but I did call, I said, "I have a migraine." And

they did have residents who covered from Howard Hospital, and they were always happy to

make extra money, so I said, "Can you call one of the residents from Howard Hospital to cover

for me because I have a horrible migraine. I won't be in tomorrow." And we went to the justice

of the peace and the air-conditioning was going on strongly so, we couldn't hear what he [the

magistrate] said, but I think he married us. At least we did get the license. (Laughs) We did get

the piece of paper. And that was 30 years ago. Yes.

KDF: And your husband is an artist?

JS: He is an artist and he taught art locally. But I have to say, I didn't stay at Planned Parenthood.

I left, and that is kind of when my life changed completely.

KDF: So did you leave right when you were married? Is that when you left Planned Parenthood?

JS: Soon after I left. And I was fortunate, and I repeat, I was fortunate to get a job at Bethesda

Navy Hospital in the GYN Department. So I was a clinician there. And my patients were from

the lowest-enlisted to the admiral's wives, to admirals. I had patients who themselves were

admirals and I even had a general. Fantastic. Loved my job. I stayed there for 23 years. Loved it,

loved it. Did mainly menopause later on. So I was lecturing about menopause, and when the

admirals' wives had a symposium for their husbands, they invited me to speak to the admiral's

wives about menopause. It was kind of like, well I guess, in-service - because what else were

they going to do with them for two hours? And I remember, some of the women in the audience

were my patients. And I told one of them, I said, "You know, when I think of where I came from

and who I was and here I am talking to the wives of three and four-star admirals, is this true or is

this a dream?" And she said, "You need to say it, because we were not always admirals wives.

We started with the lieutenants." So I gave my talk, but I started by showing them the Hradčany

Castle in Prague, telling them where I was from... I always tried to get the accent out of the way

[first]. And then I was telling them that I had this image that when I come to the West, I'll be

rich. I didn't come because of freedom, I didn't know what freedom was, it was just because my

ex-husband told me, "Let's get out of here." So I thought everybody in the West was rich, and for

me rich meant going to the grocery store and not looking for the cheapest orange juice. I said,

"You know what, I still look for which is the least expensive orange juice." And these admiral's

wives said, "So do I!" (Laughs) So I had a great time, I spent 23 years there. But there was

another turning point and that was when we started to have some Czech friends here, somehow

the bitterness about Czechoslovakia was waking up in me.

KDF: I wanted to ask you a bit about your experience at Planned Parenthood, it sounds like you

worked there for…

JS: For three years.

KDF: For three years. Did you find that you were suddenly plunged into a huge political

firestorm at that time that was surrounding the whole issue of abortion and even connected to

that, birth control, and sort of what Planned Parenthood stood for in American society?

JS: I'm going to disappoint you. I was absolutely oblivious to that. I was there to do GYN exams,

prescribing birth control pills, putting in IUDs. They didn't do abortions there at that time. But I

was actually on a committee going to abortion clinics to see if they were properly run because

Planned Parenthood did not do abortions, but we had a list of places where we would send our

patients, so they had a committee to check those places out. I remember going to one, I was

absolutely disgusted, it was a Yugoslav - the gynecologist was from Yugoslavia, an old man, and

I was not impressed. So I certainly would not send anybody there, and said so. But otherwise all

the places were run very well. But I will disappoint you because I wasn't politically-minded.

Now I am so aware of what's going on... but [then] I wasn't interested. For me, I was just loving

my job, I was doing the exams, I actually had other people taking medical histories. So I would

kind of walk in and do the exam, and at that time we were still smoking all over the place. So I

would do the exam, come out, light up a cigarette, write my note, and I remember one of the

patients standing there dressed, waiting for me to give her her prescription. I turned around and I

said, "Can I help you?" and she said, "Well you just did." (Laughs) There wasn't enough time to

go into much counseling or discussion, because they had counselors for those women, whether it

was for pregnancy or birth control. Actually, all I was doing was taking the Pap smear and doing

the exam; I did some treatments. I remember having a young woman from D.C. and her results

came back as positive gonorrhea. When I told her she said, "What?" I knew about three slang

words for gonorrhea but she still didn't understand. (Laughs) So I called the medical director and

said, "Could you tell me some more terms for gonorrhea?" When I came to number six she said,

