The Germans’ unpopularity is, almost inevitably, also a question of good old envy (see: Egalitarianism). The Eastern German tourists, who until 1989 were happy to buy toothpaste during their visits in Czechoslovakia, have suddenly, thanks to a financial injection from the Western part of Germany, become real Západ'áci — Westerners. When they now come on swift shopping trips to the Czech Republic, they splash korunas about as if they were Monopoly money (some, well, quite a few pay a substantial contribution to the Czech prostitution industry as well), drive fancy cars or even lapse into parvenu behaviour — which is not exactly the recommended way of winning friends among the Czechs.
This feeling of economic inferiority grows even bigger when the common Czech visits Germany. At home, a Czech’s purchasing power is, thanks to the moderate price level, about half that of the common German’s (in 2003). But once over the border, Czechs discover that their purchasing power has shrunk to one fourth of their neighbours’. In Germany, the average welfare recipient is a Rockefeller compared to a Czech teacher with five years university education.
Luckily, the economic differences are slowly but steadily diminishing, but the mental pattern — “poor and humble Czech” vs. “fat and rich German” — has started living its own life. Consequently, “ambivalence” is probably the most apt description of the Czechs’ stance towards Germany and the Germans today.
This is also reflected by a survey published by the Czech Academy of Science’s Sociological Institute in December 2003. When asked whether it was possible to live in peace and harmony with Germany, only 15 percent said it was impossible. But when asked if Germany might represent a threat to the Czech Republic, 40 percent of those Czechs questioned more or less agreed. The percentage skyrocketed to almost 70 when asked whether the Czechs should always be on guard against the Germans, and when it came to the justification of the expulsion of the German minority from Czechoslovakia after the Second World War, a staggering 80 percent of those surveyed had no qualms about it at all.
Does this sound very depressing? Actually, the situation could have been even worse. According to the renowned Dutch Clingendael Institute of International Relations, the Danes and the Dutch have an even more negative stance towards the Germans. And contrary to the Czechs neither country has been ideologically brainwashed and financially ruined by 40 years of communist misrule.
Golden Hands
As soon as you get to know some Czechs, you’ll discover that many of them don’t hesitate in the slightest to reel off different qualities that they consider very typical of their fellow countrymen (see: National Identity). Thus, according to common wisdom, the Czechs are an educated, cultivated and broad-minded lot, with a natural flair for democracy (see: Hospoda) and keen sense of humour (see: Švejk, The Good Soldier).
There is, however, one “typical Czech feature” which most people would regard as even more typical than the others: the Czechs are so handy and nimble-fingered and good at improvisation that one might believe they are equipped with golden hands.
Like many other stereotypes, also this one is not entirely without a grain of truth. Just take a look at the magnificent buildings that surround you. Forget that many of the architects were of Italian or German origin — the craftsmen were definitely Czechs! Who built the main part of “new” Vienna in the last part of the nineteenth century? Correct, Czech and Slovak workers. And which country on this planet has the highest number of engineers per capita? Right again, the Czech Republic.
Actually, the ability to be handy, i.e., mend things in your flat or cottage, fix your car or even build pieces of furniture (a double bed is a safe winner) are all basic elements of the ordeal that divides an average Czech Pepa from a real male. Even though you are two meters tall and a regional champion in boxing, you’ll probably still be considered a sissy if you’re unable to change a leaking seal in your bathroom.
Have you ever wondered why many Czech house-owners keep a shack stuffed with scrap and rubbish in their gardens? Simply because it works as an inexhaustible stock of materials and spare parts when dad needs to get something fixed. Kutilství (“do-it-yourselfism”) also explains the tremendous density of ironmongers and the virtual invasion of foreign chains such as OBI, Hornbach and Baumax in the Czech Republic after 1989.
To be fair, nobody can dispute that there really are lots of handy people in this country. And many a Czech craftsman demonstrates an ability to improvise that dwarfs the qualities of his average Western colleague. The reason for this, however, is not because the Czechs have any natural talents which people of other nations lack (as many people in this country apparently believe). Instead, it seems to be based on two quite obvious facts.
Firstly, since kutilství is commonly regarded as the primary malecreating rite of passage, the mental pressure to become a kutil is strongly felt by most Czech boys. Secondly (and more importantly), the communist era was infamous for its large-scale absence of both decent services and modern consumer goods. When something broke down (which happened all the time), the simplest — and often only — way of fixing it, was to do it yourself. And since the necessary spare parts could usually not be obtained, you had to improvise and find something else.
Photo © Jaroslav Fišer
Thus, the communists quite unwillingly contributed more to the development of ordinary people’s handiness, creativity and ingenious improvisation than any other rulers in their turbulent history.
However, the widespread conviction that all (male) Czechs are equipped with golden hands has led to one rather unfortunate phenomenon: this country boasts an incredible number of self-proclaimed experts. For instance, when Austrian specialists some years ago warned that the cooling system of the newly erected Temelín nuclear power plant might be unsafe, thousands of Czech kutils brushed the warnings off angrily, because they had all installed “something similar” in their kitchens, and it had worked perfectly!
The author Ondřej Sekora aptly describes this feature in his immensely popular children’s books about Ferdinand the Ant, whose clumsy companion, Pytlík the Beetle, “knows everything and understands everything, because he has seen it all in cinema” (see: Klaus, Václav). In the real Czech world, however, millions of kutils know everything and understand everything because they have managed to fix a leaking sink.
Gott, Karel
Take Tom Jones and mix him with Enrico Caruso, the Italian tenor-cum-castrato singer. Then add tons of pathetic love songs, faked sex appeal and musical kleptomania focusing on Western hits from the 1970s. Spice it up with a political flexibility rare even for Central European standards and a personal status close to that of the Pope. What do you get? Karel Gott, Czech pop music’s most mega-super, long-lasting and brightest star.