I was still curious about the possibility of realizing the Communist vision of a society of comrades. I wanted to know what life and work looked like in a commune nobody was compelled to join. So I talked to a lot of kibbutzniks and took note of the different fortunes and opinions. They were usually educated, but they had chosen the kibbutz as a place for their life and work, even with its Communist precepts. For many it had been at first a provisional emergency solution — they’d come to a country where it was not easy to find a job. They were often fugitives or illegal immigrants without any belongings. The kibbutz had offered them first aid: housing, food, the most necessary clothing, and health care. In return it demanded work, for which they received an insignificant amount of pocket change. The new arrivals, however, shared all the privileges and responsibilities of the other members and were subjected to the same regulations. The most drastic (and unnatural) of these rules seemed to me the handing over of offspring, immediately after birth, to a nursery where their mothers would visit to feed them. The children were not allowed to live with their parents; only during their free time could they visit together. All important decisions were made at meetings of the commune. The standard of living for each of the members depended on the overall results as well as the strict following of communistic principles, which were voluntarily embraced. These principles were so severe and rigid that they often struck me as absurd. Each member had to fulfill certain duties, which could not be avoided. For example, members took turns working in the kitchen, the laundry, or another communal facility. If any of the members found themselves beyond the environs of the commune, for example, if they had been elected as a representative or worked in one of the academic institutions, they not only had to deposit all their income into the mutual treasury (the kibbutz then paid their room and board outside the commune) but also had to come back every now and then to carry out their regular duties in the kitchen or laundry.
I was interested in how this fundamentally spartan or semimilitary way of life could prosper in a free society
The communes arose during the time when a haze of idealism wafted above Europe. The members of our kibbutz belonged to, or were adherents of, the leftist Mapam (united workers) Party, which supported their endeavors. I could understand that the people who had founded the communes were grateful to their principles for help in their own difficult beginnings and had remained loyal to the Communist ideas. But what about their children? What if someone didn’t feel like staying in the commune? Even after dozens of years of work, they owned almost nothing except a few shirts and a pair of shoes.
I was assured that each person was allowed to decide for himself, keeping in mind, however, that he might have to start all over again no matter what his age. The kibbutz, on the other hand, had over the years allowed him to acquire new and useful knowledge free of charge. Even the young were allowed to leave.
Never before had I realized how powerfully illusory and utopian was the Communist ideal here, where in a free society people chose to serve a collectivist goal; they suppressed their individual needs and were trying to create a completely new and, from the point of view of others, unnatural or, more precisely, precivilized type of human relations.
Upon returning home, I wrote a lengthy article about kibbutzim, in which I expressed my doubts about the utopian idea of communes and Communist ideals. (To my surprise, it was noticed in Israel and translated.) I expected that my impugning of Communist education and the ideal itself would provoke some sort of reaction, but nothing happened.
*
Soon thereafter, I took another trip into the freer world, to a country that seemed to me the embodiment of democracy.
It was impossible to go abroad to the West without an exit visa and an allowance of a limited amount of hard currency (which was in short supply for most writers).
Sometimes editors at Lidové noviny received both. My stay in Germany, connected with the premiere of The Castle, was paid for by the Düsseldorf theater, so I could manage without the hard currency. My trip with my wife to Israel was upon the invitation of our hosts and also free of charge for our offices. Now our editorial offices were offering me an allowance of hard currency to go on some sort of study trip. Because I’d already been to Germany and because the only foreign language I could make myself understood in was English, I decided to go to Britain. I also had a personal reason for this trip. In England, if he was still alive, lived Isaac Deutscher, the man whose book on Stalin’s struggle with Trotsky revealed to me more about the foundation of the Stalinist regime than any other book.
My well-traveled colleagues offered me many pieces of advice for the trip. I received the address of a particularly inexpensive Paris hotel bearing the exalted name Bonaparte as well as the addresses of some Czechs in Birmingham in case I happened to wander into that city. My wife had a friend named Janet in London, and when she’d written to her, Janet offered to let me stay at her house. She would ensure I saw the most important things in England.
In Prague I purchased, besides maps and guidebooks, all the train tickets I would need to Paris, London, and Birmingham, and from there — most likely because I’d seen it on the map rather than from any personal reason — to Inverness, which was the northernmost station I could get to. I’d always wanted to see Scotland — it was supposed to be exceedingly beautiful and romantic, and ancient monsters dwelled in the deep lakes. Besides that, I loved Scottish folk songs.
The Hôtel Bonaparte was indeed inexpensive, and the cheapest room, which I requested, was a small black hole with a window opening onto a murky airshaft. The air in my hole had probably traveled here all the way from the Sahara. I bought an unbelievably cheap bottle of wine at a little shop next to the hotel (even so, it was an additional expense; I’d brought bread and a can of liver pâté from home), and when I’d washed down my food with a liter of wine I even managed to fall asleep.
In the morning, aware that I wouldn’t be able to communicate with anyone, I set off to the Louvre with my map. I didn’t have money for a bus or taxi, so for three days I covered on foot dozens of kilometers on the boulevards and in museums and galleries. And because I had no sense of proportion and didn’t realize that it was better to examine five pictures thoroughly than several hundred on the run, only a confused welter of experiences remain in my mind about the trip.
On the morning of the fourth day I headed for the train station, where I was astounded and overwhelmed by the number of platforms. Although I found the information counter, I couldn’t find anyone who understood English or German, so I ran back down to the hall in a panic, thinking I’d never make it out of Paris. I went from platform to platform looking for the train to Calais.
A few minutes before departure I found it, much relieved. I took a seat in a compartment occupied by several Englishmen.
Soon after the train departed, a pair of uniformed men entered the compartment, said something in French, and all the Englishmen presented their passports. I assumed this was the border control (the train wasn’t stopping until Calais), and so I handed my passport to one of the uniformed men. Whereas the Englishmen got back their passports with a simple “Merci,” I was treated to a flurry of explanations or more likely questions. I had no idea what they were saying, and they didn’t understand me either. For a while we exchanged inquiries. The Englishmen were listening and certainly would have tried to help had their linguistic knowledge been any better than mine. The uniformed men then left with my passport, and after about an hour I started to fear I’d never see them or my passport again and I’d remain forever in this country where I understood not a word. My fellow passengers nodded their heads in apparent sympathy with my misgivings. They agreed that the behavior of the border guards was indeed odd.