I was born in Zvolen. My grandparents had a bookshop, taken from them by the communists after 1948.

In 1958, they were arrested on false charges.

I remember my grandma being pulled from the stove while cooking dinner for us.

My grandfather believed in Czechoslovakia.

My grandmother believed in social democracy.

My mother’s parents supported the Slovak state.

When together, they argued. I grew up surrounded by politics.

In August 1968, visiting my grandparents in Zvolen,

my friends and I sat on the road to block the tanks.

When shooting started, we ran.

At home, I was locked in my room so I would not run away again.

At grammar school, I was one of the rockers.

We had long hair and the regime did not like us.

I was once kept outside until I got a haircut.

I argued with the deputy headmaster and got a beating.

My mother sent me to the School of Applied Arts.

A new world opened for me there.

We learned from teachers expelled from The Academy of Fine Arts and Design by the regime. They taught us to think freely.

At school, I met Ján Budaj and other artists. We organised exhibitions, held events and published banned books.

I copied Václav Havel’s The Power of the Powerless on a typewriter.

It was our underground, our island of freedom.

I saw the regime intervene many times.

At a friend’s funeral, there were thirty of us and about 150 undercover officers pretending to be mourners.

Recordings, checks, fear.

On Friday, 17 November, I was at a disco.

I did not know what had happened in Prague.

On Monday, Budaj asked me to come to the Slovak Art Forum.

That was when I felt something important was happening.

I signed the Public Against Violence declaration and knew there was no turning back.

Later, a friend in the riot units told me, “We had live rounds.

If the order had come, we would have shot you.”

That was when I understood how fragile everything was.

The most powerful moment was when Havel announced in the Slovak National Theatre the end of the party’s rule.

People stood, sang the anthem and cried.

I had tears in my eyes and thought, “Grandma, Grandpa, we have finally settled the score with the communists.”

After the revolution, our unity split into factions and backroom dealings.

The split of Czechoslovakia was hard for me.

I was a Czechoslovakist and felt powerless when I saw the guardist flags.

Even now, I believe freedom has simple rules.

Live in truth. Always ask,

Am I doing the right thing?

Am I not hurting anyone? Is this truly what I believe in?