Monika Kompaníková: "When there is something to fight for, and there is a clear goal, both the content and form become better"

I read your article in the Guardian, where you mention that Slovakia remains a democratic state with no history of violent riots. Do you think there’s a real risk that Slovakia could lose its democracy?

— I think the threat is always present, especially now, when everything is changing so fast. The political situation in Slovakia is currently stable, but the world is changing every day. It feels as though we are all on a rollercoaster ride. We can see that the post-Cold War order is changing every day. And these changes are unpredictable. 

That’s why I have no illusions that we couldn't lose our democracy. Slovakia is a democratic country, we have all the freedoms guaranteed by the constitution, but in reality, we see what’s happening in the culture, how political power manipulates people, circumvents the law, exploits every loophole, or even outright breaks the law — and nothing happens. The government controls the police, the courts, and the oversight institutions. So I don’t feel like I can do anything. As a citizen, I feel powerless. And yet, I’m still an active citizen, I go out to protests, I vote, I try to do everything I can within the law.

When you are up against an opponent that abuses institutions, circumvents the law, blackmails, threatens — the fight is unequal. Since the last elections there has been a systematic effort to silence or weaken the opposition, not just to the political opposition but also the active, engaged segments of society. People are exhausted. More and more often we find ourselves questioning whether any of it is even worth the effort. We take to the streets every week, we organize protests and discussions, we sign petitions, write articles, launch initiatives — but all with no real results. We haven’t achieved anything, we just keep losing. 

I remember waiting for the election results while I was at the Žilina Literary Festival. At the time the exit polls predicted an opposition victory. The atmosphere was electric, everyone was excited and hopeful. But a few hours later, we found out that the exit polls had been wrong and Fico had won. 

— I remember the morning after the elections. I also remember feeling the same way after the presidential elections that had left us hopeless. When Peter Pellegrini won the elections, we knew it was over — the balance had been completely lost.

I remember the absolute sense of hopelessness and the realization that something bad was coming. But even in our worst nightmares, we couldn’t have imagined what actually happened. We couldn’t have imagined how quickly, massively, and systematically they could begin destroying things — like culture, for example. Culture has never interested anyone here; it has always been a completely marginal issue for politicians. And suddenly, for the past year and a half, politicians have talked about nothing else. The scale of the destruction is so great that, when I tried to explain it to foreign journalists or describe it in articles, they didn’t believe me. They couldn’t believe something like this was actually happening.

When I talk to someone abroad or from Ukraine about Slovakia and I mention how incompetent the Minister of Culture is, they can usually relate. Because many countries have gone through something similar. But when I explain that those in charge of cultural funding have no idea what they are doing, don’t understand what art is, that the Minister of Culture is firing the leadership of major institutions in violation of all protocols, appointing people who spread misinformation, or even passing off Monet’s works as her own — it raises a lot of questions. Why are the authorities destroying culture?

— On one hand, it might seem like a coincidence that someone as mean-spirited as Martina Šimkovičová became Minister of Culture. If she weren’t Minister, she would be a nobody, — a failed TV host fired for her racist remarks. But instead, she now enjoys the power that comes with her position. The same applies to others who received top appointments through unfair and unlawful means. Otherwise they too would be nobodies. Take, for example, Niňaj, (the director of the Slovak National Gallery); pani Flach, who now leads BIBIANA, the International House of Art for Children, or Gustáv Murín, the head of the Slovak Literary Center, — there are all relatively unknown figures who would never have attained these positions under normal circumstances. 

Somehow they received those top positions, and I don’t understand how they can enjoy it. Perhaps, they feel like they have accomplished something.

So it’s just a coincidence? 

— Maybe not. Because the cultural community is, in many ways, the loudest and most radical group — ready to stand up for what is right. And we are seeing that. There are many others, in different professions, who are also angry and dissatisfied with the situation, but their voices aren’t heard. Maybe they are more afraid, maybe they lack the tools to communicate effectively, or maybe they just can’t think of any creative forms of protest. But artists can speak out, that’s their job — to create, to shape ideas, to articulate meaning. Their voices are heard, and those who are heard the loudest are the ones that must be silenced. 

