The Velvet Re-creation

There is a saying here in the Czech Republic, that Communism took seven years to end in Poland, seven weeks in Germany, but here, it only took seven days. The beginning of those seven days was November 17th, 1989. That date marks the day a student march from the Charles University faculty on Albertov, swelling to thousands by the time it marched up the Vltava to Narodni Street on its way to Wenceslas Square, was brutally disbanded by armed police. The demonstration provoked such a huge response from the Czech people that within seven days, the entire Communist leadership had resigned. The saying is of course, misleading, as the Communist state was not fully dismantled for some time, but November 17th remains a seminal day in Czech history, and is now a national holiday, marking the beginning of the Velvet Revolution.
This past Tuesday, the 20th anniversary of that fateful day, the march was recreated, with thousands participating. I was among them for part of the way. Comparing it to marches and parades in the US is nearly impossible. In America there is always a lot of shouting, a lot of singing, and a lot of police presence. There was all of this during this parade, taking place slowly but surely as the sun set and we approached Narodni Trida, where a stage was set up for performers such as The Monkeys, the most popular modern Czech band. However, much was oddly subdued. In some places it was almost as if there was just a large crowd walking from the football stadium to the parking lots after a game. In others, young children gleefully held up signs referring to events they were to young to remember, or modern issues they were too small to understand. There were elderly people marching with their crutches, supported by their younger relatives, many of whom remember Communism only as a mild discomfort from childhood. There were no spectators. The parade route was not marked off by police barriers, banners, or balloons, but everyone knew where to go.
It wasn’t the drunken revelry of St. Patrick’s Day, the family-oriented event of Thanksgiving, or the patriotic, chaotic, togetherness of the 4th of July. It was a little bit of all of these things, true, and as we marched, we felt part of something bigger than us. But it was also a very isolated and isolating phenomenon. Strangers weren’t hugging each other or laughing with each other, singing patriotic songs, or crying. Many held candles, faces calm and contemplative, not speaking, as if they marched in a memorial procession, not in a celebration of freedom. In a way, I suppose they were marching in memorial. They were marching in remembrance of freedom from an oppressive, severely damaging regime, and the wounds are not yet healed. American holidays aren’t bittersweet. They are either bitter or sweet, and very few are bitter. But the rich dark chocolate of that night among thousands gathered in celebrative memorial was the only way to truly taste the Velvet Revolution.