Thirty-three years after I stood transfixed before a photograph of Russian tanks moving into the streets of Budapest, quelling the popular uprising there with determined brutality, true revolution and an overthrow of communist government came to Czechoslovakia.
British historian and political writer Timothy Garton Ash, noting the series of revolutions cascading through Eastern Europe in 1989, reminds us that “in Poland the transition [from communism to democracy] lasted ten years, in Hungary ten months, and in Czechoslovakia ten days”. Those ten event-filled days between November 17th and 27th, known to Czechs as the “Velvet Revolution” and to Slovaks as the ”Gentle Revolution”, were in fact a remarkable, non-violent resistance whose effects reverberated throughout the world and still are celebrated today.
Reflecting on those events in an article written for the New York Review of Books, Ash said,
In the autumn of 1989, the term “velvet revolution” was coined to describe a peaceful, theatrical, negotiated regime change in a small Central European state that no longer exists. So far as I have been able to establish, the phrase was first used by Western journalists and subsequently taken up by Václav Havel and other Czech and Slovak opposition leaders. This seductive label was then applied retrospectively by writers, including myself, to the cumulatively epochal events that had unfolded in Poland, Hungary, and East Germany, as “the velvet revolutions of 1989.”
From a certain perspective, the most interesting word in Ash’s description of events is “theatrical”. Certainly there’s no suggestion that the popular uprising was staged, but there’s also no question it was dramatic. Marketa Hancova, Dean of Education at Platt College in San Diego, California, was present during those ten days of transformation and has published an account of events that is both intensely personal and extraordinarily detailed.
…It is late at night and I cannot sleep. And who can? The telephone is ringing, the radio is on, people are stopping by, so my friend and I are going out at four in the morning to buy a newspaper. Prague is bubbling, steaming, the city is in a frenzy and people delirious with certainty of victory, by their strength and by the historical moment we all feel palpably burning under our skin. The air smells sweet, and you can drink and eat for free. Everyone is sharing, everyone is offering, everything is open twenty four hours a day.
Revolution does not know night or day. It is one big day that ends with achieving our goal. I am tasting the life in paradise. If nothing else, these incredible moments have already made up for the years under the communists’ despotism. The sense of giving and sharing offers me a rare opportunity to experience the uniqueness of human closeness.
Day three… The crowd is bigger. We are in the main square again, and the Communist vice-president is trying to deliver a speech. All of a sudden I hear a key chiming. Everybody pulls out their keys and we are all chiming above our heads. The whole of Prague is chiming and the politician cannot finish his address. We sing instead the Czech national songs…
To see and hear the “chiming” recorded on November 25, 1989 in Wenceslas Square as citizens ring their bell-like keys in a final, dismissive gesture to the communist regime is to appreciate the significance of The Key Sculpture (Klícová socha) by Czech artist Jiří David. Formally installed on March 9, 2010 in Franz Kafka Square, Prague, its 85,741 metal keys pay tribute to the courage and intransience of pro-democratic demonstrators, the vision of leaders like Vaclav Havel and the unexpected power of a million jangling keys when Češi udělali revoluci – the Czechs made a revolution.
Jiří David’s Key Sculpture Spells the Word “revoluci” – Revolution
Even as Czech citizens were singing in the streets of Prague, The Estonian Singing Revolution was doing its part to help secure democracy in Eastern Europe. Incorporated into the Soviet Union in 1940, Estonia was occupied by Germany and then reannexed by the Soviet Union in 1944. Despite the deportation of tens of thousands of Estonians to Siberia and Central Asia and the forced resettlement of Russians into the country, one aspect of Estonian culture held firm: their festivals of song. The first Festival, held in 1869, was the beginning of a revered tradition. Some festivals, such as that in Tallinn, are held every five years and often draw as many as 25,000 singers.
In 1987, Estonian singing began to serve another purpose. Initially, smaller groups gathered at the Song Festival grounds to sing patriotic songs that had been banned by the Soviets. In the words of participant Artur Talvik,
“We sang all night and everybody went home early in the morning. It was emotionally so strong that the next day there were even more people. The day after, there were even more people. People took out their hidden flags. They had these flags hidden for 50 years and now they took these out and started to wave them.”