Some people broke down, others were simply tired. Many are now facing existential dilemmas: should they stay and work under this leadership or leave? Should they continue supporting a system by working at the Slovak National Gallery under the supervision of a psychopath, or leave and let the projects they've devoted a decade to fall apart. I have a lot of friends who have either quit or chosen to stay. We talk about it constantly. I see their exhaustion and their disappointment. They worry about the gallery’s collections, its funding, and its projects. And this has been going on for a year and a half. 

At the same time, there’s a sense of determination in society. Because you know you’re doing your job well — and you know that there aren’t many people like you. Even if those in power claim these professionals can be replaced, it’s simply not true. There really aren’t that many experts. To work at the Slovak National Gallery, you have to be truly qualified. That’s not to say regional galleries don’t need experts too, but the Slovak National Gallery is a representative institution. I can’t imagine someone leading the National Gallery in Britain without going through a formal selection process or without the broader professional community recognizing their legitimacy.

I think the fact that, right now, some people are acting out of pure malice and vindictiveness also says a lot. These emotions are tied to shifting boundaries — what we’re allowed to do, how we’re allowed to express ourselves in public space. It awakens something in people that usually stays hidden.

I am afraid of even worse scenarios. We have reached a point where the hidden evil in people is rising — simply because it can. It’s happening because politicians are allowing it, even encouraging it. And as long as they keep doing that — by being vulgar, spreading slander, and blackmailing others, — people will follow their lead. 

I was surprised to hear the protesters’ slogans in Slovakia: “Bratislava is Europe, Prešov is Europe” chanted in every town. Every time I hear it, I am taken back to the Ukrainian Maidan. Why did they choose this form of expression? 

— Recently, a Slovak politician declared that it was time to consider leaving the EU and NATO. One of the largest protests took place in response to that statement. This is truly what we fear most. The majority of people in Slovakia do not want a return to russia. And if there are people who do, they’re being manipulated — or they’re clinging to a kind of nostalgia for the past, for a time when they were young and everything seemed easy. But that’s just an illusion. It’s a belief in something that never really existed.

There used to be more people at the protests, but now the numbers are declining. Do you think this is part of a broader pattern? What do you think is causing the drop? 

— It seems like the traditional form of protest — gathering in a square, someone giving a speech while the crowd chants — no longer makes sense. I co-organized a protest in Modra, a small wine-making town near Bratislava, and many people joined us. The winemakers even put down their grape shears to protest. But now, within our team, we're asking ourselves what to do next. Should we organize another protest? I don't think it makes much sense anymore, because those in power simply don't care.

At the same time, protests aren't just about expressing disagreement — they're also about coming together, energizing one another, and reinforcing our conviction that we must keep going.

Right now, we're thinking about what new form protest could take — whether to hold discussions, find ways to bring people together to talk, slow down polarization, and figure out how to resist it in daily life. So for our activist group, the question is: how else can we voice dissent, beyond gathering in the square?

Do you have any ideas?

— Alongside the discussion on polarization we also had a workshop where we explored how to communicate in a divided society, how to handle everyday situations, where families fall apart over different political views, or what to do if you witness an attack on queer people. We also want to organize a community gathering downtown — one long table, where people can come together, talk, share pies and wine and simply spend an evening in each other’s company. 

What can we do with this darkness on a cultural and literary level?

— For instance, when I wrote that article for The Guardian, it caused quite a stir. Many people learned about what was happening. I received offers from other foreign outlets — from Scotland, Denmark and elsewhere. That made me realize how much interest there is in my country, and how concerned people are about the current situation. When a European country, even a small one, changes its political direction, people abroad see it as a threat.

It may seem like we are a small, insignificant country. We really suffer from an inferiority complex. We assume that if democracy is suppressed here, it won’t affect Europe. But I don’t think it’s true — and neither do many Europeans.

We have already seen this in the case of Hungary, which often blocks key decisions during EU votes. If this sets off a domino effect and the situation continues to deteriorate in other European countries, it could signal the unraveling of Europe itself. 

