"There was theatre on Friday. Vladimír Brabec, the actor who had played Major Zeman (ed. note: a dyed-in-the wool police officer character in a propaganda TV detective show) came to do the revolution for me. I'm sitting in theatre with Miloš Fryš next to me, and Miloš says: 'Dude, that's Major Zeman, I'm out of here.' It was so absurd for Brabec to be there; he may have not been a bad person but he was notorious. Thinking back, I wonder why he didn't have enough sound judgement to say, 'Come on, I can't do that.' So there he was. Everybody was happy that the Central Committee had handed in the resignation, everybody was dancing. We were celebrating with Major Zeman." - "Did you see Brabec, did he speak there?" - "He spoke, he took the floor there, I recall what he said: 'When I played Major Zeman, I was invited everywhere - and now you don't want me.' There you have it. Major Zeman was there, I know the current national football team coach Ivan Hašek was there, and people like that were there, actors and such."
"I suddenly received an invitation, a summons for questioning by post. That was sometime in February. They were rougher because they had got it all together. Before that, they were still kind of mild, but now they were much rougher. The petition got there instantly because someone left it in the pub, and there was my name on it - and they wanted to know who gave it to me, who brought it and so on. I actually walked in 'armed' with the legal provision that Miloš Fryš told me about, that I was allowed not to testify. But then, they... I remember it as one of the ugliest experiences of my life, really, that got me down mentally. One guy was kinder and the other was stricter - and it kind of worked. They were circling around me, I kept telling them I wasn't going to testify - and then all of a sudden they found out hat I was... They were looking for my weak spot, and they found it. They were going to call my father in. I got so scared because I knew what my father was like. I was scared he would tell on the people I was friends with or those who signed the petitions and stuff. All of a sudden, I was so scared by the idea that if they get my father in, he's going to just break down."
"There was a lot of ideology there [in Příbram], there was a lot of fear. It was also connected with consumerism. People felt like they were better persons because they could guy better goods during 'mining days'. I basically hated it growing up. During puberty, I started to get [sort of allergic] to that 'mining cult'. I sensed it was just fake. Maybe because of my grandfather, who explained a lot of things to me. My father wasn't like that either... But it wasn't talked about. I mean, I didn't know about the camps at all."
Pavel Veleman was born in Příbram on 7 March 1967 to Jitka Velemanová and Pavel Veleman. His mother taught at the local primary school, his father worked in the local uranium mines (first as a miner, then as a driver). Pavel was bullied at school because of his speech impediment. After finishing primary school, he entered a cookery apprenticeship in Vysoká Pec. After his apprenticeship, he worked in various catering establishments, then at the plant canteen at the Čenkovice engineering works. The State Security Service (StB) interrogated him over his anti-regime statements. In February 1989, he was investigated for taking part in one of the protest during the Palach Week and signing a petition for the release of Ivan Martin Jirous. After the Velvet Revolution, he completed his high school-leaving diploma. Between 2000 and 2004, he graduated from the Higher Vocational School of Social Law. He then worked at the Social Department of the Prague 10 Municipality for almost two decades. In 2023, he became Social Worker of the Year. He lived in Prague in 2024.
Hrdinové 20. století odcházejí. Nesmíme zapomenout. Dokumentujeme a vyprávíme jejich příběhy. Záleží vám na odkazu minulých generací, na občanských postojích, demokracii a vzdělávání? Pomozte nám!
