Heroine who spent decades paying for her protest
Vera Caslavska was left penniless after defying the Soviet regime at the 1968 Olympics, writes James Corrigan
The ire of the communist leaders ran so deep they even stopped her working as a cleaner
Considering all that is going on in sport and society in the United States, with American football players still taking a knee during the national anthem, it is understandable that the focus during this 50th anniversary of the 1968 Olympics is on the iconic “Black Power” salutes of Tommie Smith and John Carlos.
Yet, it is surely worth remembering that there was another champion in Mexico who sacrificed her moments of podium glory for what she judged to be a higher cause. Indeed, the punishment of Czech gymnast Vera Caslavska was, perhaps, harsher than any high-profile sportsperson has ever suffered for their defiance.
Granted, Smith and Carlos were suspended by the US Olympic Committee and they were plagued by death threats. But within a year, Carlos was back on the track equalling a world record in the 100-yard dash, while Smith was earning a living with the Cincinnati Bengals. By then, Caslavska had essentially been banned for life by the communist leaders, whose ire ran so deep they even stopped her working as a cleaner.
From being the finest female gymnast of the Sixties, to penniless ostracisation in her homeland, Caslavska’s tale should really not be the protest that time forgot. If nothing else, it highlights the dangers posed by dictatorial powers who continue to use sport for propaganda.
While those gridiron demonstrators know they have multi-million dollar contracts on which to fall, Caslavska realised she could be left with nothing but her principles. As Czechoslovakia’s most prominent athlete, she backed the “Prague Spring” of that summer as the country tried to struggle free from the Soviet Union’s iron clasp.
The then 26-year-old signed the “Two Thousand Words” manifesto, which called for liberal reform. The Soviet tanks duly invaded and, just two week before the Games, Caslavska was forced into hiding.
Like a premonition of a future Rocky movie, Caslavska made the best of what was at hand in the mountainside forests, swinging between branches, using potato sacks as weights and logs as beams to complete her training. It seemed as if the authorities would not let her join the team but, realising she held the main medal hopes, they relented. Having won three golds in 1964, she collected four more in Mexico City, although there was controversy when the judges awarded first place to a Soviet gymnast in the beam and then, just as outrageously, updated another Soviet’s marks after the floor had finished to ensure the gold was shared.
When it came to the ceremonies, Caslavska did not raise a fist in rebellion but, instead, when the Soviet anthem played, very quietly turned her head down and away.
It was simple but so elegantly defiant and the Czech public loved her for it, voting her Sportsperson of the Year. Her fame went global. Caslavska was named the second-most popular woman in the world behind Jackie Kennedy. Nike would have signed her up in a heartbeat.
But once back behind the curtain the communists banned her from participating in sport or travelling abroad. The retribution was brutal. And so it was to last until the “Velvet Revolution” of 1989. President Vaclav Havel appointed her as an adviser and finally she was awarded her deserved acclaim and influence.
Nowadays, Caslavska is hailed as one of the top three female gymnasts of all time, but she is primarily known only within the sport. No doubt, the memory of that courageous freedom fighter who died two years ago warrants a far wider audience.