For reasons best known to themselves, perhaps, the Soviets ignored the first song gatherings. In response, the people’s courage increased. In June of 1988, 300,000 Estonians gathered at the Tallinn Song Festival Grounds to sing patriotic songs, including the banned Mu isamaa, mu onn ja room (“My Fatherland, My Happiness and Joy”). Ten thousand people singing may be a song festival, but 300,000 people singing and waving flags is a revolution. By September, political leaders were participating in demonstrations and insisting on the restoration of independence. 
In the midst of Estonian singing, alliances were forged and pressures on the Soviets increased. By August 23, 1989, the 50th anniversary of the secretive Molotov-Ribbentrop non-aggression pact between Hitler and Stalin, more than a million Latvians, Lithuanians and Estonians were willing to hold hands to travel ”the Baltic Way“, a human chain stretching 360 miles from the foot of Toompea in Tallinn to the foot of the Gediminas Tower in Vilnius in Lithuania.
Their mutual goal, re-established independence of the Baltic States, was nurtured by national movements in each State - the Popular Front of Estonia (Rahvarinne), the Popular Front of Latvia and the Lithuanian Reform Movement, Sąjūdis. But national movements are, of course, people. Milda Mendeleviciute, eight years old at the time of the demonstration, bends over to look at the camera in the photo below, and provides one reminiscence:
I was less than 8 then, so I can remember very little. As my Mom tells, we went to this small town close to Vilnius, hoping there would not be overcrowded, and we were right (only two cars there on that site when we came): as one may notice in the picture – we had to struggle to reach each others hands. The pictures prove that many children participated in that peaceful demonstration, and we even had time to catch a grasshopper. The pictures are taken by my father and my uncle”.
Milda Mendeleviciute, age 8, travels The Baltic Way
Eventually, the drama and inspiration of events in the Baltic became a film. On December 1, 2006, The Singing Revolution premiered at the Black Nights Film Festival in Tallinn, Estonia. As filmmakers Maureen and James Tusty said, ”We had made the film for the rest of the world, but we could think of no better venue for our international premiere.” A year later the film opened in this country, and The New York Times movie reviewer Matt Seitz invited readers to “imagine the scene in Casablanca in which the French patrons sing La Marseillaise in defiance of the Germans”. ”Multiply its power by a factor of thousands,” he added, ”and you’ve only begun to imagine the force of The Singing Revolution.” Indeed.
Now, after so much success, The Singing Revolution will take another step toward broader recognition as plans are made for its airing on PBS throughout 2011. Those who have watched the film no doubt will do so again, and many who remain unaware of Estonia’s story will be given a new opportunity to experience its power.
While there were differences between the struggles of the Czech people and the experience of those who participated in the Singing Revolution, one thing is clear – revolution never is purely about politics, and freedom never is abstract. Human dignity and freedom are found not in lofty pronouncements, but in the ordinary routines of daily life, the intimacy of personal relationships and the twin joys of creativity and responsibility. In another entry from the journal quoted above, Ms. Hancova speaks of a remarkable first experience of freedom.
There are many events I happily experience and one of the episodes sticks clearly in my mind. We are walking with my friends in the Wenceslas Square and we notice a big crowd in front of a record shop. We come closer and see a small cassette player sitting on a stool and playing a Christmas carol. We are so happy to hear – for the first time in our life – the Christmas carol being played publicly. We are staying for the longest time and together with others listening, singing and enjoying a sliver of already gained freedom.
It’s impossible to imagine a greater irony. Innundated by Christmas carols from the day after Thanksgiving, we hardly hear them. Certain they are meant only to entice us into a “shopping mood”, we grow cynical. Hungry for novelty, we become bored with the comfortable and familiar. And yet, in our lifetime, in Wenceslas Square in Prague, a woman with a name and a history heard a Christmas carol played in public for the first time in her life, and in the company of her friends and compatriots rejoiced in the freedom to listen, to sing and enjoy.
The promise of Czechoslovakia, the promise of the Estonian Singing Revolution - the promise of Christmas - is that when human voices are silenced, the human heart will sing. And should hearts grow cold or weary, unwilling or unable to sing, the further promise is that there are angels abroad in the land, revivifying hearts with the same power that enlivened Czechoslovakia, surged through Estonia and made straight the Baltic Way. Wending through city streets, holding hands across miles of Eastern Europe, perhaps even filling a Canadian food court with a sense of remarkable joy, they offer to us what has been given to others - an opportunity give and to share, and to enjoy a season of singing hearts.
