When I Met Václav Havel
Claire and I had RSVPed as guests for an award ceremony sponsored by the Gender Studies Library of Prague. Its office was located near Frank Gehry’s Dancing House; they were honoring a French-Czech woman who had written a book about gender diversity within the two countries. It was to be a large event.
“Very important people are going to be there,” Sarah had told us.
Claire and I walked to the venue, a church which had been abandoned under Communism but which Václav Havel had restored and utilized for social events. It dated back to the Medieval times, and some of the plaster had been excavated within the church to reveal old, Slavic frescos of a time when fine art was just developing. There was an orchestra, there were tables set up for conversation. Hors’douvres were being passed, and wine and beer served from men wearing livery and white gloves.
“Thank God there is food,” Claire and I wolfed down slices of bread topped with peppers and cream cheese. “I don’t have any in my flat today.”
We met up with Petra, who invited us to the ceremony. We circulated the room, found Tomáš Vrba, and Katerina the art historian, Jaroslav Andel…lots of our class lecturers who recognized us and greeted us warmly. I had no idea that Sarah ran in such high circles and that all of these people were connected in such a fantastic way.
The ceremony began with the orchestra. Václav Havel and his second wife, Dagmar, appeared on the stage. The awardee was introduced; she gave a speech in English, then read her dissertation in French, with a powerpoint of Czech-translated slides. The words were lost to Claire and I, but it didn’t matter - both of us couldn’t stop staring at Havel.
It was the closest we’d ever gotten to meeting the man that changed the Czech Republic forever. Poet. Playwright. Social activist. Political dissenter. Thrown in jail numerous times, he came up with Charter 77, signed by almost all of the members in the room that day, declaring rights and freedoms for students, artists and performers but also for everyone living in Czechoslovakia during that time.
It was only natural that the Czech people elected him as their first president. A loving, fair and liberal persona, he remained president within the country for almost fifteen years. He rebuilt everything from the ground up, when the confidence of its people was so diminished by the former regime.
He was famous for sitting in public cafes and sipping from delicate cups of tea. He was good friends with Bill Clinton.
After the ceremony, Havel did a remarkable thing. He and Dagmar descended from the stage, and began chatting with attendants. No body guards, no flash photographers. Just Havel and his people, Havel and his friends.
Claire and I hatched a plan. We rehearsed a script of what we’d say to him. We wanted to shake his hand, to have met the famous Václav Havel we had learned about in class, remember this monumental event for years to come. In the end, I made Claire recite what we had practiced; I was too scared, she was more confident and well spoken than I. I would have faltered greatly.
“Um, excuse me, President Havel,” she began. Havel was short and stout in stature. Years of service had worn and wrinkled his face. He seemed confused by the English, but I know he could understand her.
“We have read about you in class, we’ve read your plays,”
He smiled and nodded, “Yes?”
“We are so honored to meet you here, could we please take a photo?”
He agreed. I’d given the camera to a Czech man who seemed bewildered by the device. Claire and I shook hands with Havel, chatted with him for a bit. The Czech man with my camera took the photo in mid conversation. There were no second chances, we didn’t have time for another shot nor time to explain to the photographer how to use the damn camera.
Claire and I swooned at the opportunity we had just experienced. The first of our class to have met Václav Havel! He was even more wonderful in person than I’d ever imagined. I became obsessed with the man - wanted to know more about his life, his cheery disposition, his work and his impact. Our photo is permanently on display at our school’s website. I fear it may be the only living proof if his existence in connection to the SIT program in the Czech Republic.
I woke up today and learned of Václav Havel’s death. He was only 75, younger than I thought he was. Yet he had done so much. I’d never amount to what he had done. I feel sad, disappointed even. As long as Havel was in this world, I felt hopeful, I felt happy, I felt proud of my roots to have been associated with such a wonderful person.
But perhaps, Havel’s death also marks the death of my connection with any and all things Czech. I am so far removed from a time that once was, and I fear I may never return, not because I don’t want to, but because the Czech Republic now seems such a far reach for me. Everything’s changed there now, familiar things are sure to be gone if I ever go back. Havel’s passing is the passing of time in my own life, of a life I once led, of a life I wanted to lead again, but realistically, can only occur within deep rooted memories of mine.