"Oh, what?! That's what I have?" (Laughs) But, I met some interesting people. I remember a

young lawyer, she was making 13 thousand dollars [a year] as a public defender. I said, "Why do

you do it?" And she said, "I will never, ever have an experience like I'm having here." So it was

interesting, the people I was meeting, because it was not far from the White House. You got all

kinds of people, ones who didn't want to pay big money in private offices... But politically, no, I

absolutely was oblivious to that. The reason I left was actually because of the management. The

management were all women. The one I asked about the gonorrhea was an African American

gynecologist, a fantastic guy. But then all the people who were in charge were women, and let

me tell you I have never, ever worked under such unpleasant management. I was getting kind of

disillusioned, not because of politics. I don't know what was happening, but in the end they told

me I would have to wash my own speculums. I think it came back then as this humiliation, not

that I didn't wash floors before, but this was kind of... you know, I worked very hard to get to this

position and I'm going to wash my own speculums? I don't think so. I said, no way. I told them,

"I think that would be a very expensive washing of speculums if you are paying me to do that as

well as the exams." And I got very disillusioned from that aspect, nothing else. Then I heard

about this position at the Navy Hospital and I had an interview with the chief, who was the first

lady's gynecologist. He interviewed me and he said, "If you want the job, it's yours." And I said,

"I'm sorry, but until I have it in writing I will not give my notice at Planned Parenthood." So I got

it in writing, and I started there... best years of my life.

KDF: Now during this time, you never went back to visit Czechoslovakia during this -

JS: Well, I went back. Again, it would be a long story though. I applied here at the Czech

Embassy for a visa, called the FBI and told them, "I am going to the Czech Embassy for a visa."

And they said, "Yeah? What car do you have? What time?" I wanted them to know because I

didn't want somebody to say at the Navy Hospital, "What is she doing at the Czechoslovak

Embassy?" This is two years before the Fall of Communism.

KDF: And you had a security clearance to get -

JS: I don't think so. If I did it was the lowest of the lowest, I guess. I don't even know. So I went

and they said, "We don't give visas now." And I knew there were Czechs from here going back. I

said, "Well that is strange." But when I saw that door close behind me when I walked in I

thought, "Oh, well I'm not going to argue here..." I said, "Okay, bye!" And I left. (Laughs) But

then I called an American representative at the State Department, and I said, "What's going on? I

see Czechs going back... Why not me?" So he called the consul and the consul told him, "Tell

her to mail it." So I did, and they gave me permission. I went to London - I guess my father was

already dead - I went to London to visit my mom. Then I went to Prague and my mother almost

had a heart attack that I was going back. I mean, she ended up in a hospital... she was sick about

it. I did go back, and met my classmates from up to fifth grade, and we talked, talked, talked until

four o'clock in the morning in a pub, and it was great. And I left again, and then of course the

Wall came down. So, I did visit once. And I cried not when I saw Hradčany Castle, but when I

saw those birch trees not far from where we lived - there was this little forest of birch trees and

that really got to me.

KDF: So then at this point, is this when you started having the visitors coming from

Czechoslovakia to visit you? Was it after [19]89 that people started coming to you?

JS: We didn't have many visitors because I have no relatives. I mean, the people I used to know,

I didn't really keep in touch with. Except this one friend, and not that much. Tony didn't keep in

touch with anybody, so we really didn't have people coming. But what happened, we kind of got

into the Czech community here. And this is where, another watershed in my life if I may,

because to be very honest that's the main reason that I agreed to this interview. I think you are

doing a great job, but I want this to be known: we got into the Czech community here, we had

two couples over for a dinner party, one American and one Czech. The two Czech people were

educated from Czechoslovakia - when I say educated, [I mean] university education - and came

in 1968. The other couple was a Navy physician, and his wife was a nurse practitioner. And

Tony was opening the wine in the kitchen and I was bringing the hors d'oeuvres to the living

room when I heard the Czech guy saying to Greg, "Everybody who was intelligent under

communism could go to the university." And I almost dropped it, and I don't know if I may be

vulgar or not... no? Better not?

KDF: Go ahead.

JS: When they left I said to Tony, "Did you hear what that a**hole said?" And Tony said, "Oh,

f**k him." And he went to get his beer. Turn the page, end of story. Well, by then, I was going to

school... Oh, I have to mention, (Laughs) ever since I've been in the West I've been going to

school. When I came to the States I had to start from scratch, I had to take the high school

equivalency test, then I did my bachelor's degree by mail - this is before computers - [at] St.

Joseph's College in Maine [I was] typing my stuff with no computer. Then I got my master's

degree in humanities. [I was] just going to school because I had to prove that I could get

educated. This has nothing to do with my profession, this was on the side.

