Petr Hauptmann

“The publicity was such that as I was released from jail, I have received some two shoe boxes full of letters. From people from Denmark, Australia, Italy, and of course the Czech Republic. But I didn’t know about it before.” – “So you were in the papers in the West?” – “I was, and in the talk. Radio Free Europe, Voice of America… There were some people who were in correspondence with my wife and there even were a few who were sending letters to President Husák to have me released. Those were people whom I haven’t known before but who were so intrigued by my case that they tried to help. On one hand they intervened with the Czech authorities – without any success, of course – and eventually, they attempted here and there to send a package to my wife. What is more, in 1988 and 1989 my daughter was admitted to some catholic camp for kids of Czech exiles from Germany and Switzerland… So in this sense, the family was kind of… They were not alone in it. They saw there were people who had their fingers crossed for them and who tried to help them.”

“Physically, it was a very exhausting job.” – “Did you have to fulfill a norm of sorts?” – “Yes, I did. It was a collective thing – I worked there at the grindstone, then there was another prisoner working at the polisher. So we had to be connected in some way. When we failed there, the norm wasn’t fulfilled, when we managed, the norm was met. It also depended… I encountered moments when I made ‘good money’ so I could have sent something home after six months or so. But then there were times when I got such a partner that I only ate dry bread and had pocket money of twenty or twenty-five crowns per month.” – “So, the norm decided your income?” – “Yes, first of all income, and second bonuses for snacks. Breakfast, lunch and dinner was the same for everyone but when we went to work, depending on how well we were meeting the norm, we either got dry bread or bread with a piece of salami and a bit of cheese.” – “Were you hungry?” – “All the time. I was never, so to say, fully saturated. But there was a saying back then that a proper prisoner was supposed to be a bit hungry and a bit cold so that he would perform better.”

Já jsem volal jeho ošetřujícímu doktorovi na Bulovku a ten mi řek, tomu synovi bylo dvanáct let, že nemůžu počítat s tím, že bych ho mohl vyvézt někam, kde nezná jazyk, kde nemá kamarády, prostě úplně do cizího prostředí. Navíc teda ještě žena. Tak jsem se vrátil. Vrátil jsem se s tím, že dostanu tak rok a půl, dva roky za nedovolený opuštění republiky. Jenomže bylo to trochu jinak, bylo to trošku jinak. Vyšetřovali, vyšetřovali, pak mě v den matčinejch šedesátejch narozenin pozvali na uzavření spisu a tam mi řekli, že mě obviňujou ze špionáže. A já když jsem si přečet ten paragraf, tak jsem říkal: „Pánové, to snad nemyslíte vážně?“ Protože ten paragraf byl, že kdo s úmyslem předat cizí moci vyzvídá státní hospodářský blablabla tajemství, což vůbec jsem nebyl nic takovýho. No nicméně, řekli: „Jó, nebojte se, ono to vyjde.“ Taky to vyšlo, dostal jsem deset let. A odvolal jsem se a při tom odvolacím řízení mi řekla předsedkyně senátu nejvyššího soudu, že vyzvědačem jsem se stal už v momentě, kdy jsem při tom azylovým řízení, řek víc, než jak se jmenuju a kdy jsem se narodil.

Vzhledem ke svýmu, jaksi ke svojí minulosti a ke svýmu tátovi jsem mohl dělat jenom východní hranici, polskou, východoněmeckou, tak jsem se na západní nedostal. Ale kolega jeden, kterej to dělal, ten měl infarkt, takže já jsem po něm vzal jednu stavbu. A to byla stavba hraničního mostu, kterej, když se kolaudoval, tak se šlo i na bavorskou stranu. A já už tam zůstal. Takže tímhletím způsobem jsem vlastně jako se dostal na západ. S tím, že tam požádám o politickej azyl a tenkrát to šlo nějak, nebo aspoň bylo takový povědomí, že to jde do roka, do roka a půl přes Červenej kříž, že tam budu moct dostat rodinu. Ten rok tam to bylo tak akorát, že bych tam začal nějakou kariéru trošku dělat nebo bejt zaměstnanej a připravovat, řek bych, hnízdo.