We can continue writing about it. We can look for ways to draw international attention to what’s happening here. And no matter what we are facing, we want the world to see that a strong civil society still exists in Slovakia. I believe our civil society remains vibrant, even in the face of exhaustion. It’s also deeply experienced. 

And that’s another positive sign - people in Slovakia are far from apathetic or manipulated unlike in russia. 

Crisis unites. 

— Yes, crisis unites, strengthens and forges new connections. 

Times of crisis can make you feel like you have lost your voice. It’s often difficult to write during hard moments and to find meaning in what we do. Does writing help you get through these dark times? 

— In the past few years, I’ve shifted my focus and no longer write fiction. Instead, I’ve become more involved in journalism and psychology. This may also be because I work as an editor at a nonfiction publishing house. I also read more nonfiction than fiction these days.

Maybe it’s also because I haven’t found a subject strong enough to dedicate two years to. In my experience, writing a novel takes several years and complete immersion. And right now, I don’t have such a topic. At the same time, I write a lot of essays and journalistic pieces, and that suits me for now. I know that society expects another novel from me, but I don’t feel that need. I can devote more time to nonfiction. I recently wrote a book of interviews about relationships and am working on another one. I feel that this kind of work has practical value.

My book about closeness, relationships, and loneliness has helped many people. I have received a lot of feedback. It makes me feel that my work is meaningful. I feel more drawn to writing non-fiction than fiction. 

There are many writers in Ukraine who have started writing reportage and documenting evidence. 

— Maybe it’s because the stories that we are facing now, real stories, — seem more fictional than anything we could have ever imagined. 

It’s very sad that people in Ukraine know so little about Slovak literature. I have noticed a pattern where we tend to ignore some neighboring countries and this selectiveness deprives us of something. What does Slovak literature mean to you? What can it offer to the world? 

— We did the same in Slovakia. We ignored Ukrainian literature for a long time. We were familiar with some Hungarian writers, some Polish and many Czech ones. 

It’s a paradox that the war has contributed to us now knowing about Andrukhovych, Zhadan, and Slyvynsky. More books have been published, but that’s mostly thanks to Ukraine’s cultural diplomacy. Without grants and donations, it would have been much harder. 

This is the problem with Slovak literature. Slovakia hasn’t yet understood how to promote it or why a cultural diplomacy infrastructure is essential. That infrastructure was never fully developed, and now even the parts that did exist are being dismantled. We are being forced to start from scratch. 

I have a personal experience that made me realize the importance of cultural infrastructure. About 20 years ago, I was on a fellowship in Graz. They provided housing, a stipend, and I lived in a small house in the castle park. I asked people at the Styrian Literature Center why they were doing this — why they invited authors several times a year, took care of them, and expected nothing in return. They told me: 'Because if writers enjoy their time here, they’ll come back.' And that’s exactly what happened. I visited often and stayed in touch with the authors I met there.

Then one day I was at the Department of Slavic Studies in Uzhhorod and saw students sitting in the classroom wearing coats. It was cold, and the classrooms weren’t heated. It was clear that the university had no money and no support. Nearby stood a new Hungarian pavilion. It looked different — modern and spacious. It was obvious that Hungary had invested a lot of money into it. And I said to myself: if I were a student and had to choose between studying the Hungarian language, knowing that there was a new library and that everything operated on a different level, or going into that cold classroom to study Slovak, I would really hesitate. My decision might depend on these practical things. Hungary invests money in cultural institutions in every country. They understand that it makes sense to promote the country through culture. The money invested will eventually pay off.

But Slovakia doesn’t do this. That’s why we have problems with translations and finding publishers. It’s difficult for Slovak literature to gain visibility abroad. This is partly because Slovak is a small language — and that’s a challenge shared by all small languages. But it’s also because the infrastructure simply isn’t in place. There is not a single literary agent or literary agency in Slovakia. I have many translations, yet there is still no one to represent me on the market.

I can see changes in our country. The war — bizarre as it may sound — has accelerated certain processes and sparked interest in our literature, both at home and abroad.

— It helped people understand that culture and literature are fields through which we can fight. For people abroad to feel a connection to a country and want to support it, they first need to know something about it.