KDF: And meanwhile, you had the RN and the nurse practitioner degree from Virginia -

JS: From the Medical Center of Virginia. Richmond, yes. But I'm going to school for my

master's degree... my thesis was something comparing McCarthyism and the Show Trials in the

[19]50s in Czechoslovakia. So, I'm still going to school and then I feel well, what's next? I guess

PhD. So I go for my PhD at George Washington University, and I'm in this program in human

sciences... my concentration is political psychology. I'm trying to decide what to write about, and

I hear this guy saying, "Everybody under communism could study." I got on the computer - by

then I had a computer - and I wrote to my professor, "I know what it is going to be about. Silence

and indifference." This is whitewashing, and what about these people who couldn't study? And

where does that leave me? If all intelligent people could study, where does that leave me?

Everybody knew that I was only a nurse because most of our friends were very educated - the

ones who came from 1968 - because after all, there isn't industry here. You have to have some

education to have a job here in Washington. And I could feel the bitterness I had, and it was

about the silence. I have a fantastic Pakistani friend, she was a gynecologist at the Navy

Hospital. We couldn't have more different backgrounds. She was a religious Muslim from a very

wealthy Pakistani family and she said to me, "See, Jana, you will always want to hear these

people say, 'We were lucky, and you were not', and they will never say it." And she is so right.

It's still true. So I decided to write. Then comes the Fall of Communism, and I am deciding on

my topic for my dissertation... okay? So I sent a letter to the Organization of Political Prisoners,

not saying that I live in America, just that I am doing research on the psychological effects on

children of political prisoners, I have a certain criteria; and could they publish it in their

newsletter? And they did. Oh, and they had to be from the [19]50s. So the criteria: parent

arrested at the worst time, between 1948 when the communists took over, [19]53 when Stalin

died; they never left Czechoslovakia; they were elementary school-aged when the parent got

arrested (it didn't matter how long the parent was in prison). So those were my criteria, and there

were a quarter of a million people in prison during the [19]50s and only 13 daughters - I wanted

only women - only 13 daughters replied. So I went back and I was going all around the Czech

lands, I didn't do Slovakia, I had to have a focus. One of the 13 said, she was just going through a

divorce and she didn't feel like doing it. So I had 12. So I had 12 women, and I wrote my

dissertation based on those interviews. And I'm always telling them that I will be grateful to them

forever because they gave me those letters behind my name, that PhD... not that anyone there

knows what that is, or now they do, but who cares anymore. When I lectured about it, for

example, at the Naval Hospital to the psychologists and psychiatrists because a lot of it was the

same with all children of prisoners - only these political prisoners, on top of everything else,

were getting the negative feedback from the government. You had the state saying you're no

good... and one of the psychiatrists asked me, "Are you cured yet?" (Laughs) I said, "Of course

not." (Laughs) But, that's where I am.

KDF: Did you get offers of therapy from them?

JS: No. (Laughs) But for me it was therapy being able to tell them, and I told them, "Thank you

for listening." (Laughs)

KDF: So just to clarify, you managed to write this whole dissertation while you were working

full-time?

JS: Uhm-hm. And working as an usher at the Kennedy Center for 20 years - my other

accomplishment... love it. Twice a week.

KDF: Could you explain what the Kennedy Center is, please?

JS: Oh, yes. The Kennedy Center is our national theater, basically. It's a living memorial to John

Fitzgerald Kennedy because he was so into art. So it's a living memorial... it's a theater, there's an

opera house, concert hall, and a stage-place. And I'm an usher at the opera house. And at the

opera house we have opera, of course, musicals, and ballet. I've been doing it for almost 20

years, Tuesday nights, Saturday afternoon. Love it.

KDF: Do any of your friends do that with you?

JS: No, because it would be beneath them. (Laughs) But I have lots of friends among ushers who

are so many of them professional people. But they are Americans, not Czechs. There is that

certain Czech snobbism that I must say that my husband was a little bit appalled. But that wasn't

the worst of it, because when I retired from the Navy Hospital - which was not easy but I

decided, when does one retire? You know, let me retire when I can still do some other stuff. And

I was at the Kennedy Center and there was this guy with a beautiful tan and I said, "Oh, hi Jim.

Where have you been on vacation?" And he said, "Vacation? I'm a Washington, D.C. tour

guide." I said, "What?" So he told me. And two years ago I took a course on how to be a D.C.

tour guide. And let me tell you, I defended my dissertation for my PhD... that was peanuts

compared to the test to get a license to be a Washington, D.C. tour guide. But, I love it. Love it.

