Gunga- the story of the village of Lidice

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Sometimes, in one's travel experiences, there are things that stand out as unforgettable: the first glimpse of Machu Picchu; the first canal ride in Venice; a bullfight in Spain (although the fight never took place because of a damp ring) being in the middle of furious Spaniards hurling anything they could get their hands on at the 'deciders' was worth the price of admission; Auschwitz in Poland; people trying to knock down the Berlin Wall with their bare hands using anything they could hurl at it; the 16 hour 'Cusco Day' parade; and the village of Lidice in the Czech Republic to name a few.

I first saw it in 1991 when our friend, Dusan, brought us to see it. I had never heard of Lidice (Le-dee-cee) but I have never forgotten it. I would like to tell you the story using words from an old brochure and from my memory. For anyone who wants to read/learn more about it you can go to 'google'.

Lidice is about 20 miles west of Prague in the Kladno region. It had a reputation for hundreds of years as being a 'hotbed' of revolutionary thinkers. In the 19th century workers of that area built a dense network of political and cultural organizations. Many times, in periods of severe oppression, they dauntlessly defended fundamental human rights, be it at the turn of the century in the miners strike for an 8 hour working day and wage increases, or in the year 1905 in the struggle for universal franchise. On such occasions the people of Kladno rose up to a man.

During World War I the people played an important role in fighting for freedom. But they paid a heavy price for this: prisons were set up in factories for rebellious workers; miners and steelworkers were arrested for sabotages. Yet armament production continued to decrease and military transports were not supplied with coal. It is no wonder that right from the very first day of fascist occupation in WWII German fascists had their eyes fixed on Kladno and its surroundings. The headquarter of the Gestapo police and offices of the Nazi Supreme Command were set up in Kladno. Then workers were arrested by the dozens, their homes fired at, their schools closed down. And yet, the day after the Soviet Union (our ally during WWII) was attacked by Germany, a red banner was hoisted on one of the highest smoke stacks in Kladno. It was in this region of hard work and tenacious anti-fascist struggle that the village of Lidice lived until June 10, 1942. Its inhabitants were miners, steelworkers, and farmers.

In the Spring of 1942, the then Reichs Protector of Bohemia, R. Heydrich, was assassinated and the assassins remained unknown for a long time. The Nazis launched a bestial campaign of extermination to intimidate the Czech people. Lidice was included in it. Despite the lack of any real evidence they accused Lidice of being involved.

And so at dawn on June 10, 1942 an execution squad shot 173 Lidice men, all whom were in the village at that time. The oldest was 84 and the youngest was 15. Workers on the night shift were arrested and murdered later. Women were sent to the concentration camp at Ravensbruck. Many of them also went through Osveczim and other concentration camps. Sixty of them were tortured to death. The Lidice children did not escape the tragic fate. The Nazis deported them at first to the concentration camp in Lodz Poland and later 82 of them were murdered in the gas chambers. Only 159 inhabitants of Lidice survived the occupation. The crime was completed by burning Lidice to the ground.

This was the Lidice that I saw- bare gound, sparse lawn, old cellar holes, a large, unadorned flat concrete plaza leading to a small drab building where photos of the village before and after the tragedy were displayed along with pictures of the former Mayor, other village dignitaries, women, and children. Some objects found in the burned remnants - like a child's shoe or a book were also displayed. There is a mass grave and a large cross erected to commemorate those who died. Neither poignancy nor sympathy are strong enough words to describe the feelings I had. This was before I had ever to Auschwitz and I was deeply angered by the depth of the Nazis' viciousness to innocent people. Really, an entire village?

However, Lidice did not die. Its name became known throughout the world and was arousing people to activity. Miners in Birmingham, England manifested their solidarity with Lidice by calling a large meeting at which money was collected for the construction of a new Lidice, thus starting the "Lidice shall live" campaign. After news of the crime at Lidice had spread in the world many villages adopted its name: San Jeronimo in Mexico; Stern Park Gardens in Illinois. A square in Havana was given the name "Plaza de Lidice". It is also the name of a Plaza in Vina Del Mar in Chile. In Uruguay, Montevideo there is a Lidice Sq. also ones in Egypt and India. Many writers, visual artists, composers. film makers, and playwrights remembered the name in their works. After the war the government of liberated Czechoslovakia built a new Lidice within walking distance of the old one. Between the old and the new Lidice there is a bare plain which was planted with the Garden of Friendship and Peace where roses from all over the world blossom from spring to autumn.

Seeing and reading about Lidice reminds me of the old '60's Judy Collins song "...when will they ever learn, when will they ever learn". I know this probably doesn't fit into most people's idea of a lighthearted travelblog but it is one of the strongest memories I have of visiting what is now the Czech Republic. Many places in the world share their joys but few their sorrows. As a traveler I feel it is good to see both.

Carolyn/Gunga

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