And how can you learn anything about a country if you don’t know anyone there, if you have no personal ties to it? Through literature, films, and culture. That’s the only way to get to know another country and build some kind of relationship with it — so that you might later feel compelled to stand up for it.

What is Slovak literature telling us about Slovakia?

That Slovakia is a somehow sad, disillusioned country, full of broken relationships and social problems (laughter)

Slovak literature has only recently begun to explore different genres. 

At the same time, I’m sometimes surprised when I read a well-known international bestseller and ask myself: Really? This is a bestseller? Often, I think we underestimate our own literature. It’s not lagging behind others. We’re just too self-critical.

Which Slovak authors have influenced your writing?

— I’ll admit that for a long time, I didn’t know much about Slovak literature. I have a lot to catch up on. I really started reading Slovak literature when I began meeting authors in person. Foreign literature has had a stronger influence on me.

Ágota Kristóf, for example, changed how I think about what literature can be and what techniques can be used. Before that, I was reading Márquez and more ornamental prose. And then suddenly Ágota Kristóf, with her simplicity and radicalism, was a revelation.

Or Georges Simenon, the French crime writer — he also had an influence on me. I read and collect his detective novels. I like his style. But I started reading Slovak literature once I began meeting Slovak authors and working with them.

That’s very interesting — I think it works a bit differently in Ukrainian literature. For us, it has always been important to be in dialogue with other writers as part of the broader literary process. I also often hear from Slovak writers and critics that Slovak literature lacks something — that it avoids current, serious, or powerful themes. I also constantly hear Slovak literature being criticized in comparison to Czech literature. Do you feel that Slovak literature is missing something?

— I don’t know. When someone tells me that I should write about something, or that I have to do something, I feel like answering…

What for?..

— Exactly, what for! (laughter).

We write about what we consider important for society, or for ourselves personally. I think literature develops in a very organic way, and artificial interventions just don’t work.

Sure, you can apply for a grant and write some feminist literature. By the way, I actually think Slovak literature is quite feminist. But if you start artificially inflating certain topics, you just end up with artificial works. In my opinion, that doesn’t make any sense.

Let everybody write about what they like and think is important to them.

You have mentioned feminist literature; please, tell me more about it. 

— For me, this is an interesting phenomenon — female writers in Slovakia. Authors not only in literature but also in music, visual arts, and cinema. I started noticing this in recent years. The results of competitions show this — there have been many women lately.

And I think this is amazing. They have to fight. Women have it much harder because they constantly have to defend themselves, but they do their work, and their results are impressive.

At the same time, it seems that the guys and men are a bit confused.

What is this related to?

— We have to work much harder. I feel like we are constantly defending ourselves. When there is something to fight for, when there is a clear goal, both the content and form become better.

I think women and girls, paradoxically, are in a better position because it’s easier for us to explain what we are fighting for and what kind of life we want to live. Because we have something to push against. But the guys and men seem a bit disoriented. They can't understand their role in the modern world, what their identity is, what society demands from them, and what they should be.

Meanwhile, women have a clear idea about it. Around me, there are amazing women, and I am astonished by what they achieve, how educated they are, how goal-oriented, creative they are. They even manage to raise children and work. Men can't keep up with them. And if these are men who were raised with the narrative that they must be aggressive, strong, not cry, not show emotions or vulnerability, they cannot be real. They don’t allow themselves to be themselves.

I think this is exactly what leads to the rise of incels and men like Andrew Tate. The position of a man today is very unstable. What used to be clear — what a man should be, what his role is in life and in the family — has collapsed.

And returning to the political situation, all these white, confident men in leadership positions are actually not as confident as they seem. They are forcibly proving their own confusion. This is the need to manifest themselves somehow and solidify their position through force and violence at the expense of women. I think all of this is very interconnected. If there were more women in politics and more mature personalities who are not fixated on their failed, unhappy lives and relationships, the world would be a much better place.

Yes, I think about it often too. In our cultural center in Slovakia, women mostly apply for artistic residencies as well. And if you look at the main awards — the national prize for the best prose book, Anasoft Litera, was won by Ivana Ďibová, and the national poetry prize, Zlatá vlna, went to Míla Haugová. In recent years, these awards have also been predominantly won by women.