KDF: So could we go back a little bit to your dissertation, and the responses that you got to your

dissertation? Did you write some articles about it, or did it get some attention at the time?

JS: Well I wrote my dissertation, [and] some of the responses surprised me. The one about the

education, that kind of confirmed my hypothesis, that of course they feel like second-class

citizens in Czechoslovakia. I mean, in America not everybody goes to college. But over there,

where nobody had anything except their education, it's a big deal. It's a big deal for them to this

day - they are my age, they are middle-aged. So that kind of got confirmed, and I knew it would.

But what surprised me was some of the tragic stories in the families because some of the women

had both parents imprisoned. One had a father in prison; mother died. So they were brought up

by their grandmothers. Now, I'm talking about the mothers' mothers - they blamed the father who

was in prison; they blamed the son-in-law... not the regime. They blamed the victim for the

family tragedy. So, I had two of these women who didn't go to their father's funerals. One of

them didn't even know that he was in prison for political reasons. Now imagine, now comes the

Fall of Communism, and they learn about the ‘50s and they learn what was happening to those

prisoners, the torture, the hunger, the uranium mines... and they didn't go to their fathers'

funerals. Can you imagine the guilt feelings they have now? That was very surprising for me

because my mother brought me up [to believe] my father is a hero. My father was innocent and

he's a hero. And that's why I mentioned in the beginning, you know, that I had had problems with

guys because they were nothing like my daddy. Well, with these women, it was very tragic what

I learned about some of those family tragedies. Where I think I helped the women, was that they

never hurt the fathers because, as I said, most of the people did not talk about the horrible

experiences. But they witnessed what the mothers were going through; the humiliation of the

mothers; the lack of money. Imagine in the communist system, where it was a bartering

economy, if you were a dentist and you had a car and the car broke down, well the car mechanic

was happy to fix the dentist's car because the dentist fixed his teeth. What did these wives have

to offer? If your plumbing was broken, there wasn't a man in the household, and everybody

worked for bribes. So it was also all this stuff. I lived with that, my mother telling me she had a

horrible life, and I always lived with this "My mother had a horrible life, how can I undo it?"

And of course I couldn't. And when I would tell these other women about it, that that's what kind

of always bothered me, but only now I realize that there's nothing I could have done. It helped

them to realize, because they live with the same feelings, but nobody every verbalized it for

them.

KDF: Did any of these women every seek any kind of therapy?

JS: Yes. Some of them did. Of course it is a taboo subject in Czech lands. So, yes. The three of

them did and the other three didn't. And I didn't ask them that question, but three of them told me

that they did. Uhm-hm. Yes.

KDF: Was that before ‘89 or after ‘89?

JS: One before and one after ‘89. The other one I don't remember.

KDF: Did they see the situation that had befallen the family as having multi-generational

consequences? Did they see it as having consequences also for their children?

JS: Some of them did, they didn't even realize it. It was obvious that it was affecting their

children also. But there was one, for example, where even her son was not allowed to go to study

because of his grandfather. And so she looked at it as intergenerational. But I think the main

impact it had was that feeling of injustice over what happened to the families, and the lack of

recognition after the Fall of Communism. That's what bothered them so much. They basically

had this, "Why doesn't somebody come and say, you went through some awful stuff?" And

nobody did. And then suddenly, everybody was a victim, and there was a lot of whitewashing.

But it's changing now because... you asked me if I wrote articles. I haven't written too many

articles, there is one in Slovo, but when I asked those twelve women, "Would you like to meet

the others through the interviews?" they said yes. So from these 12 women is now an NGO - a

non-government organization - there's over 100 of them. They meet once or twice a year in

different places. Mainly what they are doing now [is] they are going to schools, and they are

talking to school children about what they've been through. So not only is it therapy for them, but

also they are getting some recognition, and that is what I am happiest about. There is a young

producer who does basically what you are doing. She did interviews - she got a grant from the

European Union - and did these kind of interviews with 35 women and it won a prize in

Brussels. We went to Brussels. Now she has made seven documentaries for Czech television.

And there are quite a few students now who are writing their dissertations about this subject.

KDF: Could you say what the organization is called?

JS: Oh, in Czech it is Dcery padesátých let, Daughters of the Fifties. We did want to get men.

