At a recent party, Vaclav Havel’s name came up. (Yes, that’s the kind of thing I discuss at parties these days). As we chatted about the former Czech president, I realised I know very little about him. So, I decided to educate myself on Havel and document what I learned along the way.
My initial idea was to read all Havel’s plays in Czech. Such ambitious literary tasks are nothing new to me: when I went travelling I took “Wild Swans” with me, a supposed must-read to understand China. The catch: it’s about 600 pages long. For six months, the book went everywhere with me, usually serving as a doorstop or a pillow. Truth be told, I never got past the first forty pages. In the end, I gave it to a Chinese girl eager to read it — last I heard, it’s in her kitchen, doubling as a chopping board.
The Unveiling
For three weeks I took a copy of Havel’s “The Unveiling” to my Czech class. Progress was slow, about a page per hour. My Czech simply wasn’t advanced enough for it. Seeing my teacher’s pained expression, I realised I’d become the kind of language student I dislike; the type who wants to read sophisticated literature that’s way beyond their level. It brought to mind the time I taught English to a Tibetan monk who’d only read texts written by the Dalai Lama. He barely improved and I earned a serious amount of bad karma. (I dread to think how many lives I’ll spend paying for the hours I spent silently cursing him.) Yet now, I was subjecting my poor teacher to the same struggle, and I wasn’t even wearing any funny robes to distract her.
Letters to Olga
After that humbling experience, I stepped down from my high horse and started reading “Letters to Olga” in English. The letters were humble and self-aware, making it feel like I was hearing from a close and intelligent friend. Evidently, the former Czech president was no superhero, but just like you and me — the only difference being he was better at expressing how it felt. Another thing that surprised me was Havel’s self-doubt. It was inspiring to learn a man can achieve so much while filled with such uncertainty.
Havel’s letters are a remidner that it’s easy to complain about things we don’t like in the world, but the real challenge is looking in the mirror. That’s exactly what the former Czech president did. And as it turns out, he was anxious, needy, and had plenty of imperfections, just like the rest of us. What made him stand out, was his courage to confront his flaws to gain a better understanding of himself.
Just picture how different the world would be if we all did that. What if, instead of protecting our ill-informed political viewpoints, we sat down to examine who we are and where our anger comes from? If everyone committed to that, we’d all be saner people, and maybe it wouldn’t matter which of us became president.
*First published in Milk & Honey (České Budějovice, Czech Republic)