Remembering Julius Fučík – the dreamer in Red.

The year was 1938. Under the guise of rescuing the Sudeten Germans, Hitler assumed control over the frontiers of Czechoslovakia. The Munich pact signed between UK, France, Italy and Germany readily paved the way for him. The rest of Czechoslovakia was wrested a year later from a meek leadership and was brought under the realm of the Nazis, driven endlessly by their desire of establishing the Aryan Supremacy in Europe. This annexation was met with almost no military resistance and made millions of Slovaks who constituted “the others” vulnerable to mindless persecution and inexplicable wrath. Anti-Semitism was not the only threat. “The others” also constituted Slovaks who tried to flee their Nazi-held Czechoslovakian homelands, homosexuals, artists who dared to decry the Nazi authority and the Communists. Members of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia (CPC) were already ostracised by the incumbent democratic Government in Prague prior to the arrival of the Nazis.

Julius Fučík joined the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia in 1921 as an eighteen-year-old. He worked as a journalist in various newspapers while contributing theater reviews regularly to the Rudé právo (Red Rights), the official newspaper of the CPC. The CPC was under tight watch by the Prague government who felt threatened by their presence. Fučík assumed the role of the editor of the heavily censored newspaper and started writing under pseudonyms to avoid being persecuted for sympathising with the Stalin led USSR.

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In 1938, CPC was forced underground by the events brought about by the Munich pact. With an arrest warrant looming around, Fučík continued publishing articles related to Czech culture and history - making subtle references against the Nazi oppression. He continued using false identities and couldn’t resist citing his beloved Czech poet Jan Neruda in his essays from time and again. Over the course of the next few years, the Gestapo began to intensify their search for the Communist leadership and the undercover party’s luck was to soon run out.

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On April 24 1942, an elderly Professor Horak limps his way to the Jeleniks’ home on an official errand. While being served a cup of tea, officers of the Gestapo storm into the house, unaware that they have a prized catch amidst them. Though armed, the gentleman does not resort to use his artillery out of consideration for the lives of other house mates and is promptly seized. The Gestapo take away the man in disguise and learn his real identity by interrogating other captives. Awaiting his trial from prison cell 267 in Pankrác prison, Fučík is subjected to extreme torture but refuses to reveal names. He forms a camaraderie with fellow prisoners. The wounds inflicted on him restricts him from moving just across the floor to quench his thirst, besides giving a hard time when trying to swallow morsels from the otherwise precious goulash gravy. A rebel Czech guard Kolinsky offers to help Fučík write from prison, stealing in writing tools and carrying out sheets. Fučík wastes no time in penning down what turns out to be his last words and finds himself moved by Kolinsky’s gesture.

“…To find a friend who gives you his hand, and helps you to speak for at least a moment with those who will outlive all this - even with those who will not outlive it.”

His writings eventually did greet those who outlived Fučík. The sheets were complied over time by his wife Agustina Fučík and “Notes from the Gallows” was published in 1948.

“Notes from the Gallows” is notable among World War II era literature since it throws light on the Communist persecution by the Nazis who were more infamous for their anti-Semitic antics. Fučík’s notes show how the underground movement was spearheaded by the Communists in Czechoslovakia and outlines the events that Fučík assumes lead to their betrayal. He insists on the need to celebrate unsung heroes of the Communist movement and is unflinching in his love for the Soviet Union. His observations on inmates inside and outside the prison cells are stark and witty. Friend or fiend, he seems to recognise a genuine personality when he meets one. He is considerate towards the German guard nicknamed Flink. “Teach her and don’t let her be stunted” he says regarding a fellow young Communist fugitive Lida. 

As the impending trial in Berlin comes nearer, Fučík, a passionate pursuer of arts, culture and life relents and accepts his fate. 

“This is a race between the war and hope. A race of one sort of death against another sort of death. Which will come first -  the death of fascism or my death?” - he wonders.

On 8th September 1943, fourteen months after his capture, Fučík is hanged. 76 years have almost passed since his execution.

With the publication of his memoir, Julius Fučík turned into an overnight Communist icon. When the Communists took over as the ruling party of the then united Czechoslovakia in 1948, Fučík fit the bill as the ideal Communist war hero. The martyr’s name made his way to children’s text books, odes, mines, factories, schools, parks and ships. His anniversary was celebrated as the “Day of the Press” and his statues were erected all over the Communist country.  

Julius-Fučík-Denkmal in Berlin-Pankow

“Mankind, I had loved you… be vigilant!”

A sculpture installed in Berlin stands to this day. The concluding words from his memoir are inscribed by the side of the installation in Czech, German and Russian warning all of mankind to hold vigil.

In “Notes from the Gallows”, Julius Fučík commented on the fragility of men when subjected to tests of human weakness. He spoke highly of comrades who did not give into torture and showed no hesitation in expressing his utter disgust at Mirek’s defection. Reading the book generally left one with little room for doubt over the authenticity of Fučík’s account of events. The only hitch lay in the fact that Fučík was heralded as a hero when Stalinism was at its peak -  a period where untruths were magnified larger than life and contrary views were severely oppressed. The Communists in power did not want to make a dent on Fučík’s image. They suppressed the alternative narratives of events leading to the arrest, including that of an eye witness who blamed Fučík’s inaction as the cause of the mass arrest. The doubts over the authenticity of the book gained ground in the aftermath of the Velvet revolution of 1989 when the Communist Czechoslovakia transitioned to a parliamentary republic sans violence.

The news that some parts of Fučík’s notes were omitted in the published version raised suspicions. It led to wide spread speculation that the missing pages contained parts where Fučík might have admitted to betraying his fellow workers.  In 1995, the missing pages were published. We learn that Fučík had indeed succumbed to torture and that he had apparently mislead his captors by revealing false identities, thus refuting allegations. Despite the release of the full version, the book is termed a hagiography in some quarters and its veracity is still debated. His transition from that of a national hero to a mere political instrument at the hands of the Communists was an unintended consequence of the fall of Communism in Europe towards the end of the Twentieth century.

Julius Fučík, the icon might have lost some of his sheen as the new Capitalist era ushered in. Julius Fučík, the dreamer with an immaculate resolve to withstand extraordinary conditions is the one whom history loves to idolise. In this sense, Fučík remains a true hero.

“Each one who truly lived into the future and gave his life to make the future beautiful is of a stature to be carved in stone”