I admit it – I’m one of those people who complain bitterly when the radio stations start playing Christmas carols before Halloween is even over! But from now on, I’ll remember the story of a woman who had never in her lifetime heard them in public.
This was all such an amazing revelation to me, and SO powerful to know. Of course I believe in the power of music – I’ve spent a good part of my life making music in one fashion or another. But I never dreamed that music could move such a political mountain. That is amazing.
Thank you for these very uplifting words.
Becca,
I happened upon an entry about The Singing Revolution roughly a year ago. There was only a brief descriptive paragraph and a wonderful photo of hundreds of singers in native dress, but I was entranced by the story. At the time, I wasn’t entranced enough to read more, so I tucked the link into my files and there it’s been. When I first saw the food court Messiah video, the first thing that came to mind was The Singing Revolution, and I began to reearch.
Finding Marketa Hancova’s journal entries was the link between the two. Like you, I was astonished at the thought of someone living without public Christmas celebrations – but of course they were banned by the Soviets. That in itself is worth thinking about, as our public Christmas trees disappear and “Happy Holidays” replaces “Merry Christmas”.
Quite apart from Christmas, it’s an utterly inspiring story. I’m not sure I’m willing to wait for the PBS series – I think there may be a DVD purchase in my future.
Linda
I wonder how many of us are including the Hallelujah YouTube video in our posts these days, Linda (as I am today). Nothing has hit me smack-dab between my eyes and ears like that in I don’t know how long. It will go around the world several times this holiday season, and rightfully so.
I have stood in Wenceslas Square and have walked the streets of Tallinn in my lifetime. After your post today I will never think of those memories again in the same way. I hope I’ll be able to see the PBS special here in Holland this coming year.
Ginnie,
When I first watched the Hallelujah video, what came to mind was C.S. Lewis’ “Surprised by Joy”. So much of our preparation for Christmas resembles a military campaign – assaults on the malls, culinary battle plans and such. It’s almost impossible to surprise us – but those folks were surprised. Not only that, they were taken out of themselves, obviously moved and bound together by the experience into a cohesive whole – all of which points directly back to the power of the Singing Revolution and that cassette player on a stool in Wenceslas Square.
I love that you’ve been to the Square, and to Tallinn. That helps to personalize the experience for me even more. I spent some time looking at photographs of Wenceslas Square, both in 1989 and today – I can’t get over my astonishment at such a transformation taking place in my lifetime while I knew nothing about it.
And of course, there had to be a short foray into the history of Good King Wesceslas! How utterly, utterly appropriate that Ms. Hancova should have heard her first public carol in “his” square – for one of his actions as King was to restore Christianity. I’ll never sing that song in quite the same way, either. (And I found you a version with windmills!)
Linda
Hi Linda:
Through your words, dancing and singing on my computer screen, I could recreate the stunning events which took place in Eastern Europe in 1989 when the Communist structure came tumbling down like Humpty Dumpty. The dominoes were falling one after another, gently moved by the sound of music.The citizens of Eastern Europe were “tasting the life in paradise” as you mentioned in your post.
On December of 1989 we also recovered our freedom after more than six years of terror under the cruel regime of General Noriega. Our savior was the United States. Yes, 1989 was a year of unbelievable events supported by the strength of hope and dignity of the human race.
Thank you for helping me walk the nostalgic memory lanes again with the enticing sounds of Christmas Carols in the background. Life can be so sweet when you are free.
Thank you Linda, thank you for your velvet words.
Omar.-
Omar,
What an amazement – that 1989 was “your” year, too. It’s a sad but perhaps inevitable fact of life that many of the phrases we hear repeated in the news – like “Panamanian dictator” – are only background noise for our lives, even though they represent harsh realities for others.
To refresh my memory, I visited a CNN synopsis of events surrounding his fall, and discovered something that made me laugh out loud:
Not only was 1989 a year of new freedoms for you, music played a role in Panama, as well! Granted, it was neither so melodious nor inspiring as the singing at Tallinn, but perhaps choosing the right soundtrack is a revolutionary skill, too.
Linda
Simply beautiful. The revolution reminds me of one that started here in India many years back called Chipko Movement (stick-to movement). The person who started it began hugging the trees that were about to be felled. Soon, many people joined him and it became a rage. Human spirit, when used the way it should be, can sing many a song.
Thank you, as always, for another beautifully presented post.
