January 30, 2012
By Aung San Suu Kyi
When I decided that the first Letter from Burma of 2012
should be about the late Vaclav Havel, I wondered how I should entitle the
article. My thoughts immediately went to the little red heart he usually drew
as part of his signature. Perhaps I should write about him as "The Heart
President" or "The Heart Leader" or "The Dissident with A
Heart" or "The Intellectual with A Heart?" In the end I decided
that the name Vaclav Havel alone was more potent and meaningful than any fancy
title I could think up.
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| Photo: Vaclav Havel (internet) |
It was during the first year of my house arrest, 1989, that
the name of Vaclav Havel became familiar to me. The Velvet Revolution, the
Civic Forum, the electoral victory that turned the premier dissident of
Czechoslovakia into the first President of the newly democratic republic: I
learnt about it all from my small portable radio and shared in the euphoria of
political transformation in that far off land. However, I did not realize at
that time that Vaclav Havel would become a personal friend.
It is a little strange to speak of a man I had never met and
with whom I had barely corresponded as a personal friend. It was his vigorous
and warm personality and his total commitment to the support of movements for
democracy and human rights the world over that made his friendship so real and
vibrant and made me feel we were linked to one another by close ties of
understanding. He nominated me for the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991 because he
believed it would help to focus international attention on our struggle. Had he
allowed his name to be put forward as a candidate that year I am convinced he
would have been the chosen laureate. He surely valued the Nobel Peace Prize,
for he would not have wanted to give to the cause of democracy and human rights
something on which he did not value himself. But it was a matter of chivalry:
"Their need is greater than mine."
When my family were permitted to visit me in 1992, my
husband brought me a copy of The Power of the Powerless. I have just flicked quickly
through the pages of this now shabby, well-thumbed volume and reread some of
the phrases I underlined in the book. "... an examination of the potential
of the 'powerless' -- can only begin with an examination of the nature of power
in the circumstances in which these powerless people operate ..."
"... freedom is indivisible ..." "... not standing up for the
freedom of others, regardless of how remote their means of creativity or their
attitude to life, meant surrendering one's own freedom ..." "A better
system will not automatically create a better life. In fact the opposite is
true: only by creating a better life can a better system be developed ..."
Ideas that seem simple yet which enmesh with basic human aspirations only when
formulated with clarity by an exceptional mind.
A high intellect is no substitute for a generous heart, and
it is the latter that I appreciate most in Vaclav Havel. He was a rare
dissident, one who did not forget fellow dissidents in remote parts of the
world even after he became the Head of State of his own country. His heart was
not only generous but appealingly light, expressing its solidarity with
ordinary people everywhere in the simplest way. His To the Castle and Back
begins with the words: "I've run away. I've run away to America. I've run
away for two months with the whole family; that is, with Dasa and our two
boxers, Sugar and her daughter Madlenka." The gleeful declaration of
flight and the place (right at the heart of the family) that he accorded to his
dogs drew me across miles and years into the warm circle of his home. How did a
man so far from ordinary manage to retain the common touch?
Vaclav Havel spoke to me once on the telephone, about a year
ago. He was already in poor health and his voice was weak but he managed to
convey his joy at my release from house arrest and his concern for all of us
who were still far from our democratic goal. Even in his final illness he did
not forget us. The last letter he wrote to me was placed in my hands a few days
after his death by one of his old friends, Mr. Sasakawa Yohei.
"Dear Friend," the letter began, "Over the
years I sent you a number of letters inviting you to attend various
international conferences and other events that I organized. I did it being
perfectly aware that the chances of you attending are non-existent but I still
did it out of principle and to remind the authorities that confiscated my
letters to you that we constantly think of you and support you." The
spirit with which he championed the cause of the oppressed had remained intact.
His interest in our struggle, too, had continued strong: "Dear friend, I
am following the recent developments in your country with a very, very cautious
optimism." He ended his letter on a practical, modest note. "... if
there is anything we can do to help -- for example -- and only if you wish --
to share some of our transformational experience with you we shall gladly do
it."
I will feel the absence of my friend as we continue along
the road he walked before us.
(By Aung San Suu Kyi)
(Mainichi Japan) January 30, 2012
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