Přemysl Kubišta

* 1955

  • “Me and a group of friends founded the Church of the Devil’s Exorcised Exorcists while on a canoeing trip.” – “Was that some sort of mockery?” “Definitely. But we played it seriously. It had its own hierarchy, from the novitiate to the pope. We had ceremonies, promotions. The promotions were given by flattering the upper dignitaries and being appropriately harsh on the lower ones, we were making fun of the regime. We just took over from them exactly what they expected from us. We had our own god, Lord Lomikel, and he was the god of sewers and pipes. We went around in cowls at events. We were all musicians, so when we went canoeing we played and did all sorts of silly things. I still can’t believe to this day that we were never repressed. I went around in an American uniform, the others always had some problem somewhere with someone, but nobody ever said anything to me. At the Conservatory a professor sent me a script and in it was written: ‘Přemysl Kubišta’ and in parentheses ‘U.S. Army.’ It all passed.” – “And did you perform as a church? Did you have any happenings in public?” – “No. It happened during canoe trips or on hiking trip and we always acted like that. It wasn’t anything official. Nobody ever repressed me for these mockeries. I explain it by saying that there must have been a cop among us who knew it wasn’t real and that we were nothing to worry about.”

  • “The next day I went to Prague, because it was a sanitary day and nothing was happening. Dad gave me the first Svobodné slovo (The Free Word), which was the first rag which, without censorship, reported on what had happened over the weekend. The Civic Forum’s statements and things like that were on it. Three of us went. One ran off to the Realistic Theatre, I went to get newspapers, and Víťa went to the National Theatre, they loaded us up with a mound of papers, everything they had to give us. They were excited that we were taking it back to Plzeň. We came back to Plzeň and nothing. Nothing was here. It was total quiet. Nobody knew anything, there weren’t any mobile phones then, nothing. I think it was November 20th, that Monday. And then we heard that there was supposed to be a gathering at seven thirty at the Great Theatre. Before, going through Prague and Wenceslas Square, we had seen some 50,000 people. We passed FAMU and there were flags, a strike, a strike committee. And in Plzeň: nothing. At eight-thirty we went there and there was about twenty mortified people, there were candles on the plinth of the theatre and Několik vět (A Few Sentences). I had carried it in the back pocket of my jeans for half a year and let everyone read it who wanted to. Well, so I told them that they didn’t have anything and that we’d brought them materials from Prague.”

  • “I didn’t sign it. And you know why? Because I wasn’t able to get to it. I didn't sign it. It was only recently that I learned that Charter 77 was just shown, read, either signed or not, and then taken away. Nobody had it hanging off their butts in their jeans for six months like I did with Několik vět (A Few Sentences). Simply, nobody around here had a copy, and that's why I didn't get it. Back then I didn't associate with people who were around the dissident scene. I didn't know them. So, I couldn't even get my hands on it. Apparently, my mother signed it. But she got the chance to.” – “And she didn't say anything to you about it?" – “No, she didn't tell me until years later.” – “And you didn't talk openly about politics at home?" – “We did, we all complained and cursed it all. But she didn't tell me this, and I was cross with her for not bringing it to me. But then I learned later from the Chartists that it really hadn’t been possible.”

  • "So, there was a sort of Anti-Charter and then they came to have me sign it. And it really meant them losing their jobs, so they didn't take kindly to that. The Bolsheviks did what Bolsheviks do. And I said ironically, 'Anti-Charter, right, great, that's against that Charter 77, isn't it? Well, let me have a look at it, I'd like to read it.' They said it couldn't be done. I wondered why and asked why not. I told them that I understood that the Charter was somehow a bad thing, but that I would like to know just how bad it was. They said I couldn't read it, and I said well then, I can't sign something that’s against the Charter. I said that it’d been done here before, it was called 'The Power of Words' or something like that, and people signed it and then there was a lot of trouble from it, and not to be get angry with me that I was just afraid. They thought I was an idiot. So, that’s how I avoided signing the Anti-Charter.”

  • “I would say that Švejk is assertive. For sure. That’s what I’m not. There’s always someone who can tick me off. But nobody can get to Švejk and he always does everything exactly how he’s told to do by his superiors. Down to the last detail. That’s how he shows the absurdity of his orders. Like when they told him to go get some Rhine wine, he went off to the Rhine to get some wine.” – “Do you think that Švejk somehow reflects the Czech character?” – “No. Not at all. By obeying those orders, he makes a mockery of power. Of course, you can see it most in the army. From the time of the Romans the officers are still the same and the army is still the same. It’s not a democracy, but following orders. To some extent one could say that he has something in common in his character with Czechs, because he doesn’t revolt. He does everything those in power tell him to do, to the very last detail even. So, he shows the world how stupid the powers that be are. And that’s all. But nobody knows if he’s serious or not. Because he still wears the same face. Doesn’t matter if he’s talking with Mrs. Müller, or the army priest, or the president, for that matter.”

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    Plzeň, 17.04.2018

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The decent ones left the Communist Party after August 1968

Žižkov, 1971
Žižkov, 1971
zdroj: archiv Pamětníka

Přemysl Kubišta was born on 12 December 1955 in Prague. His father, Přemysl Kubišta, was a researcher of machine tools and machining, his mother a designer. His father was active in the anti-Nazi resistance during the war and was a member of the Communist Party until 1968, while his mother came from a family that was deprived of its business in wholesales and their livelihood by the communists after February 1948. Přemysl showed singing and acting talent from childhood, which he inherited from his maternal grandmother. At the age of nine he got his first lead singing role in a television adaptation of the opera Kominíček. In August 1968, at the age of thirteen, he witnessed the killing of a girl by the occupying troops at the Czechoslovak Radio building. After graduating from primary school, he did not get into the acting conservatory, and did not try music because of his voice modulating during puberty. He trained as a locksmith. In 1974, he joined the Army Art Ensemble as a singer, where he served his basic military service. In 1978–1985, he studied at the Conservatory of Music in Prague, majoring in opera singing. Then he was engaged in the National Theatre in Brno and since 1987 in the operetta DJKT in Plzeň. In November 1989, he was one of the first activists who informed and incited the citizens of Plzeň to demonstrations and strikes. In 1999, he left the Plzeň theatre and, with his colleague Pavel Kikinčuk, founded the Pluto Comedy Theatre. He considers his role of his career to be the character of Josef Švejk in the film Toulavé house (Wandering Little Geese)