Priya,
Isn’t it amazing how many smaller, hidden revolutions are taking place around the world every day? We should keep our eyes open, for there’s no way to predict what might be happening in our very own neighborhood.
And as you’ve pointed out, we never should be afraid to do what we think is right. There might be someone ready to join us, as the women of the Chipko movement learned. It was fascinating to read about events in your country in the 70s and 80s. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn that many of the so-called “tree huggers” in our country weren’t influenced by your movement, and I simply didn’t know about it.
Thank you for bringing me another wonderful revolution!
Linda
Your recounting makes me realize how deeply I’ve had my head buried in the wetlands here, with our flooding and loss and rebuilding against all odds. I will be watching my PBS station for this film so that I might avail myself of such a gentle revolution.
BW
BW,
Well, now… I’ve seen some of those videos coming out of Bayou Grace after Gustav and Ike, and I’ve seen some of the work done by people after the BP oil spill. There’s a lot of grit, determination and vision there, too – and a willingness to change structures that aren’t either workable or fair. I guess we take our revolutions where – and when – we find them.
Of course, we take our inspiration where we can find it, too, and I swear I’ve watched the 1988 video of the Estonians singing 20 times – enough that the tune follows me around during the day. When I was a wee thing learning to ride a bicycle, my dad would point to my cousin and say, “If he can do it, you can do it.” That’s the way I feel about the Singing Revolution. If they can do it, we can do it.
Linda
I don’t know much about this period or event, Linda — so thanks so much for enlightening me. I have always believed music is tremendously powerful, but oh — to have never heard the Christmas music! We get so caught up in our own worlds, taking things like this for granted. How moving.
jeanie,
And best of all, it looks as though the film will have fairly wide broadcast through PBS – maybe WKAR will carry it! On the film site I linked there’s information about the kind of funding that’s required. As I recall, they already have a significant pledge, and I do hope they’re able to pull it off.
One thing I haven’t seen addressed, although I’m sure there’s plenty of literature, is the process of preserving and transmitting music, stories and traditions in a culture where nearly everything that’s treasured has been banned. Clearly, the family is critical. It’s an interesting area for exploration.
Have a wonderful time on your trip – the thought of someone so organized she can pre-post is stunning to me!
Linda
I was just so moved when I saw that clip of the flash mob singing the Hallelujah Chorus at the Seaway Mall in Welland, Ontario. It brought one thought to my mind… something that we’d been discussing a while back with The Hedgehog book. I think this clip is a good illustration of beauty in the mundane. Listening to the marvellous voices singing and looking at the exhilarating faces of the singers against the lighted menus of the fast food outlets is just surreal. How I wished to be eating there just at that moment! I would certainly never forget such an experience for the rest of my life.
As for ‘The Singing Revolution’, I must watch it when it airs on PBS. But just in case you miss it, it’s also on DVD and Blu-Ray. Singing privately (in the shower) can be simply relaxing, but singing collectively in public has just proven to be powerful indeed. Thanks for such a wonderful and timely post… for Christmas ought to be a time of glorious singing, and unabashedly, in public too.
Arti,
Your Hedgehog reference is absolutely on-target. I’d push it a bit further, though. When I saw the video, I thought first of the sudden overcoming of any sacred/secular divide. Then it occurred to me that we were seeing the delightful dissolution of those silly highbrow/lowbrow distinctions some people love to make. You can’t tell me that as a group the participants in the Houston Symphony Messiah singalong this year will be any more responsive to the music than the food court crowd. One of my favorites is the fellow at 3:24. The expression on his face says it all.
It does seem we’ve substituted a whole lot of listening for the singing we used to do, especially around Christmas. I loved Christmas caroling – some of it was organized (groups going to hospitals and nursing homes) but much of it was spontaneous. Groups of neighbors or kids would say, “Let’s go caroling”, and we did. Like the Estonians, we didn’t need music – we knew all of the songs by heart, and it did our hearts good to sing them.
Linda
Beautiful! Very inspiring!
A wonderful and timely post. It is a reminder that, at any point in time (even when it seems impossible), change is possible. And that ordinary people like us can make a difference.
As we are sometimes overwhelmed by the hopelessness brought about by the circumstances and events that swirl around us, it is also a reminder that despair does not have the last word.
Thank you for sharing this post.
