Why Europe must cherish its free speech
From Nazi book-burning to Soviet-era oppression, history of the continent’s public spaces shows the danger of silencing protest
Iwas born into a family of Finnish and Estonian descent at a time when Europe was divided by the iron curtain, and one of my countries of origin was still under Soviet occupation. So I was for a long time more aware of the differences between east and west than of any characteristics common to Europe. Only when I travelled further afield did I see our continent from the outside – as well as my own Europeanness. I took public squares for granted in the make-up of urban culture until, a few years ago, I visited Medellín, in Colombia — best known in Europe as the home of the Pablo Escobar drug cartel. During my stay the city celebrated a remarkable achievement: 500 days without a single murder.
This step forward, after the interminable drugs war, was attributed to the new mayor, Anibal Gaviria. One of his key reforms involved building public squares in residential areas. The drugs war had driven people out of the city centre and they had taken refuge in the surrounding hills, where homes had sprung up with no planning whatsoever. But a lack of public space actually fuelled their fears: neighbours remained strangers, and there was nowhere to gather. The new squares helped bring people together and restored trust.
The US in turn opened my eyes to the privilege of public transport: what I missed most after a few months in the US was the opportunity to walk from one place to another, or hop on a tram or subway train. There, such things are inconceivable outside big cities. In Europe it is hard to imagine a city culture without a public transport network, its junctions often located close to the squares and open spaces. We see squares as easily accessible symbols of openness. This is why, even in Europe, some regimes have attempted to prevent public meetings in such spaces. In ancient Greece the agora, or marketplace, was an open space for public gatherings and trade. Athens boasted the largest one, and it was here that philosophers such as Socrates, Plato and Aristotle debated and taught, and Athenians gathered to discuss political affairs; and it was here that democracy, the power of the people, took hold, becoming the preferred political system of Europe.
Public places are an essential part of every European city, and the right to gather in them is a pillar of democracy — and a symbol of it too. But though we have long taken this right for granted in the west, things are different in the east. The republic of Estonia is celebrating its centenary this year, but it only regained its independence when the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991. Public protests were not possible under Soviet occupation.
Any form of resistance had to go into hiding and frank discussion was only possible with people you trusted. Only with the start of Soviet perestroika — “restructuring” — could one voice an opinion freely. The first public protest under the Soviet occupation was organised in one of the capital’s parks, Hirvepark, in 1987. A few years later the Soviet Union fell apart, and a wave of free speech swept Estonia. The protests in squares and public places that marked the “velvet” revolutions in eastern Europe brought down the iron curtain and helped liberate many oppressed countries.
Valuable rights
The availability of a public arena where we can safely gather is a basic right in Europe today, just as we are entitled to proper public transport. Realities in China act as a reminder that we should not underestimate such valuable rights. On the contrary we should cherish them. Earlier this year China began placing restrictions on citizens with a poor “social rating”, depriving them of the right, among others, to buy tickets for rail or air travel. Those ratings depend just as much on what people say or buy as on their actions, all easy to monitor on the internet.
The Soviet empire may have been dismantled, but its legacy still dogs progress towards democracy in many eastern European countries. In 2015-16, a series of demonstrations were held in Chiinu, Moldova’s capital, bringing more than 30,000 people into the main square — the largest gathering in living memory. Public unrest was fuelled by gross fraud that robbed the country’s banks.
In November 2013, Ukrainians started the Euromaidan revolution in Independence Square in Kiev, and ousted the president Viktor Yanukovych. The country is still at war with separatist rebels supported by Russia, but this revolution did more to stamp out corruption than any previous attempt since independence. And if progress on that issue peters out, people are quite prepared to build new barricades on Independence Square, the centre of previous popular uprisings. Our squares and public spaces are still forums for democracy, its watchdogs as much as the media.
The way public space is managed tells us a great deal about who takes decisions and what the rules are. This is why squares and public spaces in different countries are testimony to the darker side of European history, ever since the first witch-hunts. A square in Berlin now called Bebelplatz was the setting for the Nazi book-burning of 1933. Today a work of art by Micha Ullman commemorates the event: through a glass floor you glimpse a library whose shelves are empty. The memorial also includes a copper plate on which is engraved a warning penned by Heinrich Heine in 1820: “That was but a prelude; where they burn books, they will burn people in the end, too.”
Guardian News & Media Ltd
■ Sofi Oksanen is a Finnish-Estonian novelist and playwright.
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