Jaký byl na vás nátlak pro vstup do KSČ? To právě bylo v tom státním ústavu. Tam nastoupil novej, novej kádrovák a to byl ústav, ten měl asi něco přes šest set lidí a tam bylo pět komunistů jenom z toho. A byli tam lidi, katolíci z přesvědčení a takový opravdu, já nevím, profesoři přes dějiny, přes architekturu a přes tyhlety věci. A ty jako s komunistama nemluvili moc. A tenhleten člověk zřejmě si vzal za úkol, že tam někoho dostane. A my jsme spolu byli vcelku jako v dost skoro denním kontaktu, protože ten náš ateliér jako jedno z míst měl jeden byt tady dole na Václavským náměstí a v jednom pokoji tenhleten člověk bydlel. Takže jsme se potkávali dosti pravidelně a on si mě bohužel vyhlíd. A nebyl jsem natolik silnej, abych mu řek, že do tý partaje nevlezu, ať si kouká někoho jinýho najít, tak jsem dal výpověď.

“My prison squad numbered approximately 120 men living in four or five rooms. A wake up call in the morning, then a collective breakfast, then the whole squad went to work, in the evening back to our rooms. Therefore any contact with prisoners in other squads was impossible. I had no idea what customs ruled in the prison. Only later I realized we were banned to learn foreign languages. All dictionaries were forbidden. One guy was even deprived of a musical dictionary. In Minkovice, Jiří Gruntorád and Petr Cibulka were imprisoned as well. They would tell you the same story. Minkovice was the prison of the II. category but with the stricter regime. Any contacts with civilians were completely banned. The whole civilian personnel of the prison was interconnected. Its members all lived in a close neighborhood. Civilian foremen working in the prison were chums of the wardens. They made one ring. Each foreman’s family included some warden, father, brother or anyone else.”

“Once during Christmastime, I was punished by a correction cell because I refused to accept “some privileges”. My warden called me up and offered me a deal to cooperate. He told me I was clever enough, and I could be better off, only if I would want to. But I answered I couldn’t look at the mirror in the future, if I would accept. So I was put in the correction cell. For the next 14 days, I had to go to the correction cell after I returned from work. It was just on Christmas. You could not avoid such punishments, but it was not as bad as it could be. If you were punished by a strict correction cell, that was something else. But you had to commit something serious to get there, e.g. to get in a brawl or to defy the wardens.”

“A trans-border commission was established for approval of a new bridge over a border brook to Bavaria. Police officers were not allowed to become members of the commission because it meant to “visit” the capitalistic West for them. I was on the place with road builders. We were four, who had crossed the bridge. They returned back, but I proceeded further to Germany. We had controlled foundations of the bridge on both sides of the border. The brook constituted the state border, so half of the bridge stood in Germany and I didn’t return from the German side. Thus I managed to escape.”

“I realized on November 18th while watching TV that the Communist regime was falling. Our chief let us watch the news freely, so we could see what had been happening on the streets, even pictures from Wenceslas Square. At this moment I forgot about all hardships of my prison work. The horror of my life had just disappeared. I knew I was going to be free. It was completely clear to me when I saw Karel Kryl on the TV screen. I only had to wait, when it would happen, but my release was just the question of time. Finally the Minkovice Prison was shut down and all inmates were transferred to other prisons. I was detained in Pankrac. One day I was called up to a chief after work. He told me to pack up all my stuff and sent me to some other office: ´Here are your things. You are free!´ Thus I gave farewell to my imprisonment. I was released only after personal pardon granted by Vaclav Havel. The recent amnesty had left me with several more months to serve. My wife had arranged the pardon.”

“I was sent to Minkovice - a prison near Liberec. In my childhood, I had only two short opportunities to see what a prison looks like when I had visited my father in Bytíz labor camp and in Mírov Prison. Otherwise, I had no experience with a prison. When I came to Minkovice, I was really shocked. It was a different world to me. I knew I was a stranger to its society. I knew there were few people like me, but all the others were justifiably arrested and they knew why very well. Minkovice was a place for regular criminals: thieves and murderers. Prisoners sentenced according to the so called “I. clause” were among us too – mostly people who tried to escape from military service, and a few others like me, who were caught on the borders. After I had arrived to Minkovice, at first I was shown what the prison was like. Within a few days, I was transferred to regular work – “Do, what you can…”. I had no friends; it was out of the question. I tried to survive on my own, and I tried to avoid any conflicts. I didn’t report on anyone. I didn’t play cards, simply nothing. It took quite a time before my cellmates realized what I was about- that I was not dangerous, that I was not reporting on anybody, despite that, they even robbed me sometimes. So they left me alone then.”