- Matt
Matt,
The world is filled with examples of hope and stories of ordinary people making an incalculable difference. What amazes me most about this story is that I knew nothing about it until quite recently. This isn’t the story of one individual working in a storefront school, after all. We’re talking the fall of totalitarianism.
Of course, the media had events like the fall of the Berlin Wall to focus on, so it probably was inevitable that a “Singing Revolution” in a tiny Eastern bloc country would get short shrift. It’s a good reminder to scan the horizon every now and then, to see what else we might be missing while the media’s focused on Lindsey Lohan’s latest escapade or the royal wedding.
Thanks so much for stopping by – and thanks for doing what you do.
Linda
As I read your beautifully-written post, I could feel my mind bouncing back and forth between two seemingly opposite ideas. One was that future generations all over eastern Europe will be fortunate to be living at a time when freedom is a birthright — so fortunate that many of them will be unaware of it. The other was that millions of people, having endured decades of oppression, got to experience that exquisite stepping-over into liberty, and got to bask in the contrast. Who is luckier, do you think? I can’t decide. But thank you for making me think about it.
Charles,
Being a both/and kind of gal, I’ll not make a pick on the luckier. While the move from bondage to freedom is more obvious, more emotional and more dramatic, life in political and social freedom provides the kind of stability needed for other freedoms to develop: the freedom to learn, to explore, to discover, to create.
There is something I’ve been thinking about a good bit since beginning to write this. Are we so unaware of our own freedom, so accustomed to our birthright, that it could be taken from us because of our laziness and lack of imagination, our unwillingness to learn the lessons of history? I’m not anticipating an “aux barricades” moment any time soon – which is good, because I don’t think I’d have a bit of revolutionary chic in my closet. But I’m paying attention, far more closely than I have in the past.
Linda
Make a joyful noise unto the Lord all ye lands.
I was living in France when all that excitement was going on. With the proximity of the eastern bloc countries to France the news coverage was extensive and much of it broadcast live which held us captive to the television set at Chez Charlie’s Pub. With the ease of travel for E.U. residents throughout western Europe a lot of the regular denizens of Charlie’s took off for Berlin and were there when the wall was torn down. It was heady stuff, indeed.
Richard,
Even though I’ve been there, I keep forgetting how close one European country is to another. Just for fun I did a distance check. From Nice to Berlin was listed as 727 miles. From El Paso to Beaumont? 742 miles. You could walk it, but you’d need a little more than a three-day weekend.
Proximity certainly played a role in your awareness of events that escaped me entirely. On the other hand, we’re pretty darned close to the narco-terrorism overtaking Mexico, but most of us carry on as though it doesn’t exist. I’m sure part of the reason is that we don’t want to acknowledge it, but the nature of “news coverage” has changed, too. The proportion of “real news” to entertainment fluff isn’t what it used to be.
And of course the internet’s made a huge difference, along with 24/7 cable news outlets. Watching events unfold used to be a more social experience. On a much smaller scale, hurricane tracking around here is a good parallel. Every cafe and bar has the tv tuned to the weather channel, and everyone is compelled by the coverage. Of course, in that instance the question isn’t when to run toward the unfolding events, but when to run away.
Linda
Linda – here’s to song! This is beautiful, the picture you included most striking. I looked at every person in the crowd, thought about why they were there. It’s moving. We still and always have that in us.
As for Christmas carols, there’s never been a time when they have NOT lightened my heart, made me smile, brought floods of memories. We are fortunate to have peaceful, free and yes, patriotic moments and memories related to so many of our Christmas carols, including White Christmas and many others.
Listening to the allelujah chorus in the mall (my brother sent it to me at Thanksgiving and the very fact that he sent it brought tears to my eyes – oh, we’re a sentimental family!) made me happy, had me singing along and thrilled that people would do it there, would perform just like that and the crowd would offer an ovation.
You can’t quell the human spirit any more than you can quell its song. It’s so lovely, this combo of creature and song – glad you posted this…of course! Sorry, but it makes me want to hug everyone.
happy holidays!
oh,
There’s never a need to apologize for wanting to hug everyone! Unfortunately, hugs are a little harder to give these days. We’ve turned into such prickly people, walking around like a bunch of porcupines just waiting to take offense at the next sweet thing coming down the road. I am so tired of people who are offended by everything in the world. My Beloved Professor used to describe Captain Ahab as a man with an infinite grudge against the universe. Methinks there are a million Ahabs running loose these days.
