Bloody Season: 'Invasion '68 Prague'

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THE FIRST THING you notice about Josef Koudelka's photographs of the 1968 invasion of Czechoslovakia is the number of people.

People milling about anxiously; people crying; people defiantly waving flags as tanks roll by and through them. Young Russian soldiers, worriedly clutching their weapons as they invade a newly democratized nation; young Czechs, climbing on the backs of Russian tanks to shout their outrage into the seas of smoke as Prague burns.

In 1968, a newly elected liberal leader introduced reforms — free speech, travel and media — in the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic. As a member country of the Soviet Union, the Czech Republic had agreed to defend any of the other seven countries in the Warsaw Pact from any attack.

The remainder of the Soviet Union perceived the Czech reforms as a threat, and used 50,000 troops and 500 tanks to remove the new leader from power. The Czech Republic did not militarily resist the attacks, and it remained occupied by Soviet troops until 1990. As part of the initial nine-day invasion, Czech civilians were shot, buildings were burned, and a widespread censorship was imposed to control the Czech media and prevent the West from learning about the invasion.

In 1969, Koudelka's negatives were smuggled anonymously to the West and published by Magnum Photos. His photographs of shot Czechs and burned cities directly contradicted the Soviet bloc's account of the event as a peaceful civilian occupation. The work was considered so sensitive that he fled the country immediately and didn't confess his involvement until decades later.

The photographs, on display at Katzen Arts Center, retain their power. To place them in context, Melissa Harris, curator of the show and editor of Aperture Magazine, included missives from the newly occupied Czech government urging peaceful cooperation. The entryway to the exhibition boasts hundreds of anti-occupation posters made by the Czechs and a timeline of the occupation's seizure of the government radio station. Rather than editorializing, Harris chose to give viewers the primary documents: "They really don't tell you how to think," she said.

"Invasion '68: Prague" is notable for its lack of a conclusion. After viewing a sea of Czechs and tanks, you're left back at the beginning of the exhibit; it starts in much the same way it ends. Part of this is pragmatic — Koudelka did flee the country. But part of it was a deliberate choice; Koudelka "is smart enough to not try to pretend there's an ending. He just puts it all out there for you," says Harris.

One might ask the relevance of a Cold War invasion from the '60s to today's global, multimedia society. But bearing witness will always have a place. When Koudelka travels to Russia to show his photographs, some Russians claim that the occupation was a liberation or deny that there was any violence, says Harris. By way of reply, he shows them a picture of two Czechs, wrapped in their country's flag, lying dead in a pool of their own blood.

» Katzen Arts Center, 4400 Massachussetts Ave NW; through Dec. 28, free; 202-885-1300.

Written by Express' Chris Combs
Photo courtesy Josef Koudelka