Do tourists really know what they are looking at?

Even on a cold February afternoon, the rolling hillside in Malá Strana is swarmed with tourists. They meander up the hill to snap photos of the city as it emerges beneath them.

But before they can begin their ascent, they are met with a peculiar set of bronze statues at the base of the hill. The statues, anonymous figures, are staggered along large, concrete steps. The first of the figures is a whole, life-sized man, his face gaunt, his body inclined forward as if he can barely hold himself upright.

With each step, a piece of his body disappears; first a jagged hole rips across his torso, then his arms are eaten away until finally, there is nothing left but a pair of deteriorated legs.

This staircase of human decay is supposed to represent what happened to the spirit of Czechs persecuted under the communist regime of 1948-1989. The Memorial to the Victims of Communism was built in 2002, 12 years after the fall of the regime.

A bronze ribbon that runs up the center of the staircase tallies the numbers: 205,486 arrested; 248 executed; 4,500 died in prison; 327 shot trying to escape; 170,938 forced into exile.

The unveiling of the memorial by renowned Czech sculptor Olbram Zoubek sparked a debate between those who welcomed it as a much belated tribute and those who felt it was artistic kitsch, and an unsightly blemish on Prague's architectural landscape

More controversy erupted when the Civic Democrats, the party largely responsible for its establishment, snubbed President Václav Havel by declining to invite him to the ceremony until the last minute. The Civic Democrats were led by Václav Klaus, now the Czech president and long a rival of Havel.

Most visitors to Petřín Hill seem unaware not only of the controversy surrounding the statues, but also of what they are supposed to be honouring. The disappearing man certainly stops them in their tracks; they gape curiously and clamber up the steps to pose for pictures, kissing his cheek and holding his hand.

But after saying cheese, they move on, consulting maps and pushing baby strollers up the rest of the hill. At one point, 12 onlookers gather around the memorial, but not a single one of them stops to inspect the dedication plaque or the numbers running up the middle of the steps.

With the next round of visitors, one young man does pause, however. Sascha Junkert, 24, on holiday from Russia, thinks the meaning of the memorial all depends on how you look at it.

"For me, communism is good in the beginning," he says. "Everyone owns everything, but in the end it breaks down. This is what you see if you look at the statues from the bottom up. But what about those people at the top of the stairs? What do they see? They see a body getting stronger and stronger. It is the same with communism - it all depends on your perspective." Czech sculptor Olbram Zoubek tried to depict the deteriorating human condition under four decades of communism.

"This memorial is dedicated to all victims, not only those who were jailed or executed, but also those whose lives were ruined by totalitarian despotism," reads a small bronze plaque, a chilling reminder of a recent past at the bottom of Prague's otherwise picturesque Petřín Hill.









This story is part of an occasional series of articles from the Prague Wanderer, a webzine created by New York University students in Prague. Learn more about the Prague Wanderer here. Aisha Gawad is a third year student at New York University studying journalism and Middle Easter and Islamic Studies. She is from Burke, Virginia.