I think that’s part of the power of the Hallelujah video. Those singers sneaked up on an entire crowd of oblivious, unrelated people, grabbed their attention and made them participants in something wonderful. There’s not much need for the word “transcendent” these days, but I’d say it might be a good one for describing some of those folks’ experience. That’s why we have these seasons, after all – to give us a glimpse of what our humanity might look like if we’d just relax those quills!
Linda
I remember that year. What a year! I wrote about it in my journal back then. People can and do change the world when they come together.
I do love Christmas carols. They are one of my favorite parts of the season. I think it’s in vogue to claim you don’t like them.
Bella
Bella,
Oh, the sophisticates. Too cool, too intelligent, too detached for “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen”. I’ve got a friend who won’t sing it unless the words are changed to “Now Rest Ye, All Good People”. Sigh.
But there’s hope. One of my friends reported a kid in her carpool is sick of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” and wanted to sing carols in the car on the way to school. Now, I’m as much a fan of “Grandma Got Run Over…” as the next person, but the thought of kids wanting to sing carols makes me happy.
As for people changing the world when they come together – absolutely. Dictatorships can fall, and so can random stacks of disorganized paper. Or so I’ve been told.
Linda
I have to admit that despite already knowing about the revolutions of which you write, I am taken aback and moved. I love the way you describe everything there and the events you point out. The absolute proof of humane power as well as the power music can hold.
I personally can’t stand Christmas for a number of reasons but I realise more than ever before now what Christmas could mean for somebody.
As I love the idea of the “human-chain”, just the attempt of imagining the picture sends shivers down my spine…
DamnedVampire,
Sometimes I think of events like the Singing Revolution as if they’re one of my favorite sculptures. Every time I see the sculpture, I see it in a new way. Either I’m standing in a slightly different place, or the light has changed, or the surrounding environment is different.
It’s the same with history. All of us are in a “different place” now. The political situation’s no less complex, but the Soviet Union is gone. Marketa Hancova is teaching in San Diego. Artur Talvik is a film producer (and, in fact, the producer of the film “The Singing Revolution”). Maybe we see things more clearly and maybe we don’t, but the environment itself has changed.
In a way, whether we’re talking about Christmas, Estonia, Czechoslovakia – or any of the other events that have been mentioned here in the comments – telling and retelling the story is like forming a human chain of memory to keep events alive. It’s no wonder we get shivers!
Thanks for stopping by, and for your comment. You’re always welcome!
Linda
I had no idea about any of this. What a beautiful, beautiful post. Thank you for writing about this! I’m teaching about social change next term, and you make me take pause and consider where I might put information about these movements within the discussions of civil society. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Holly,
You’re welcome. It was a revelation to me, in any number of ways. You might want to read this piece written on the 20th anniversary of the Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia. It’s from a San Diego news source and focuses on Ms. Hancova. It has a lovely photo, too. Her expression is as straightforward as her journal writing, and I have no doubt she’d welcome an opportunity to assist you in your own teaching. The journal entries are from her Platt College blog, which is filled with information.
So nice to have you stop by. I’m glad I could point you to these events. I do enjoy the research and exploration as much as the writing. It’s like staking a claim on history’s stream and then searching for the still-buried nuggets!
Linda
Hi Linda,
Another wonderful and informative story that is really one for our times.
It is amazing that sometimes we need to be reminded of the freedoms we take for granted that could be slowly eroded away. And would we have the power these people had to get our freedom back again?
Thank you for sharing your research with us!
Patti
Patti,
You’re asking some of the same questions I asked myself while writing this. Sometimes it seems to me that the very people who are fussing about a lack of tolerance in our society are the least tolerant, and those who profess to love liberty have no time for the things that come along with freedom: most especially, a willingness to grant it to others and an understanding that freedom also requires responsiblity.
That said, I loved learning about this story. And thank you for noticing – it did require a good bit of research! It’s always fun when Mom asks, “What did you do this afternoon?” and I tell her I spent it reading about Estonia. I get these “looks”!
Happy weekend!
