A report of a Czechoslovak man

The meeting with Czechs and Slovaks is a bit like homecoming – at least if you take home to be the place where you always find understanding. When there is a meeting of the Libertarian Society in Cambridge, people lament Cameron’s conservative politics; when there is a meeting of the Winnie the Pooh Society (a very popular one!), people lament the decline of Winnie the Pooh’s influence over current culture; when there is a meeting of the Czechoslovak Society, people lament some aspects of British society, the views English people hold etc. It is always nice to see people who by and large share a lot of my own worldview. That is true despite the fact that we often lapse into rather fierce arguments.

The bizarre 20th century left us (Czechs) a sort of dual identity – including those of us who were born after the breakdown of the federation. It wasn’t very long ago when I realised that I feel to be both Czech and Czechoslovak. My English friends often get confused when I tell them that I am going to a meeting of the Czechoslovak Society, especially because many of them have only recently learned to say ‘Czech Republic’ instead of ‘Czechoslovakia’. I tell them: yeah, out countries have been politically divided, but here in Cambridge we simply ignore it. Our languages are pretty much the same, and we share a lot of culture and history. That political jiggery-pokery has not impressed us. On the contrary, in Cambridge we commemorate Masaryk, Štefánik and their pals. In October, we organised a large celebration of the 95th anniversary of the foundation of Czechoslovakia. And at the occasion of the anniversary of the Velvet Revolution, we were visited by Czech and Slovak ambassadors from London.

Although Cambridge societies deserve to be known as the hubs of passionate discussions, they have a considerable competitor in the students of philosophy. For philosophers, discussions are daily routine, which makes the whole subject rather peculiar. There was a quote by the English classic J. S. Mill in which he claimed that one cannot be sincerely fond of anyone with whom he doesn’t agree on some important issues. Yet philosophers must overcome this – otherwise, they’ll start hating everyone pretty soon. You need practice to learn how to shout at your peers in a seminar and then have a chilled cup of coffee with them. Not everyone can manage this, however. When my philosophy friends and I go for a pint, we normally spend about half of the time discussing philosophy and the other half moaning and gossiping about our subject-mates.

To change the subject – this term I returned to my old racket collection, which consists of a tennis racket, a squash racket and a ping-pong racket. Each of them allowed me to take part in one of the Cambridge sports leagues. It seems to me that English people are generally better at squash than in tennis. It’s probably because squash courts are more common in the UK and also you can keep using them throughout the year, including those moments when people cover tennis courts with snowmen. One problem with tennis is that there are no clay courts in England and they normally play on concrete or artificial surfaces. So when I try to slide, I fall on my face. Yet I still enjoy the tennis league, because I can keep up with most players there. Nonetheless, the situation is different for the ping-pong league, because Cambridge is full of genial students from South-East Asia. Their non-orthodox style is impossible to beat.