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The senator had only one argument in his favor： his feeling。 When the heart speaks； the mind finds it indecent to object。 In the realm of kitsch； the dictatorship of the heart reigns supreme。
The feeling induced by kitsch must be a kind the multitudes can share。 Kitsch may not； therefore； depend on an unusual situation； it must derive from the basic images people have engraved in their memories： the ungrateful daughter； the neglected father； children running on the grass； the motherland betrayed； first love。
Kitsch causes two tears to flow in quick succession。 The first tear says： How nice to see children running on the grass！
The second tear says： How nice to be moved； together with all mankind； by children running on the grass！
It is the second tear that makes kitsch kitsch。
The brotherhood of man on earth will be possible only on a base of kitsch。
9
And no one knows this better than politicians。 Whenever a camera is in the offing； they immediately run to the nearest child； lift it in the air； kiss it on the cheek。 Kitsch is the aesthetic ideal of all politicians and all political parties and movements。
Those of us who live in a society where various political tendencies exist side by side and competing influences cancel or limit one another can manage more or less to escape the kitsch inquisition： the individual can preserve his individuality； the artist can create unusual works。 But whenever a single political movement corners power； we find ourselves in the realm of totalitarian kitsch。
When I say totalitarian； what I mean is that everything that infringes on kitsch must be banished for life： every display of individualism （because a deviation from the collective is a spit in the eye of the smiling brotherhood）； every doubt （because anyone who starts doubting details will end by doubting life itself）； all irony （because in the realm of kitsch everything must be taken quite seriously）； and the mother who abandons her family or the man who prefers men to women； thereby calling into question the holy decree Be fruitful and multiply。
In this light； we can regard the gulag as a septic tank used by totalitarian kitsch to dispose of its refuse。
10
The decade immediately following the Second World War was a time of the most horrible Stalinist terror。 It was the time when Tereza's father was arrested on some piddling charge and ten…year…old Tereza was thrown out of their flat。 It was also the time when twenty…year…old Sabina was studying at the Academy of Fine Arts。 There； her professor of Marxism expounded on the following theory of socialist art： Soviet society had made such progress that the basic conflict was no longer between good and evil but between good and better。 So shit （that is； whatever is essentially unacceptable） could exist only on the other side （in America； for instance）； and only from there； from the outside； as something alien （a spy； for instance）； could it penetrate the world of good and better。
And in fact； Soviet films； which flooded the cinemas of all Communist countries in that crudest of times； were saturated with incredible innocence and chastity。 The greatest conflict that could occur between two Russians was a lovers' misunderstanding： he thought she no longer loved him； she thought he no longer loved her。 But in the final scene they would fall into each other's arms； tears of happiness trickling down their cheeks。
The current conventional interpretation of these films is this： that they showed the Communist ideal； whereas Communist reality was worse。
Sabina always rebelled against that interpretation。 Whenever she imagined the world of Soviet kitsch becoming a reality； she felt a shiver run down her back。 She would unhesitatingly prefer life in a real Communist regime with all its persecution and meat queues。 Life in the real Communist world was still livable。 In the world of the Communist ideal made real； in that world of grinning idiots； she would have nothing to say； she would die of horror within a week。
The feeling Soviet kitsch evoked in Sabina strikes me as very much like the horror Tereza experienced in her dream of being marched around a swimming pool with a group of naked women and forced to sing cheerful songs with them while corpses floated just below the surface of the pool。 Tereza could not address a single question； a single word； to any of the women； the only response she would have got was the next stanza of the current song。 She could not even give any of them a secret wink； they would immediately have pointed her out to the man standing in the basket above the pool； and he would have shot her dead。
Tereza's dream reveals the true function of kitsch： kitsch is a folding screen set up to curtain off death。
11
In the realm of totalitarian kitsch； all answers are given in advance and preclude any questions。 It follows； then； that the true opponent of totalitarian kitsch is the person who asks questions。 A question is like a knife that slices through the stage backdrop and gives us a look at what lies hidden behind it。 In fact； that was exactly how Sabina had explained the meaning of her paintings to Tereza： on the surface； an intelligible lie； underneath； the unintelligible truth showing through。
But the people who struggle against what we call totalitarian regimes cannot function with queries and doubts。 They； too； need certainties and simple truths to make the multitudes understand； to provoke collective tears。
Sabina had once had an exhibit that was organized by a political organization in Germany。 When she picked up the catalogue； the first thing she saw was a picture of herself with a drawing of barbed wire superimposed on it。 Inside she found a biography that read like the life of a saint or martyr： she had suffered； struggled against injustice； been forced to abandon her bleeding homeland； yet was carrying on the struggle。 Her paintings are a struggle for happiness was the final sentence。
She protested； but they did not understand her。
Do you mean that modern art isn't persecuted under Communism？
My enemy is kitsch； not Communism！ she replied； infuriated。
From that time on； she began to insert mystifications in her biography； and by the time she got to America she even managed to hide the fact that she was Czech。 It was all merely a desperate attempt to escape the kitsch that people wanted to make of her life。
12
She stood in front of her easel with a half…finished canvas on it； the old man in the armchair behind her observing every stroke of her brush。
It's time we went home； he said at last with a glance at his watch。
She laid down her palette and went into the bathroom to wash。 The old man raised himself out of the armchair and reached for his cane； which was leaning against a table。 The door of the studio led directly out to the lawn。 It was growing dark。 Fifty feet away was a white clapboard house。 The ground…floor windows were lit。 Sabina was moved by the two windows shining out into the dying day。
All her life she had proclaimed kitsch her enemy。 But hadn't she in fact been carrying it with her？ Her kitsch was her image of home； all peace； quiet； and harmony； and ruled by a loving mother and wise father。 It was an image that took shape with