Linda
Would you believe I hadn’t registered the term “velvet revolution” until reading your piece today? “Velvet Underground”- sure. “Iron fist in a velvet glove”-you betcha. But never that metaphor for quiet subversity. Of the many, many images and thoughts struck here the one that sticks out most to me is the key sculpture in Prague & the thought of all those Czechs ringing their keys; that, and the fact that the sculpture is in Kafka Square…
Just think, the Berlin Wall went up and came down in our lifetimes! The Iron Curtain lasted 40 years? Of those who marched The Baltic Way, or joined in The Singing (or the Velvet) Revolution, or took a hammer to Checkpoint Charlie, how many knew Before, During, and After? And what did that feel like?
How devastating to have one’s country–one’s cultural identity–split in two, or annexed, or “disappeared”; how inexpressible the joy of taking it back!
Now students who were born in 1989 are rioting over tuition hikes.
I wept buckets over that rendition of the “Hallelujah Chorus.” Would love to go a-caroling (and sing of King Wenceslas), but will settle for humming.
Thank you for this most informative and perceptive piece. Sorry for the novel–you seem to inspire them
ds,
I can’t get enough of the video of the ringing keys. When I look at the sculpture, I remember discussions in a multitude of classrooms about the relationship of “sign” and “symbol” – the primary difference being that a symbol participates in the reality it represents. In the case of the key sculpture, the truth of the proposition is evident.
And how perceptive of you to make the leap from the “disappearing” of individuals to the “disappearing” of cultural identity. There’s no question many struggles taking place around the celebration of Christmas are rooted in questions of cultural identity. I’m no more fond of the “celebrate my way or else” crowd than I am of the “Christianity is stupid and irrelevant – let’s get rid of it” bunch. But I have a great deal of sympathy for people who feel, for the first time in their lives, that their own public playing of carols might someday disappear. I think a good bit of people’s anxiety arises from not knowing whether we’re living the “before, during or after”.
I thought of all this again last night, at a Christmas concert by the Houston Chamber Choir. They offered two settings of Bogoróditse Djévo, one by Rachmaninoff and the other by Estonian composer Arvo Pärt. When I came home, I looked and found a performance of Pärt’s setting at the 2009 Choir Festival in Tallinn. Far simpler and more straightforward than the Rachmaninoff, it’s a continuation of the Revolution.
Linda
I wish I had come and read this first, after you left a comment on my current post for words, freedom and Liu Xiaobo. I loved hearing about this in your brief comment, and so I went and found an article online about it, and linked it in my reply comment. Well, clearly I should have immediately come here. But I have linked yours now in a follow-up comment.
It was a beautiful progression, from Liu to Dan’s reminiscence about song as a social instrument, and then this by you. I had not heard of this song revolution, and it thrills me. I could feel the excitement of being caught up in those late nights and not caring if it were night or day. Of course!
I am also struck with the contrast between all this and another recent post I did about a Christmas carol book printed in 1955, which I grew up with. My mom would pull it out and play at the piano while I sang next to her on the bench and turned the pages. What I love about that book is the carols from all over Europe that would never be found in a hymnal. I end my post with words from a Polish lullaby to Jesus titled ‘Lulajże Jezuniu.’ Those quiet songs of the people, of shepherds and fields, and peasant rooms with a fire, have perhaps been far more essential in the lives of Eastern Europeans, and it is natural and beautiful that a revolution would burst forth from their hearts, via song.
You do an extraordinary job at sharing stories of real people that I’ve never heard about. Bless you for it!
Ruth,
I’m just so uncomfortable leaving links to my page in comments – it seems “poor form”, somehow. But I’m glad you found your way to my post. I knew it would appeal to you.
I have to say again how amazed I am at the number of people who knew nothing of the Estonian events. On one hand, I wonder if such a movement could take place in such obscurity today. On the other, it’s immensely cheering to think of the Singing Revolution and The Baltic Way taking place without texting, twitter, smart phones, and email. Could we do as well if we lost our technology? It’s a sobering reminder that face-to-face still matters.
I thought of you last night at the concert I mentioned to DS, above. I’ve always loved “Shchedrik”, which we know as “The Carol of the Bells”. What I didn’t know is that it’s a traditional Ukrainian carol with quite different, quite down to earth imagery in its traditional form. They also sang one I’d never heard, “Jesus Christ the Apple Tree”. What a wealth of poetry the people hold in their hearts and pass on in their music – and how blessed we are to benefit from it.
Linda
Oh, Linda, I think this is my favorite post. It comes so near to my heart, and you wrote it beautifully.
