The beginning of the end

Tomorrow, the Czech Republic celebrates one of the most significant and stunning days in its history -- the anniversary of the students' march that led to the end of the Communist era. It began with police abusing a suddenly emboldened populace and concluded 11 days later with the announcement that The Party would no longer be in power.

First, the backdrop as the sun rose on November 17, 1989. Mikhail Gorbachev had implemented his openness and reconstruction policies in the Soviet Union by the summer of 1988. Poland had formed a non-communist government in September 1989, and Hungary had followed suit a month later. On November 9, the Berlin Wall had fallen. And in Czechoslovakia ... nothing yet. There's a reason for this, as outlined in a diary written by someone who was 16 at the time:

If you got caught [demonstrating against the government], you might have been beaten, arrested for days without any trial, and afterwards you might have been deprived of your possibility to study - high school and higher, to work in any but the worst of jobs, to travel out of the country, even to walk free. Not just you, but your entire family could face that fate; all that was needed was just one small mistake on your part. So any anti-government activity was a high-risk business and something you wouldn't dare to even talk about to all but close friends; so ordinary people were very scared and very obedient. Perhaps more than in the rest of the communist bloc. The sudden raise of personal and national courage during the 11/17 and afterwards was totally unexpected... and totally euphoric.

The revolution started with a parade to commemorate International Students' Day, which was meant to memorialize students murdered by the Nazis in 1939. One of them, Jan Opletal, died on November 11 from gunshot wounds to the stomach. Nine others were murdered and 1,200 were whisked away to concentration camps on the 17th; the march that would mark the beginning of the Velvet Revolution was meant to mark the 50th anniversary.

By mid-afternoon, the marchers became emboldened. There were roughly 15,000 protesters, and they were on their way to Wenceslas Sqaure until the police decided to step in rather forcefully on National Avenue. According to witnesses, the police (or "white-heads" as they were derisively called) beat protesters with sticks and kicked them, and it didn't matter if the victims were standing or sitting, defiantly staying or running away, male or female, adults or children. People bled or turned pale. And then the paratroopers and tanks came in. Contrary to a rumor that started, nobody died, but the police action lit a fire that swiftly rallied the masses and led to the downfall of the Communist government.

Students and theaters began striking on the 20th; quite simply, the students refused to study and the actors refused to perform. Slowly, the voices of dissent became bolder. Here's what one European native saw on TV when he visited his friends in Czechoslovakia several days after the initial march:

All regular programming had been cancelled and there were only interviews, live reports and speeches. All censorship had been dropped. Journalists reported about anything, said anything, gave a forum to anybody. I was probably watching the most free television in all of Europa at that moment. Finally it was announced that Vaclav Havel would speak. I was utterly amazed. The man who had all his plays banned, had been jailed, made to earn his living shovelling coal, probably the most stubborn oppositional in this country could speak freely to his compatriots. 

Wenceslas Square couldn't fit all of the protesters, so nearly a million showed up at Letná Plain on the 25th and again on the 26th. A nationwide general strike, in which roughly 80 percent of the population participated, lasted for two hours on the 27th. The next day the Communist Party announced it was relinquishing its power -- a sudden, swift and stunning victory for a country known for its apathy, all in less than two weeks.