One City - Two Worlds

In the night of 12-13 August 1961, 50,000 soldiers and armed police officers who a only few hours before had no idea what their mission was, lined up along the border of the allied (France, Great Britain, and the USA) and Soviet sectors of Berlin. They blocked off streets and passages, stacked up perpends, and unrolled barbed wire. Their goal: to build a "rampart of peace to protect against militarists and imperialists."

Rampart and wall indeed: the stacks of stones later gave way to cement slabs, and then prefabricated solid concrete blocks reaching a height of three to four meters. The Wall reached a state of perfection, complete with an anti-tank base and topped with anti-ergonomic concrete piping, preventing potential escapees from even getting a grip to pull themselves over. In 1976, the East German authorities finished their structure by ordering closely guarded workers to paint it white.

The idea was to prevent additional escapes to the West. An estimated 5,000 men, women, and children had already escaped disguised as Soviet soldiers, by balloon, tunnel, sliding down cables, ramming checkpoints with trucks, or simply by swimming or running for their life.

Some 4,900 East Berliners - including 554 East German border guards - managed to get through the Wall of Shame. But East German bullets killed 77 and wounded approximately twice as many. East Germany finally did give in to pressure from West Germany to remove mines and deadly booby-traps from No Man's Land, which varied in width from 30 to 50 meters. But until 9 November 1989, it did not stop policing the Wall and No Man's Land; 120.9 kilometers separated West Berlin from East Germany, and an additional 44.8 kilometers divided the city into two completely different worlds.

A total of 14,000 "Grepos" (Grenzpolizisten, or border guards), 295 observation towers, 600 trained dogs attached to long cables, 125.1 kilometers of fencing and alarm equipment, 43 bunkers and machine gun nests, 112.2 kilometers of anti-vehicle trenches, and 124 kilometers of roadway for motorized Grepo patrols. Even the Grepo was organized so that its members were isolated from one another to deter any possible escape collaboration.

But the East German government did not realize that a wall could not stop the struggle for freedom forever.

Zwei Welten in einer Stadt

In der Nacht vom 12. zum 13. August 1961 marschieren 50.000 Soldaten und bewaffnete Miliz, die Stunden zuvor nichts von ihrer Mission gewußt hatten, an der Grenze zwischen den Westsektoren (Frankreich, Großbritannien, USA ) und dem Ostsektor Berlins auf. Sie stellen Absperrungen auf, tragen Mauersteine zusammen, ziehen Stacheldraht.... um, so das ostdeutsche Staatsoberhaupt, einen "Schutzwall des Friedens gegen die Militaristen und Imperialisten" zu errichten.

Schutzwall, Mauer, in der Tat: die Mauersteine werden bald durch  Betonplatten ergänzt und später, höchst raffiniert, ersetzt durch zusammenhängende Betonblöcke von 3,50 bis 4,20 m Höhe, an der Basis verstärkt, um Fahrzeuge aufzuhalten, und mit einem locker liegenden zylindrischen Aufsatz versehen, um den Einsatz von Enterhaken zu erschweren.

1976 stellten die ostdeutschen Befehlshaber ihr Werk fertig, in dem sie es von beiden Seiten weiß anstreichen ließen, von Arbeitern unter strenger Bewachung.

In der Tat, auf keinen Fall wollte man die Zahl der ungefähr 5000 Flüchtlinge vermehren, die russische Uniformen oder Fesselballons benutzt hatten, Tunnels gegraben, Kofferräume umgebaut, Miniatur- Sessellifte an Drahtseilen konstruiert, mit einem Lastwagen die Grenzbefestigungen durchbrochen hatten oder einfach geschwommen oder gerannt waren.

4.900 Ostberliner, davon 554 Grenzsoldaten, haben die Schandmauer überwunden. Aber die ostdeutschen Kugeln haben 77 Flüchtlinge getötet und ungefähr doppelt soviele verletzt.

Selbst als die DDR dem Druck des bundesdeutschen Nachbarn nachgab und Minenfelder und Selbstschußanlagen aus dem 30 bis 50 m breiten Streifen Niemandsland entfernte, hatte sie bis zum 9. Nvember 1989 die Überwachung niemals gelockert: die der 120,9 km, die Berlin von der DDR trennten, und die der 44,8 km Grenze, die die Stadt in zwei Welten teilte.

So kamen zu einer Truppe von 14.000 Grenzpolizisten295 Wachtürme mit Scheinwerfern, 600 dressierte Hunde an Laufleinen, 125,1 km gesicherte Maschendrahtzäune, 43 Bunker und Geschützstände, 112,2 km Gräben, dazu noch 124 km Straßen für die motorisierten Grenztruppen, deren Mitglieder sich untereinander nicht kannten, um jeden Drang zur Flucht zu erschweren...