(Laughs) Two men came to our meeting and then never showed up again. (Laughs) So we gave

up because we feel it is a kind of a male chauvinist society - the Czech society - and I feel it even

here in the States. I can see when there is a party and it is women only, we almost have a better

time because if there is a guy we feel like we have to include him, and it's different. So I think it's

kind of good that it's only women.

KDF: And do you also think that the consequences of being a child of a political prisoner are

also gender-specific?

JS: Well, that's a great question. Because we always got this question, "Why women only?" So I

would say it's because I basically did it for school and had to have a focus. I said, "It has nothing

to do with feminism because feminism is a dirty word still in the Czech Republic." But this

producer Zuzana Dražilová, who made the documentaries, got another grant and she's now doing

talking-interviews filmed with men - with sons of political prisoners. So it will be very

interesting when that is produced to compare. So, I can't answer your question. I don't think it's

gender-specific. I really don't think so. I think that there will be some other psychological issues

because even though about 10 percent - I can't think of it right now - of women imprisoned, the

majority were of course men, so we are talking about the father figure. So I don't know if that's

going to play at all. You could say, "Well, you have a good person at home, in your own

household" because my husband's father was imprisoned. But he doesn't like to talk about it, and

he certainly doesn't want to hear about the Daughters of the Fifties anymore because he has had

enough. (Laughs) And I can't tell how it affected him really, if we talk about it gender-

specifically, because I know him from a different perspective.

End DVD#2, December 7, 2010

Begin DVD#3, December 7, 2010

KDF: This is tape three of an interview with Jana Švehlová and it is taking place in McLean,

Virginia on December 7, 2010. So, your dissertation research actually concerned specifically

women in Czechoslovakia who were daughters of political prisoners. But have you also looked

at political prisoners in other Eastern Bloc countries or the children of other political prisoners

around the world?

JS: I didn't specifically look into other countries. I must say, without bragging, that I couldn't

find any literature about children of political prisoners. Especially about the psychological

affects. [With] my research, I had to go into the Holocaust literature because I really didn't have

anything to base it on. I did see some studies - for example they said, it's so difficult to explain to

a child why a parent is in prison. They said, if somebody dies in the family you can accept some

kind of an explanation, God wanted it that way. When parents get divorced they can say well,

Mommy and Daddy don't want to be together, but we both love you. But how do you explain to a

child that a parent is in prison? So I read some of that stuff, but I did not look into it. The stuff

that I read by Western scholars about Czechoslovakia and the other countries, it came across that

Czechoslovakia was the worst. It also said, and I'm not very popular when I mention this, but it

was the middle class that kind of perpetuated the system because they had the most to lose when

it came to their position on the social ladder. So I don't get many brownie points when I talk

about it here among Czech people. I don't talk about it too much with the Americans because it is

such a foreign subject that I don't know how far I would get. But people who know about this

stuff, they say yes, that Czechoslovakia was the worst. I even read that they executed more

people than any of the other countries. More than East Germany. But that is about all I know

about other places. There was one similar study - mine was qualitative, I didn't do statistics

obviously with 12 people, and I never say that they represented all children of political prisoners

- it was just to illustrate. But there was a study by an American and a Russian about children of

people who were victims during Stalin's Purge in the 1930s, but it was never published as far as I

know. But that's about all I can say about it. I kind of started into virgin territory. Because I was

looking at it from a psychological point of view, great help came from the Holocaust literature.

KDF: Do you think that this project has made you think differently about the possibility of

achieving justice? And maybe you could talk a little bit about how your ideas about justice have

evolved either before this project, possibly as a result of your emigration, living in different

societies, seeing different systems of justice and different historical experiences, or perhaps, as

you were doing the study?

JS: Justice. I always think of the theory of justice by John Rawls because he talks about the veil

of ignorance. And we recently had a dinner party here, and I was amazed when I was listening to

the people here. It was elitist talk. Almost like, poor people are poor because it is their fault. So I

thought of that veil of ignorance. I have a hard time to answer that because... justice. What is

done is done and it cannot be undone. I mean, we can't do anything about it. To me what is not

just is that the victim's voice has not been heard. It's changing now because of the young people.

