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Museum gives human view of communism
Posted August 4, 2004

By JULIE MAJOR
School of Communication
University of Miami

PRAGUE— My introduction to the Museum of Communism came by way of a taxi cab careening down Prague’s cobblestone streets. As my cab driver pointed out interesting landmarks, assorted embassies and an alarming number of American fast food joints en route to my rented apartment, I noticed a sign advertising the museum 500 meters down the street.

Visitors learn about the brutal reality of communism through detailed narratives accompanied by photos. The obstructed photo
is of Soviet tanks crashinig through buildings in Prague (Photo by Julie Major).

“Have you been?” I asked my driver, gesturing toward the sign. He chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t have to visit. I lived it,” he replied.

His comment piqued my interest.

As an American, it’s unfathomable to imagine a life lived under a veil of suppression and fear, of secret police, empty grocery shelves and an abject, visceral fear of government and neighbors alike.

I hoped this museum would help put communism into a more real, more human context for me.

A friend and I went in search of the museum, which is sandwiched between a casino and a McDonald’s near Old Town and Wenceslas Square. It’s a strange juxtaposition that a Communism museum would have an American fast food joint and a gambling hall for its neighbors.

The museum delightfully pokes fun at its geographic location on a T-shirt for sale in the gift shop: “Lenin would be rolling in his embalming fluid.”

More than 1,000 objects are on display here, from Russian textbooks and anti-American propaganda posters to statues of Lenin and Marx. The promotional brochure explains the museum’s layout in three segments: the dream, the reality and the nightmare.

A Communist-era classroom display (Photo by Julie Major).

Once inside the museum, however, these divisions become blurred.

The exhibit of a Communist school room seemed eerily reminiscent of Madeline D’Engle’s description of identically dressed children bouncing balls simultaneously in her novel, “A Wrinkle in Time,” while the reproduction of an interrogation room and its ghastly purpose was disturbing.

The exhibits of an empty grocery store, a worker’s bench and a plywood replica of the Berlin Wall, however, fell flat in their attempts to put the human context into perspective.

The museum did feature one lone poster dedicated to Jan Palach, a 20-year-old Czech college student who committed self-immolation in Wenceslas Square in 1969 as a protest against the Soviet occupation of Czechoslovakia the year before.

His act of defiance so moved the Czech people that 500,000 gathered in the square for Palach’s memorial service, although they were strictly forbidden to do so by the Communist government.

Palach’s moving legacy notwithstanding, it became clear to me that the full human context I was looking for wasn’t going to be found in this museum.

Instead, it was a chance meeting with a stranger that gave me the personal perspective I sought. Stopping inside Paneria, a Czech bakery, near my tram stop, I saw a woman who clearly looked out of place in Prague. With her olive skin, wavy black hair and decidedly Hispanic style of dress, she garnered a few unwelcome glances from two Czech men.

The museum has recreated a 1950s era workshop, complete with
propaganda posters (Photo by Julie Major).

Avoiding them, she instead sat next to me at the counter by the window and said simply, “You always have to be careful.”

I asked what she meant exactly, and so she introduced herself by way of explanation.

Maria Ardova is Venezuelan by birth and now a Czech citizen.

She moved to Prague in 1991, not long after the Velvet Revolution in 1989. She first came to Prague because her father was Czech.

She’s stayed because of her business in rental properties, but has long harbored doubts about the Czech culture.

“My culture has always been very friendly and warm, and to come here it was an incredible adjustment,” she said. It’s an adjustment she’s still making, nearly 14 years later. She finds it difficult to establish close friendships with Czechs, whom she feels are envious of others who have worked hard to earn more.

In the Communist era, she explained, working harder made no difference to the individual worker’s bottom line. That’s obviously not the case today, but Ardova thinks many Czechs are slow to respond to that notion.

“Trust is difficult for them, the envy is difficult for them,” she said. “I know people here who were imprisoned, who were interrogated. After you go through that, why would you want to trust anyone again?

Communist Party posters from the 1950s (Photo by Julie Major).

“The Czech people are not open initially, but I think they are once you get to know them,” she added. “It is understandable. For generations all they knew was a deep distrust for everyone. Are your neighbors going to inform on you? Are you being suspected of something? Are you being watched?”

Together we watched for a while as people filtered in and out of the pastry shop. I wondered if these people still had the instrinct that they were being observed.

For Ardova, what she found most fascinating was how much Prague and the Czech Republic had changed since 1989– and how little the people had changed.

"[Czech President] Václav Havel said it would take at least two generations for the memories of Communism to fade away from the Czech consciousness,” Ardova said.

“From what I’ve experienced, I think it will take many more than that.”

We spoke for close to an hour, until she had to leave for a lunch meeting. I thanked her and watched my No. 9 tram sail past without me on it. Yet I had no worries; another would be by. I was going back to the museum with a newfound perspective.

For more information about communism, the Communist era in the Czech Republic, and the Museum of Communism, see Asha Anderson's article.


 

If You Go:

Directions: The museum is located at Na Prikope 10. Just look for the entrance between the McDonald’s and the casino and you’re there.

Statues and art collected from the communist era (Photo by
Julie Major).

Hours: The museum is open from 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. daily.

Admission: Tickets are 180 kc (about $7) for adults and 140 kc for students.

Gift Shop: The gift shop, occupying the front counter and entrance hallway, offers books on Communism, along with post cards, T-shirts, ball caps, posters and commemorative pins.

Tip: For just 5 kc, pick up a box of matches as a souvenir. Choose from the nesting doll with her face twisted into a menacing growl or a teddy bear holding a Russian Kalashnikov rifle.

Online: Visit http://www.museumofcommunism.com for additional information about the museum. For more information about communism, communism in the Czech Republic, and the Museum of Communism, see Asha Anderson's article.