Ethical cruelty-free approach

Interview with Adela Knapova

Adéla has been my friend for several years. We met at my home in Roztoky when she came to interview me for Reflex magazine. Our first encounter actually happened in the front garden. Thao was taking photos of me among the roses; I was beaming, and Adéla marched in with the expression of a brisk professional who couldn’t wait to be somewhere else doing something 'real.' Her look said: 'Alright, dear model, I’m here—don't dawdle, let’s get this over with.' I enjoyed watching her; I was curious to see what would happen once I managed to soften her up.

Adéla spent many years married in Moravia, with roots split between the Wallachia and Haná regions. She loves to bake and cook—and does it brilliantly—always dining from 'Bernadotte' porcelain decorated with forget-me-nots. She spends a large part of the year by the sea in Greece, where she types up reports on her laptop but, more importantly, writes her books and stories by hand in notebooks.

She showed me that journalism in our country can still be done with raw honesty and true grit. When she wrote about ice swimming, she eventually waded into the river herself, surrounded by snow—and even let herself be photographed in her swimsuit. That takes a special kind of courage. When the war in Ukraine broke out, she got into her car and drove 'there' to report. Shortly after, she wrote a novel as a bonus: Cowardly Notes from the Ukrainian War. It’s a beautiful, somber book, as vivid as a sketchbook and filled with truth. Adéla says that fiction allows her to write even more of the truth; in the book, her dog Bertička has only three legs. I feel for the fictional Bertička, but I’m glad that in reality, she still has all four.

Adéla’s strength and feminine delicacy combine into what I call true beauty. Inside and out.

Zuzana: "Adéla, does it amuse you that I’m the one interviewing you for once? You’re a pro, and I know you probably want to rephrase every single one of my sentences, but please, bear with me today and just answer. I overheard how you described me during the filming of the documentary, and I must admit, much of it was new to me. I don’t think friends often get the chance to say such things to one another, and it gives a person a fascinating perspective on themselves.

How do you think we—your friends—perceive you, versus people who only see you from a distance? Is there supposed to be a difference?"

Adéla: "That’s hard for me to judge. But I think those of you who know me better than just casual acquaintances or colleagues know that I’m not as assertive, overconfident, or even arrogant as I can sometimes appear. It’s my defense mechanism. It allows me to maintain a distance, especially in my work, which can be extremely mentally draining and hurtful.

It's a shield—not just against people who use social media to launch nasty, personal attacks over my articles and opinions, but also against the emotions and situations where I witness the unbearable suffering of another living being (whether human or animal) and I simply cannot help them directly. Often, there are hundreds or thousands in that situation all at once. For journalism, I consider this 'armor' to be essential. So, yes, I believe there should be a difference in how I am perceived.

Zuzana: "Would you describe yourself as sensitive?"

Adéla: "I suppose so. I might even say I’m hypersensitive. Ever since I was a child, I’ve found it difficult to witness someone being hurt, or experiencing injustice or wrongdoing. I took it—and unfortunately, I still do, as I haven't quite learned how to manage it yet—very personally."

Zuzana: "What is beauty to you, and when do you experience it?"

Adéla: "It’s usually linked to a sense of wonder and being moved. And a feeling of 'goodness,' even if that goodness is sometimes buried under layers of filth or horror. Most often, it’s a visual sensation. It can be something tiny, like the way a glass frosts over. Or, conversely, the presence of powerful art. Paintings, sculptures, buildings, and natural monuments move me the most; to my regret, I am not a particularly auditory person.

But beauty to me is also when I’m swimming in the sea all alone at six in the morning, with fish darting beneath the surface around me, and then I emerge just as the sun begins to rise over my head. In those moments, I feel like an insignificant part of that beauty. Whenever I realize this, I feel profound gratitude."

Zuzana: "You told me you’ve been writing since childhood, and even before that, you were telling stories to your family. Do you remember what those stories were like? Did you have a favorite genre? Were they serialized? And your listeners—were they captivated?"

Adéla: "I don’t remember the specific stories or the genre. I used to think I was just rambling, but seeing that not only other children but also adults were visibly entertained, I realized quite early on that words have the power to enchant people—and to make me someone of interest. When I told stories, everyone took notice of me. That was perhaps the most vital discovery of my childhood and youth.

