Jana Šilerová

"I remember that we didn't mince our words much. Oh my God, Masaryk was always mentioned. And people got controlled or even fired from job for that. Or other anniversaries. I remember the anniversary of John Lennon's death. Not much happening. A few days later, we were invited to the State Secret Police office. They shouted at us, but that was all. The church was packed then. I lent out the records we had, afraid the hairy underground people wouldn't return them. But they did. My elders in Rychvald were looking down from the choir, afraid that the people will steal the hymnbooks or even smoke there. But that didn't happen either. They behaved perfectly. One guy, who looked like a typical underground, not a chartist, but a guy who would get arrested by the police just for his looks, took charge of everything. He was a very decent guy. Everything worked without any problems, of course, with the fact that there was a policeman sitting somewhere. They couldn't ban it. Something was quickly said and music was played. You didn't have to say anything anti-state, because Lennon was quite problematic himself. But when he sang about peace, what could the Secret Police say?"

"I was standing at the door. My mother was holding my hand, I was crying. I was about four years old. I had a bow in my hair. My mother sometimes left me with Mrs. Jeřábková to babysit. She had a son, he was studying medicine, and when he was in the army he decided to escape across the border. The story is well known. He managed to escape, but the border guards caught up with him and shot at him across the border. They shot him on Austrian territory and came for him. The Austrian settlers, the villagers, saw it. The guards dragged him back to our territory, they cured him and then executed him. And Mrs. Jeřábková wrote to Gottwald and all the Communist leaders. It didn't help. She had strange eyes. I asked my mother why her eyes were so red. And she said it was because she cried them out. Mrs. Jeřábková cried all the time."

"I was reported to the police also by my colleagues, by one in particular. When I was elected bishop and I was to go with him to serve at the altar and even to confirm his grandchildren, I needed to talk to him first. Not to demand an apology and then forgive him magnanimously. No. I needed to talk to him to clear the air, to be able to stand side by side at the Lord's table. And it worked. I was glad he understood that what he did was wrong. He was scared. And I can never judge another person's fear. That's a very tricky thing. We bring memory into our lives, but we cannot bring guilt into our lives. We would go mad."