There are many young teachers I am corresponding with, young history teachers who say, "We

want to talk about the ‘50s but we were never taught.” I also feel for the teachers because they

had their own curriculum during the Communist regime... how are they to teach it? First of all, if

they were not really affected by it - because who is the victim? I am very proud to say that I am

friends with Jana Šiklová, she talks about “the grey zone.” And she made me feel better when

she said, “You know, the people who sort of had it good, hate the regime more now than the

victims [do] because they were allowed to be humiliated in order to be where they were.” And if

I think about it as revenge, not so much justice, I feel okay, good. But we also know there are

people who have no conscience, so what do you do with those when those who have no remorse

for what they have done? So, I have a hard time talking about justice. But I am basically just so

happy that I'm allowed to talk about it with people over there, and with the young people. And

the young people are different in the Czech Republic. They are smart, and even if the teachers

didn't teach them, they have the internet now and there are now young guys - history teachers in

Ostrava - who have a website, Moderní Dějiny (modern history), and it's amazing what they are

showing. And their goal is how to teach, how to teach history. Justice? It's hard to say.

KDF: Do you think it meant something significant to your father and other political prisoners

when they got a piece of paper saying that they were rehabilitated?

JS: I doubt it. First of all, my father was not materialistic. So, we got the money and he didn't

even know what to do with it. So, as I said, he bought some new furniture - kind of can-type

furniture which was very much in fashion then. Modern furniture. And then he left

Czechoslovakia anyway. But my father wasn't bitter so he never… I mean, imagine, he was 45

years old when they took him away. He was 45, he was a young man. But some of the political

prisoners are still very bitter, and who can blame them? There is absolutely no discussion. I did

some more interviews after I had done my research with children of Communist Party political

prisoners - meaning the Slánský trials - because I wanted to know. I thought, they didn't have it

easy, they had it great for a couple of years if they were born when their fathers were in power.

But after that - I mean when you hear their stories - that's not very good either. But when I

mentioned it to the daughters of the political prisoners that I would like to get two groups

together… An Israeli Psychologist did the same with children of top Nazis and children of

Holocaust survivors. And for God's sake, I don’t want to say that the children of the often Jewish

Communist political prisoners were like children of the top Nazis – no, no, no! That's not what

I'm saying. But just getting these two groups whose parents had opposite political views

together... I was not popular. No way, no way. But I still have this dream and I am talking to a

fabulous Czech director - I have the greatest respect for her and for her work. And we are

planning to do that, to get these two groups together. And, interestingly, the children of the

Communist political prisoners are willing to talk to the other group, it's the other group where

I'm going to have a problem. (Laughs)

KDF: You've mentioned that some of the daughters, the children of the political prisoners, had

been lecturing in Czech schools. Is their story part of the official history curriculum? Do you

believe that the government-approved curriculum actually includes a sufficient amount about the

story of political prisoners?

JS: Well, that's a great question because no, it's not the curriculum. And I keep saying the Czech

Republic but it's happening in Slovakia too - there are Slovak children of political prisoners. And

the daughters joined our group, but they are also making their own group called Children of

Political Prisoners. And they are even more progressive. They are even accepting grandchildren.

(Laughs) But what is happening, just like you have the Holocaust Museum here, and actually

95% of the people who visit the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC are not of Jewish origin.

Now, how they know, I don't know. But that's what I was told. And they have Holocaust

survivors talking to the children. So it's something similar, that a teacher in a school will invite -

they used to invite a lot of the political prisoners but they are aging now, but they're still inviting

them. So they're now inviting the daughters and it's just kind of a discussion with the children,

just telling their stories and the children asking questions. It's not forbidden, but it's certainly not

assigned by the Ministry of - whatever they have - Education or Culture, I don't know wherever

the schools fit. And if I may add, there is a great job being done by the NGO People in Need, in

Czech it is called Člověk v tísni. And that is Mr. Karel Strachota who is in charge of films for

schools. [They have a film festival] called Jeden svět - One World. And, from what I know, they

started with 300 schools and they have over 700 schools now where they send films that have

something to do with the Communist regime. But they are also adding the Holocaust. So when

they do that, sometimes the daughters will go and, as a follow-up from the film, will tell their

own stories.

KDF: Now if we could come back to Washington, I wanted to ask you a little more about your

involvement with the Czechoslovak community or Czech and Slovak communities here in

Washington and even with particular groups like SVU [The Society of Arts & Sciences]. To

what extent have you been involved with different groups or different activities in this

community?

JS: I think I was a member of SVU. I think I was a member - I'm pretty sure I was. But then I

learned that they had a hierarchy where people who were not… Because it is the Society of Arts

& Sciences, so if people were not artists or scholars they were in a different category. And I was

livid. I thought - what? Is this going to follow me even in the United States? And so I stopped

being a member. I am told that that was then, and that it has not been like that for a long time,

and that it wasn't even local, so I don't want to be lying about it because I really don't have a

good knowledge of it. I just remember that it upset me. And yet I have been involved, I never

know who is organizing what but when there is a Bazaar I usually sell coffee and I love it, I

enjoy doing it. And this year for the first time I was participating in a St. Nicholas party, because

my husband was St. Nicholas so I was vending coffee. I don't know what else they do that I

would…

KDF: Conferences?