My grandfather thought I’d be an actress, but I only told stories because I hadn’t yet learned to write well enough. During the summers we spent at our cottage in the Beskydy Mountains, I also loved walking through the woods alone, telling stories to myself. But once a story was told, I never wrote it down. As far as I recall, they weren't serialized—with the exception of a comic strip in primary school back during the old regime. I came up with the stories and wrote the dialogue, and my classmate Marcela drew the pictures. They weren't superheroes, though; I think it was something from the kingdom of insects.

Zuzana: "When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer? Which of your career dreams have already come true, and what dreams do you still have?"

Adéla: "I always knew I wanted to be either a writer, a journalist, or a painter. I was always quite good at drawing and painting, and I enjoyed it. But I loved reading even more—I was practically obsessed with it. However, I soon realized that growing up in a home without an artist in sight, I couldn't expect much support. So, somewhat cowardly, I took the path of least resistance. I didn’t apply to the Academy of Fine Arts or study Philosophy, which I considered the best training for a future novelist; instead, I became a journalist. Even though I published my first book very early on, I was so disappointed by how it was handled and the state in which it was released that I never wanted to write again.

If I hadn't met the poet Viola Fischerová more than ten years later, I might have remained 'just' a journalist. Viola read a portion of my novella, The Impossibility of Zero, and told me she hadn't read anything so wonderful in years. She pushed me straight toward the Fra publishing house and Erik Lukavský. Thanks to these two people, I returned to what I love most: telling stories.

My big dream is to be able to write only books. And alongside that, to occasionally help the ONE HEART Foundation, which I established this year. My newest dream is for it to be run by a group of people who, like me, want to improve the lives of billions of unnecessarily tortured animals—people who won't need me all that much for the day-to-day work. I’ll just be the one who brought them together around our shared vision."

Zuzana: "I read your report on Czech industrial farming in Reflex magazine, and although I’ve been interested in these topics for a long time, I had no idea the reality here was still so brutal! Aside from writing, your activity with the foundation is now equally prominent. Tell me about your interest in animals and your lifestyle—you discovered this side of yourself as a child too, didn't you?"

Adéla: "I never understood why we make a distinction between humans and animals. Why our pain and our lives matter, but theirs do not. Honestly, I still don't understand it. From a young age, I tried to avoid eating meat, which wasn't easy back then. My family certainly had their hands full with me! For a long time, I couldn't even explain why meat repulsed me. In my childhood, there was no internet, and getting information about animal testing or factory farming was nearly impossible.

But gradually, the information caught up with me, and I continuously changed my behavior, including my shopping habits. I can’t remember the last time I bought anything—from cosmetics to household cleaners—that wasn't cruelty-free. I even pester pharmacists about it when I'm sick. For me, it’s a continuous, natural journey.

About four years ago, during my frequent drives across Europe to Greece, I reached my breaking point. I could no longer stand the sight of the 'death transports'—the trucks carrying animals from Western Europe to the Balkans and Turkey. Seeing those suffering creatures on the highways made me collapse inside; I felt ashamed of our so-called 'advanced' civilization. None of our ancestors treated animals—who are guilty of nothing more than not being human—this cruelly. I then consciously visited industrial farms and discovered another hell that we all participate in but pretend doesn't exist. When you know about horrors that can be stopped or mitigated because they are unnecessary, you have to act. I felt I had no moral choice but to dive in. That’s how the ONE HEART Foundation was born."

Zuzana: "You’ve been wearing Tradice for several years, and this year you became the face of our pilot wool collection. To me, this is exactly the ideal I’ve long imagined. The connection works perfectly. When I saw the photos by Lucie Robinson, everything just clicked. I am truly proud and grateful for this moment in Tradice. Thank you so much."

Adéla: "Of course, food and cosmetics aren't the only areas where animals are treated as objects or resources. Another major area is clothing. I’m gradually replacing old items—some of which might contain leather—with new ones made from eco-leather. (Though I must say, I’ve had my winter leather boots for fifteen years and I’m still wearing them; that’s my definition of sustainability—using things until they fall apart).

Thanks to you and Tradice, I realized why I’ve always felt so comfortable in materials like hemp, cotton, and linen. I also know that you strive for locality and sustainability, which is directly linked to how we treat the land and, by extension, animals. It was natural for me to start wearing your pieces. And I’m especially happy about your pilot wool products. They are Czech, beautiful, and traditionally—meaning sustainably—made. Most importantly, I know that the sheep providing the wool are well-cared for and were treated with respect during shearing. That is essential to me.