Before visiting the Czech Republic, I knew a little of the country's struggle under Communist rule, but I learnt much from the museum and a few other select sites in Prague.
The Prague Museum of Communism itself is located inside the same building as a casino. When we were following the signs, we couldn't quite believe we had gone the right way. Surely it was some sick joke that we were led there! Yet at the top of the stairs was a small maze of rooms filled with tidbits of information.
As makes sense, the museum kicks off at the very beginning of the Communist takeover after World War II. Huge propaganda campaigns focused on the workers - literally the poster boys of Communism. The museum itself was presented in a very biased manner, which was totally jarring compared to most other museums I've visited. It harkened back to our perusal of the Women's Museum in Vietnam, which was biased in completely the opposite (pro-Communist) direction. Instead of presenting facts in an impartial way, the creators of both museums had written the plaques in heavily emotive language in an attempt to sway readers into believing that the country's history had been a simple narrative of good versus evil, black and white. In Communist Vietnam I wasn't surprised, yet in Prague I expected more from a so-called museum. However, this in itself was fascinating. The above poster showed a popular style of propaganda in which Nazis were frightened of the powerful worker, while the museum's caption bizzarely argued that in reality this was certainly not the case and workers were some of the least resistant under Hitler's rule. I found it difficult to trust anything the museum presented as 'factual'.
Education in schools focused on teaching Marxism-Leninism, and students could only hope to be accepted to university if they supported the totalitarian regime and came from a working class background.
A new form of art sprung up glorifying - guess who! - the labourer. Called 'Socialist Realism', it was intended to incite feelings of enthusiasm for working towards the good of the country and solidarity with other splendidly working class people.
After watching a disturbingly disjointed film about Communist enforcers beating protesters and even just bystanders, we entered the final stretch of corridor. Here we saw a photograph of Milada Horáková: a politician who was tried for treason against the regime and sentenced to death in 1950. While initially very suspicious of the museum's admiring representation of her, when I researched later I found that her sentence was internationally condemned by notable figures such as Albert Einstein.
Leaving the museum, we followed the road to Wenceslas Square where protests against the regime were often held - students comprised the bulk of the masses. When the Soviet Union felt threatened by Czechoslovakia's growing dissent, they invaded the country in the spring of 1968 - known as the Prague Spring - and regime enforcing troops remained until 1989 when Communism in the country fell. After the Prague Spring, group protests died down, yet the extremity of individual protests reached a crescendo when nineteen-year-old student Jan Palach set himself on fire.
He died a couple of days later, and it is said that his dying words were for others not to follow in his footsteps, but to live and continue fighting (the validity of this is questionable). His death mask is displayed by the Philosophy faculty of Charles University where he studied, across from a square named in his honour. Whether those parting words were uttered by Palach or not, one month after his death Jan Zajíc (another student) self-immolated at almost the same spot on Wenceslas Square. Both are remembered with a plaque at the site, which was covered in flowers during our visit. I got the notion that flowers are not an unusual sight there, and the two Jans are celebrated year round.
On the twentieth anniversary of Palach's death, a week-long series of protests were held. It's believed that 'Palach Week' set the cogs turning for the Velvet Revolution ten months later. Again it was students who took to the square demanding an end to Communism in Prague, and the government finally delivered. This comparatively peaceful end is what earned the revolution the title of 'velvet'.
While strolling the city, we took a gander at a memorial to all victims of Communism, depicting a man fading away until nothing but one bronze foot remains. I felt that the artist conveyed vulnerability very well.
In the 1980's a student painted the face of John Lennon on a previously blank wall in Mala Strana, and set off a movement called 'Lennonism' to stand in stark contrast to Leninism. Grievances about the Communist regime would be written on the wall, which was frequently whitewashed by the authorities. To this day it displays stencils of Lennon's face and all kinds of feel-good messages. While it's supposed to convey a place where peace and love prevails, we witnessed a girl spraypainting the initialism of her university on it. I'm not sure how that at all relates. There were also dozens of visitors taking selfies, which as an onlooker will never fail to amuse me. One brilliant guy had arranged lights and a light reflector so he could take professional photos for tourists - he must be making a fortune! Now all the Lennon Wall needs is a stall selling marked up spray paints next to it, and a niche in the market will be filled. If I ever move to Prague, this is how I'll be spending my weekend, and I'm sure watching a steady stream of tourists frozen in ever more hilarious poses will make me love my job.
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