Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

He gave us both a reproachful look and took off his glasses to clean them.

The editor at my side asked to speak. It had not been the intention of either the author or the editor, he said, to initiate a debate about a problem which was undoubtedly marginal and abstruse. All they had wanted was to recall it. Most probably they had underestimated the negative effect which the article might have on public opinion. None the less he took the liberty of pointing out that Comrade Marx himself had warned us not to overestimate people’s sense of justice, for people were also influenced by the survivals of dead and dying historical periods. Somewhere in the collected works — the editor couldn’t recall exactly which volume, but thought it was the fifth — Marx had specifically stated that the people’s views on justice lagged behind the evolution of economic and legal ideas, and in 1853, Marx himself had written an article about the death penalty, stressing that such punishment was unjustifiable in civilised society, and he, the editor, drew attention to the fact that Marx had used the word ‘civilised’, not ‘class’ society. That was precisely what had led the editors to accept the article currently under discussion. And he, while recognising that most of the criticisms voiced here were justified, continued to think that the article might still appear, if its author were to revise certain points in it; were he to stress, for instance, that the death penalty could not be abolished in our country for the time being, while stating, as we had been reminded here, that it was an exceptional punishment which would be totally done away with at some time in the future.

When I looked back at his speech afterwards, I realised that it was not merely opportunistic (as I thought at the time). He had been seeking a way of publishing most of what I had written, because he knew he would never manage to publish the lot.

But I, at that moment, was aware of only one thing: that I was being asked to sign an article conceding that the death penalty had to remain for the time being, instead of an article demanding the abolition of capital punishment — and I declared that that was something I had no intention of doing. And that could have been the end of it. They would have shelved the article. It would have become just one of many unpublished texts and I could have gone back, without any trouble, to my job at the institute.

Ever since, I have often wondered why I didn’t leave it at that statement. After all, I had taken part in enough meetings of the kind before. I was well aware of the style of thinking or non-thinking on display — it would disgust me, but I had always managed to control myself. That fact that I didn’t manage to that time was the fault of the man chairing the meeting: my onetime fellow-student — original occupation, prison guard. He had difficulty putting together an intelligible sentence. He was unable to distinguish Europe from Asia and the Middle Ages from our own century, but in spite of that, he had been permitted to study, and now — since being qualified — he had the power to decide what ideas were permitted and required in his field. And it applied not just to me but to the entire nation.

I did not stop at the point where I might have come out unscathed, but instead went on to declare that in a country where only a few years ago so many innocent people had been hanged, including some of the nation’s best men and women, we should abolish the death penalty forthwith. For a moment my statement left them thunderstruck and I quickly added that I could see no reason why there should not be the freedom to consider and write about any problem at all.

The grey-haired man stopped me short and asked me if I meant to say that there should be freedom for all views, including racism, fascism and nazism.

I said that I meant nothing of the sort, as he knew full well. I hoped that he had found no racist or fascist views in my article. He replied that it depended on how one looked at it. I asked him (my indignation was rapidly growing) what that was supposed to mean. He declared that in essence I was demanding that fascists and war criminals should go unpunished!

I started to shout at him not to twist my words!

One of the two younger men made a further attempt at compromise. He could tell from the way I was defending myself that I accepted that certain views could not be published. That meant that someone had to assess them first.

I shouted that I did not maintain anything of the sort.

What did I maintain then?

I maintained that censorship was only needed by governments which went in fear of truth and their own people. It was only needed by governments that had never been elected. And I added that wherever freedom of speech was suppressed, there was a risk that unqualified people would start to take the decisions and that power would fall into the hands of those of dubious character.

Now my ex-classmate joined in for the first time to ask me if I was trying to say that the Party, which in our country chose comrades for leading posts, gave priority to people with dubious characters.

I told him I had been talking in general terms, solely against the suppression of opinion and restrictions on freedom of speech.

So was I trying to say, Nimmrichter continued, that the Party did not have the right to suppress hostile opinions?

I replied that to start with, they were not the Party.

He insisted that I answer his question: Did the Party have such a right, or not?

At that moment, the image returned to me of a priest in an underground cell being marched around those four walls from morning to night and being forced to do press-ups and squats. I had foolishly let myself get carried away. I declared with sudden caution that a sensible party suppresses neither the views of its enemies nor of its own members.

He repeated his question once more: his untypically precise sentence. But I merely shrugged and sat down, suddenly incapable of pursuing that doomed argument or even taking in anything of what would happen next.

Nothing else did happen. Nimmrichter rose and wound up the proceedings by declaring — with amazing coherence — that in view of what I had just said, it was clear to him that someone else would have to settle the issue. The others rose also. Nobody said any more to me and we separated without any of the usual courtesies.

In the corridor, when we were at last alone, the editor leaned towards me and said quietly that I had certainly given them a good lashing, but I’d probably got myself into hot water in the process.

1

A LEXANDRA WAS SITTING next to him with a contented look on her face. As if everything was fine, whereas the fact was that he had not yet summoned up the courage to infringe the cosiness she offered. He had merely refused to go to her attic, preferring instead to embark on a trip that was inappropriately long for the short time available.

She drew a small flat bottle of vodka out of her handbag and opened it. ‘I got this sudden fancy for it. Fancy a swig too?’

‘I’m driving, for heaven’s sake.’

‘I’ll have just a wee drop then. You’re sure you don’t mind? Sometimes Ruml doesn’t approve. He thinks it’ll be the ruin of me.’

‘Maybe he’s right.’

‘No, he’s the ruin of me. If I didn’t get drunk now and then, I wouldn’t survive living with him.’

They caught up with a column of Russian military vehicles. It was moving up the next hill and the rear lights flashed red above the road’s dark, wet surface.

‘He wanted to run out on me when we hadn’t been together more than six months,’ she said. ‘He found this girl, her father was a general. Ruml thought it might be a way of getting himself a cushier number. In Sweden or even Honolulu.’