Remembering Jan Palach

Twelve years ago Don and I spent three wonderful days in Prague; we visited Vienna and Salzburg too, as well as the charming alpine town of St. Wolfgang on the beautiful Wolfgangsee lake. There were wonders and delights in all those places, but my favorite, without doubt, was Prague. In fact I have never been so enchanted by a new city. From Ron’s Rainbow Guesthouse (!) where we spent our nights, to the spectacular St. Vitus Cathedral high above the river, to the packed-with-activity fifteenth century Charles Bridge that takes you to the cathedral, to the rathskellars selling great sausages and beer, to the warmth of the people – it was all just perfect. I even heard a concert version of Porgy and Bess played by the great Czech Philharmonic in the exquisite Rudolfinum.

Prague was not always such a warm and welcoming place. In late summer of 1968, responding to Alexander Dubček’s attempts at liberalizing the government, the Soviet Union invaded the country, closing its armed fist around the throat of progress. On 16 January 1969 Jan Palach, a student of history and political economy at Charles University, set himself on fire in Wenceslas Square to protest the invasion and the complacency of the population. He urged them in a letter sent to several prominent leaders to rise up and throw off their oppressors.  He died from his burns three days later.

The international press picked up the story and that’s how I, an idealistic VISTA volunteer in Aurora, IL, came to know of it. I did not read the papers everyday but somehow I saw this story and I have never forgotten it. I wrote in my journal, "Just thinking about the courage of his convictions, and the sad state of the world that made him do it -- it's so depressing but, then, also optimistic -- for the hope of the world is with people like him." I've lost most (all?) of that idealism, but when I finally made that trip to Prague I visited Jan’s grave and cried all over again for his bravery and conviction.

Now, all these years later, HBO Europe has released a film about Palach, the reaction to his self-immolation and the government's attempts to quash the story and deny the country its hero. Titled Burning Bush, it was originally a Czech mini-series which has been made into a three-part film; it is available from Netflix.

I have watched the first two parts and am eagerly awaiting the third. I cried three times so far. I don’t know that most Americans watching it would have my reaction, but, as I said, I’ve known of Jan Palach since 1969 and his story has haunted me. He was almost exactly my age at the time he took his life and I have repeatedly asked myself if I have ever believed in anything so strongly. During the Vietnam War I said I would go to jail rather than be drafted, but would I?

I don’t know – and I’m talking about only being willing to go to jail, not setting myself on fire. Watching this docudrama forces me to realize I have never truly been threatened. Tanks have never roared through my town; my life has been easy compared to Jan Palach’s and the Czechs who lived through the late sixties and into the seventies.

His sacrifice did not end the Soviet takeover at the time, but the resentments he fanned smoldered for twenty years, finally erupting in the Velvet Revoluition of 1989, ending the Communist control of Czechoslovakia and freeing the people from Soviet control.

Like the Czech people, I will never forget him and will always be emboldened by his courage. Thank you, HBO, for letting me remember his power.

The memorial in front of the National Museum at the top of Wenceslas Square, Prague,

to Jan Palach and Jan Zajíc, another student who burned himself to death a month after Palach,