JS: Conferences? Oh, yeah. I did participate. I did actually give a paper years and years ago

about the differences of healthcare systems comparing Czechoslovakia (of course then it was still

communist), Great Britain, and the United States. And I remember the moderator - I was kind of

bad-mouthing the American system because of the expense to the individuals here. Then, I mean,

not that it is now for free, but anyway... And he said, "If you ever want to become an American

citizen I'll make sure that you don't become one." (Laughs) And he was kind of joking. Because I

am an American citizen. So, yes, I did give that paper - a copy of it - because I thought it was a

good paper. I remember one sentence written about the British National Health Service that said,

"Yeah, you may have to wait a long time to get healthcare, but at least you don't get bankrupted

on the way." (Laughs)

KDF: Do you find that you still socialize a lot with Czechs and Slovaks here in Washington?

Are a lot of your friends Czech or Slovak?

JS: Friend is a strong word for me. So, I have a lot of Czech acquaintances. I have more

American friends. I always felt a little bit to be an outsider, but it could be because I came here

much later than the people form 1948 and 1968 because I came from Hampton just before 1980,

so they were all here for a while. There were also mainly (I'm speaking from the 1960s), people

who had children of kind of the same age - so that kept them together. And I didn't have any

children so I felt, you know, some of the activities I wasn't involved in. But I have some personal

friends, maybe more among the Slovaks than the Czechs. I don't know, it just kind of happened.

Sometimes it's also generational. But yet, we have a group of retirees and one time a month we

meet in each other's homes and cook. But close friends? For me, a friend is a big word.

KDF: Do you find that you have political differences with…

JS: That too. Yes. (Laughs) I have to say, I am - I don't remember if I used to be like this, but

maybe it's my old age now, that yes, we definitely have political differences because, and I can

understand the reaction for people living under the communists and coming here... But I'm a

liberal. So, that's what I am. I voted for President Obama and I always vote democrat. And the

only time I ever thought I would vote for a republican was John McCain when he was running

against Bush, but that was then. And I am proud of it. And I don't care what anybody says, but

that's the way I am.

KDF: Are people surprised that you worked for Planned Parenthood?

JS: (Laughs) Well, as I said, then I was sort of oblivious to it so when somebody asked me

where I work I said, Planned Parenthood, but we did go to a Czechoslovak party once and there

was Cutler - a fabulous, brilliant, Jesuit Priest with an MD degree, who was a physician. PhD in I

think Medical Ethics and in Theology, brilliant man. And we come to this party, and Tony - my

husband - already then standing next to me, and Father Cutler asked me… No, I said to him, “Dr.

Cutler, you are such an educated man. How can you believe all the stuff?" And he said, “I

believe in the dogma.” And I could see that Tony was turning white and asked the hostess, “Can

you make that scotch a double?” And Father Cutler asked me, “Where do you work?” And I

said, “Planned Parenthood.” And Tony said to the hostess, “make it triple.” And I didn't realize

that what I was saying was, “You're such an educated man how can you believe in the bible

when that's a fairy tale?” And I didn't even think that that was how it came across. But he was

such a brilliant man that he didn't put me down. And Tony was really appalled because he

thought it was very ignorant and rude, but my mother who was always on Tony's side, she was

visiting then, she said, “have you noticed that Dr. Cutler spent the rest of the evening talking to

Jana?” (Laughs) So I take it that it was a kind of philosophical discussion.

KDF: Now recently you've mentioned that you have become a tour guide here in Washington,

DC. And that you in fact had to pass the exam for tour guides, which is very difficult. There has

been a lot of publicity about it recently in Washington. Could you talk a little bit about why you

decided to do that, and how that has gone for you? How do you like doing that?

JS: Well, I promise it's my last profession. (Laughs) But when that guy told me about it, I took

the course which was basically being on a bus with another 30 people going to interesting sites.

And by then I'm living in Washington for what, 28 years, and maybe I was at Lincoln Memorial

once, but now I'm hearing these different stories about the sites. But also, when they told us, at

the Thomas Jefferson memorial, that he was author of the Declaration of Independence I said,

“What is that?” Because my knowledge of American history was based on Gone with the Wind

and Uncle Tom's Cabin. So I had to start from scratch, and the exam was difficult and I passed.