— Just look at the stands at protests. Previously, only men were on the stages, and a woman could only sing a song. But now, women dominate the stands and the organization of protests.

These voices are so strong, so consistent, and confident. This can be quite confusing for many men.

After the full-scale invasion began, Slovak writer Marek Vadas wrote a column for the independent publication Denník N, emphasizing that there are no Ukrainian books in Slovakia and that this should change. After that, you and your colleagues at the NPress publishing house launched a fundraising campaign for the translation of Ukrainian books. Since then, the publisher has published several novels. Other publishers also started to show interest in Ukrainian literature and began publishing it. For example, Dajama. Previously, they only published books about tourism, and suddenly they launched a series of books about Ukraine. Do you feel that awareness of Ukrainian literature is growing in society?

— Definitely. Publishing Ukrainian books was a rational and natural decision. It’s another way to help, support, and express an opinion. If you know someone well, you won’t hurt them. When you know your neighbors, you're less likely to harm them. We can learn about Ukraine through literature or through art.

Soon, "The Fifth Boat" will be published in Ukrainian by the "Komora" publishing house. It’s the story of a girl who kidnaps two twins, believing she is saving them. The main character spends her childhood in difficult social conditions: her mother is an alcoholic, no one cares for her, and she is forced to learn everything on her own. It is an incredibly successful novel. A play based on the novel has been staged in Slovak theaters. A film was made based on it, which won awards and achieved success at international festivals. The book received the prestigious Slovak award Anasoft Litera, and it was shortlisted for the Angelus award and the prestigious EBRD Literature Prize. Translations also received nominations. How do you explain the success of the book?

— I explain it by saying that the story in the book could happen anywhere. This was confirmed when the first translations came out and I traveled around Europe for discussions. We talked about how parents perceive children, about how children can be strong, but adults often underestimate them: how resilient children are, and how differently they view certain situations. So, this theme resonates everywhere. Because we all were children. Some of us are parents. Or we are both parents and children at the same time. These situations are familiar to us. Or at least we know of children who were in similar situations.

So this theme is in tune with most people. This is how I explain its success.

At the same time, I think it is an unexpected and appealing story. And perhaps this is what Slovak literature somewhat lacks — stories. Here, many books are written in the form of a narrative without a plot. But this is a story that has a beginning, an end, and a certain dynamic. I think this worked.

Yes, with this book, you raise a very important issue, not just for Slovak society, but on an international level. The book was published in 2010. Do you feel that society is changing?

— I think so. I feel these changes from the perspective of being a mother. I notice more and more parents who are getting parenting education. They want to be different parents than their own were. I also feel these changes as an editor working in publishing.

I observe what books are being published and sold. Books on parenting, psychology, and self-education are very popular. People want to be better, more mature, and they want to live a better life.

The topic of children and growing up in Ukraine is more relevant than ever. You reflect on childhood, not idealizing it. Sometimes, it can be very traumatic, and it’s not necessarily a period of complete happiness and joy. What can we, as a society, do to better understand children?

— We need education. I think that already in elementary school, or even in kindergarten, we should teach children basic psychological and social skills. I am currently working on a book about childhood. While working with psychologist Jan Hrustič on my previous book about intimacy, loneliness, and relationships, we constantly encountered the fact that the root of problems in adulthood always lies in childhood. How a person is in adulthood, how they react, how they set boundaries, how mature they are, and what their self-esteem is — all of this is laid down in childhood. I just finished a part where we talk about emotional intimacy. These are the cornerstones that are laid in the first months of life. If a child doesn’t feel safe in the first months of life, it can have consequences in adulthood. It seems to me that many people don’t know this. Even when I was a young mother, I didn’t know it at all. And although I didn’t make any major mistakes, if I had known about all these mechanisms and physiological processes involved in brain development and relationship formation, I would have acted differently. And I know that our parents were never taught this, and as for our grandparents, I won’t even mention them. We need to teach parents, children, and youth.

Translated by Anna Petelina