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When
strolling through the outer parts of the town, it is very often very easy
to believe that the Velvet Revolution of 1989 never happened. Despite
efforts to remove the imprint of fifty-years of communism, the socialist
order seems to pop out of the city with surprising frequency and strength.
Beginning at the Prague airport where passengers were divided into lines
by country of origin and then passed through a listless row of police
officers who looked as if stamping passports was their punishment in life.
Confused and lost, I genuinely felt that none of the Czech people I stopped
for directions either wanted me in their country or cared if I got home.
It seemed as if the communist veil of oppression was still choking the
people of Prague.
But, not only the people seemed still affected by communism, the rows
of crumbling, cheap apartment buildings that marked our passage into the
city all looked to be made with heartless communist efficiency. But, these
roads connecting to the heart of town, with worn-down stone facades were
much more than an enlarged slum. This worn-down part was almost all of
Prague, and it lacked signs of life, noise from children and couples chatting,
gardens and plants lining each crumbling facade. I felt almost like screaming
much of the time I walked these roads to break the silence of the people,
and to end the cold concentration on their face. Yet, still I felt hated
as an outsider; my scream would only be detested and ignored.
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