But the exam was, where was this marble from? And how tall is this? And when was it

dedicated? Horrid, horrid. And there was this 80 year old guide, Ruth, who was teaching us, and

I told her, I said, “Ruth, there is no way in hell that I will ever remember this!” And she said,

“Jana, it's all about entertainment.” She was so right. So the first time I am doing a tour, with

school kids from California, and we are touring Arlington Cemetery - my favorite place - and we

are walking down from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, where they just witnessed the

changing of the Guard. And they were very impressed, but I lost my way. And I walked them -

Arlington Cemetery is 600 acres. (Laughs) I didn't run them around the whole cemetery, but we

took the long way. And the teacher asked me, she said, “Are you new?” I said, “This is my first

day and I am quitting." (Laughs) She didn't ask for her money back (Laughs). But anyway, I love

it. I am meeting people from all over the world. My favorite people are from Michigan and Ohio.

Because they are just so educated and I always find out - I always ask what kind of area they are

from. Because it gives me a sense. And, for example, when I had this class of eighth graders

from Ohio - no, it was high school. And you are standing by the Capitol, I mean it's amazing

how many sites are there. [indecipherable] But anyway, I love it because I have a new hobby,

early American history. And now we have the 150th anniversary of the Civil War. So there is so

much. So I meet people from all over the States. I have fifth graders, eighth graders, high

schoolers, senior citizens, foreigners. And most of the time, they come by bus or they rent a bus

here. And I work for an agency because I have what I call a socialist mind, I don't want to worry

about all the administration. They call me to be at such-and-such place at such-and-such time. I

pick up the group, I never know ahead of time who they are or what they want to see. I ask them.

I always ask, as I said, I always like to get the accent out of the way. So I always say, “Welcome

to Washington, D.C. You are in an international city, and that is why you have an international

guide. Guess where my accent is from.” I only take three guesses (Laughs). So I hear all over the

place. So I always say, Prague in the Czech Republic. So I had a Romanian group, and obviously

they visited Prague and they said, “So, why are you here? Prague is so beautiful!” And I told

them, “When we finish the tour, you will understand why I am in Washington, D.C. Because it is

such a beautiful city and it's considered the greenest city in the United States because of all the

parks and the space.” I love the stories about the different sites. I mean, it's also the stories - I

mean, slavery. I have a bit of a hard time with it because of course, I am mainly educated now in

the Northern perspective. And now I'm going to Richmond, to visit my friend who is always in

my footsteps. When I started school, she started to go and get her master’s degree. And now I'm

a guide, and she's becoming a docent at the museum there, but she's getting the Southern

perspective. So we have some very interesting conversations over the phone. (Laughs)

KDF: Do you ever have Europeans come in who say, well America has no history? Because

that's what people say in Europe.

JS: I am proactive. So before they can say it I say, this is a short history, but it's an interesting

history. And I tell them, to be a guide, you have to have a license. And to have a license, you

have to pass an exam. And let me tell you, I don't tell them I have a PhD but I tell them, [it was]

the most difficult exam of my life because it may not be a long history, but it's a complicated

history and I love to talk about the American experiment. I think that so many people don't

realize that the term president of a country didn't exist, that was an American experiment. I

mean, they started from zero. So I take that away from them. But I do get comments. You know

how the Czechs are political? And I do have Czech groups, and I took them to the Franklin

Delano Roosevelt [memorial], a beautiful memorial. And during, this one guy, but he was kind

of negative anyway, he just said that, “I hate him.” I said, “Excuse me sir, who do you hate?”

“F.D.R.” And I knew where he was going. He was going to the Yalta Conference and that's why

we were on Stalin. I said, “Yeah. But you know, I am going to give you the American

perspective.” I always say that, “I am giving you the American perspective.” I love doing the

World War II Memorial, and I always ask the teachers, especially the high school teachers, I say,

“You know, I have kind of a personal story. Can I tell them what it's about?” “Oh, definitely tell

the kids.” So we stand by that wall with the 4,000 gold stars, each star representing over one

hundred Americans killed during World War II. I explain it and I say, “Let me tell you a sob

story.” And then I kind of, in a few sentences, mention that my father also fought for the Allies

but for that, he was imprisoned and that's why I was not allowed to go to school. But I say, “Be

sure you dream. Because look at me, I was out of school in eighth grade, and here I am teaching

American children American history, and that's the American dream."

End DVD#3, December 7, 2010