I have always been fascinated by the culture, history and people of Eastern Europe, but only recently began a true love for the Czech Republic (I am seriously considering learning Czech and hope to one day live in Prague). So I have read about and been moved by the Velvet Revolution before, but had not yet come across those pictures or the ringing of the keys video clip.
And the connections you made with the Estonian Singing Revolution, the Baltic Way, and the food court Hallelujah Chorus…this is why I love reading your posts, Linda. You take something truly amazing and you keep surprising by weaving in more amazing things so that it isn’t just a blurb about some event, it’s an invitation to feel and think about the wonders of human connection.
I’m afraid my words can’t form properly right now to express how much I appreciate your writing. Just know that I am grateful.
-R
Rachel,
That’s it. Your comment about moving past the standard blurb to extend “…an invitation to feel and think about the wonders of human connection” is the most perfect description ever of what I’m up to here. At least, that’s what I try to do. Whether it’s serious or humorous, whether I’m “just writing” about a little story from my life or trying to condense extensive research into a little story about other peoples’ lives, it’s the connections that count.
It warms my heart to hear another writer say “You wrote it beautifully”. This blogging business is teaching me a good bit about the craft of writing, and you’d better believe I’ve gained a far deeper appreciation for Hawthorne’s contention that “easy reading is damned hard writing”. Not only that, no less a craftsman than William Zinsser has reinforced one of my earliest convictions about this writing business. He says, “Writing and learning and thinking are the same process” – a point I intuitively grasped early on when I wrote “Reading, Writing and Thinking: A Paradigm for Blogging”. How I knew that I don’t know – I’d only been doing this for six months. But I’m more convinced than ever it’s true – although I might do a better job of expressing it these days.
A bit of unsolicited advice here – if you don’t have Zinsser’s books get everyone of them and get to know them. You probably have studied them ad nauseum, but I’ll let the advice stand for anyone who passes by and doesn’t know his work.
So glad you survived NANOWRIMO, and so grateful you take time to read here. I anticipate my Wednesdays getting better in the medium future.
Linda
Such a wonderfully put together post, Linda. History fascinatingly retold the way you’ve woven those strands together. The two videos are a delight for the rousing music. What a great idea to present Handel that way! It’s a great surprise when the first two singers enter with their parts, but the bit I can’t get over is when the singer with the Wet Floor sign makes his presence know! Delightful!
Andrew,
Sometimes I think I might have learned much more of world history – or at least paid more attention – if there had been more story-telling and fewer lists of dates and places to memorize. Certainly, I’m making up for that lack of knowledge by tracing the threads of stories I find here and there these days.
And you noticed exactly what I did! I loved the fellow with the Wet Floor sign! Don’t you wish you could have been there with you camera to shoot a few photos? Street photography at its finest. That’s what I’ll wish you for Christmas – some surprises equally delightful for you to capture!
Linda
Well, that was one heck of a read and ride. How is it I never, ever heard of this? Not news worthy enough? or was this formula –this peaceful formula– too effective for the masses to have knowledge of? Seems this event is one the PowersthatWere -would not encourage the rest of us to be schooled in. A very powerful piece w/a very important message – especially in our current times. I am going to to link this on my FB and emailing this link to my e-mail list…happily my friends enjoy a good think, who knows when our keys may come in handy.
Chipko Movement – another good reference – I wish I had courage to TREE HUG — there have been a few times I should have,but I had not the courage. My conscience still bothers me. One tree in particular — haunts me that I did nothing.
Surfmom,
I don’t think that our lack of knowledge about these events is the result of any malevolence or ill intent on the part of the powers that be. The time period was filled with tumultuous events – not only in Europe, but in the Philippines, Panama and who knows where else. The Berlin Wall was coming down, and the world was focused on that. Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania were small countries that simply slipped off the radar. Their singing festivals were well known in certain circles, but the circles were fairly small.
You may remember that my great-great-grandfather David went to Colorado to mine for gold in the years before the Civil War. Sometimes I feel I understand his experience. Browsing the internet is like panning of nuggets of information, tidbits, little facts and unimagined fancies that are just sitting there, waiting to be discovered.
When I saw the photo of the singers at one of the Estonian festivals attached to an article about the Singing Revolution, I can tell you exactly what I thought: “Huh. What’s this about?” Apparently that’s very much what the film-makers thought, too. “What’s this about?” They made a movie, I made a blog, and now hundreds of thousands more people know the story. Who knows – that may be a “key” to action in the future.
Linda