"My granddaughter knows my mother was in a concentration camp." With Marcela Surmajová about a play written by life itself

Forbidding children from speaking Romani at school. Being accused of not paying rent simply because of the color of your skin. And the story of a mother who survived a concentration camp, only to be kicked off a tram by a group of skinheads decades later. Marcela Surmajová carries memories that can never be forgotten. And now, those memories are being brought to the stage—she has become one of the faces of the Slovo 21 production "Stories of the Survivors." The performance is based on the authentic life experiences of Roma people and features descendants of Romani Holocaust survivors. In this way, questions of generational trauma intertwine with pressing contemporary issues.

What do you do when you aren't acting?

Well, I'm at home right now, but otherwise, I worked as a teaching assistant. And before that, I worked at the National Institute of Public Health as a mediator.

And what brought you to Slovo 21?

I followed Slovo 21 quite a bit. I liked their projects and their work in general. And after a while, my granddaughter started working here. I liked everything Slovo 21 was able to do for the Roma community. Tutoring, for example. While I was working at the school, I used to refer parents to Slovo 21 whenever they had a problem. I’d tell them to come here and ask for help. Someone here always helped them.

And did the offer to act in the play come to you through your granddaughter?

Yes, through my granddaughter. Because she knew that my mother had been in a concentration camp and that she had told me a lot about it. And I wanted to take the part right away! I didn't hesitate at all.

Theatre of the Oppressed is a very specific form. You aren't just playing a role someone wrote for you; you have to open up about things that are often very personal...

Exactly, this is all from real life. Everything performed there is true. There are things from school, there are stories about when we Roma apply for jobs, and so on.

What was it like for you to share these personal things during rehearsals?

The others and I hit it off right away. Right after we met and started rehearsing, we began to care for one another. We look out for each other, saying things like, "Go get a drink," and so on. I really think we have a very beautiful relationship, so we felt comfortable there right from the start.

We’ve already touched on the fact that the production is composed of the authentic experiences of you, the performers. Which stories did you draw from, for example?

I drew a lot from things that happened while I was working at the school. My granddaughter went there, for example. She’s twenty-two now, but when she was in eighth grade, I think, she had a major problem with one of the teachers. This teacher asked a question, and when the kids raised their hands, she bypassed my granddaughter and said, "You don't know it anyway because you're trash." I went straight to the principal to deal with that. When I was sitting in his office, I told this teacher, "Ma'am, let me tell you something. The way you treat a student is exactly how their classmates will treat them. If you show that you like her and accept her just like everyone else, the kids in the class will do the same." In the end, they didn't renew my contract as a teaching assistant, but I went through some terrible things there.

Could you elaborate on that?

I’m mainly talking about how the management treated the students. No one there held back from saying things like, "You idiot, you’re all complete morons." Or, for instance, an assistant once told the children, "There will be no Romani spoken here." I couldn't stay quiet then, so I told her, "You need to realize you’re teaching in a Romani school, and you should be glad you have these Romani kids here, otherwise you wouldn't have a job."

Why didn't they renew your contract in the end?

I went out into the hallway when one of the teachers was on duty. She was standing there shouting at the kids, "Stop! Go!" But the way she did it—"Go to class!"—it was like the Gestapo. These were boys in the eighth and ninth grades. Of course they didn't respect us. She kept yelling and yelling at them. I said to them gently in Romani, "Go to class immediately," and they listened to me. She didn't like that, so she went straight to the principal to complain. It really hurt, because I love working with children so much.

While I was working at the school, I used to refer parents to Slovo 21 whenever they had a problem. I’d tell them to go there and ask for help. Someone was always able to help them there.

Did you share these experiences with the others during the rehearsals for the play, just as you’re telling me now?

Yes. We shared stories with each other like this, and we gradually put it all together. These were the kinds of things we based it on. All those experiences were reflected in it later. We talked and talked, and Dana and Líza (lecturers Dana Moree and Líza Urbanová) wrote everything down and then pieced the plot together from it. For example, there’s a story from my life in there about the floods. That was when my husband and I went to apply for temporary housing. We were standing in line, and the clerk said to us, "No, no, don't stand here, you go over there!" I immediately thought it was strange—why should I go to a different door when everyone else is standing here? And she told me, "You go over there, that’s where the non-payers are." I looked at her and said, "Are you judging me by the color of my skin? Why are you sending me among the non-payers?" I knew I didn't belong there. So my husband and I left and went to the police, where they helped us right away. They sent an officer with us who requested my file. There was absolutely nothing in it, of course, so they had to treat us fairly. That’s exactly what I talk about in the play. Or about how my mother was kicked by skinheads.

I can't recall that one.

I say, "Do you remember how they kicked my aunt and threw her off the tram?" That story happened to my mother, but since there were a lot of mothers there, we changed it to an aunt. They literally kicked her and threw her off the tram. She had a huge bruise on her leg from the fall. When we went to see her at Bulovka Hospital and saw her there, we thought we were going to have a heart attack.

And at the same time, you all share a family history involving the Romani Holocaust.

Yes. Most of our parents or grandparents. Like my mother.

It’s just a fact that in almost every Romani family, someone was affected. My mother talked about it all the time. Sometimes she would start crying and couldn't go on with the story.

Do you feel that this topic is still a taboo in society?‍

People really often don't know. Awareness should be raised so that we know what really happened. It is still heavily questioned. However, it is talked about in Romani families. The fact is that almost every Romani family had someone there. My mother talked about it all the time. Sometimes she would start crying and couldn't go on. Her story is written down on the Memory of Nations website. You can find her under the name Marie Kormanová.

You have already had five performances. What were the reactions?

It was very well received. There was applause every time. And people really understand it. I had my ten-year-old granddaughter there, and I asked her, "Tinka, did you understand it?" She answered right away that she did and started telling me what it was about. And now we are actually going to perform for middle school students. I am curious how they will react. It would be necessary to perform this a lot in schools and high schools because discrimination often still happens there.

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This interview was created as part of the project Stories of Survivors, supported by the Foundation Remembrance, Responsibility and Future (EVZ).

This text does not express the opinion of the EVZ Foundation. The author is responsible for all claims contained in this text.