Aber die DDR hatte vergessen, daß eine Mauer nicht unendlich lange eine Armee von Freiheitskämpfern aufhalten kann.

Postcard from Berlin

It is an icy cold sunny day. Despite the low temperature, a loud symphony of hammers relentlessly batter the concrete mass of the Wall. Crowds of people are awkwardly but enthusiastically chipping away pieces of concrete. They are armed mostly with hammers and chisels, many of them so new that they still carry price tags.

Berliners and tourists are convinced that they are reducing the Wall to rubble, leaving only its memory behind.

They rush to the improvised stands set up on Potsdamer Platz where they find t-shirts displaying portraits of Gorbachev or the inscription: "9 November 1989: I was there".

Perhaps the symbol of the Berlin Wall could be represented by the little pieces of cotton made into souvenir t-shirts, to be washed carefully by hand because they fade just as the desire for freedom behind the Iron Curtain.

The Brandenburg Gate can be seen a few hundred yards from the colorful blocks of concrete decorated by international graffiti. The solid, imposing figure radiates a sense of certainty. The young crowd seems to expect it to move, to transform itself as a sign that something has really changed, but for now the Wall still holds it at bay.

Next to a large number of foreign television studios housed in trailers (which are vacant because THE Gate will not be opened today), the West Berlin television station has installed a large platform. It serves as a vantage point for the curious who come to hear partly improvised concerts and provides a perfect place for newlyweds to pose for pictures at the foot of unarmed East German policemen.

Here as elsewhere, that which is unimportant or anecdotal prevails over the essential. Or more precisely, seems to prevail; fortunately, nothing artificial or mechanical, no computer has ever been able to capture deep reflection or personal feelings.

How is it possible to know what it was like on 9 November without being an East Berliner? How can freedom be glorified by those who don't relish it because they never lost it?

With no great measure of certainty, Berlin makes it possible to imagine what those who were walled in actually lived through: feelings of hopelessness, helplessness, or perhaps even a degree of fatalism. The entire city of Berlin was hermetically split into two halves from one day to the next. Families and friends who just happened to live in different parts of town were brutally cut off from each other for years. At best, they could only gaze at each other across the border. Sometimes they would even agree upon times when they could wave at each other over the Wall, arranged beforehand by mail.

In order to understand what went on in the heads of those who were walled off like animals for nearly thirty years, one would need to walk along a few kilometers of concrete wall, get close to the fencing, barbed wire, and watch towers, and see the walled off windows and doors of the houses and buildings along the dividing line. With understanding comes acceptance - or at least tolerance - of disconcerting behavior that can be seen today. Now that police identity checks have become routine, East Berliners rush into stores, coming out with their arms full of electric ovens or stereos, laden with heavy baskets or plastic bags. Those who are fortunate enough to have a car (which is now unfit to be designated as such) load up the trunk and the rear seats with newly acquired merchandise.

For these families, does freedom mean freedom to buy?

They have suffered from the inability to buy for so many years that the well-stocked stores in West Berlin drive them to a state of euphoria comparable to that of a child looking into a shop window filled with toys or candy. Following them through the appliance department of a large store provides insight; they look upon the person demonstrating a dishwasher or CD player as if she or he was a magician. It is clear that they are waking up in another world where they are discovering a new universe, as if they were members of a primitive tribe visiting a modern Western city for the very first time.

The same look of wonder takes over the faces of children having just crossed the Wall into West Berlin, who rush to look at western cars, walking around the impressive automobiles several times before calling their parents over to gaze in through the windows to see the interiors of these marvels.

Could it be said that western Visa credit cards have replaced East German exit visas?

Even if this were true, who is really responsible?

It is perhaps Berliners who advertise in cabarets: "Free entrance for DDR residents. Drinks: only 5 DM (instead of 28)"; they call for celebration, but not only the celebration of freedom.

It is perhaps West Germans who rush into East Berlin to buy whatever they can - chandeliers, bed boards, curiosities, etc. - at the lowest possible price.

But it is not East Germans, Berliners or not, who have transformed the western world into a frantic consumer society.

In short, let us not be surprised at all the reports about the insatiable consumer appetite of the East Berliners as well as the inhabitants of other East European countries. Having the possibility of being able to spend one's salary is a form of freedom, which opens other freedoms: freedom to travel, freedom to be with friends of one's choice (and to discuss any topic at all), freedom to learn, to read, to listen, and therefore to compare, and even to question social, economic, or political ideas. Finally, freedom to try adjusting to a different existence. After having experienced the fall of the Wall, after having rediscovered the forgotten taste of bananas and tomatoes, after having salivated in front of overabundant shop windows in the West, many East Berliners have exercised their freedom and have chosen to return to the East.

It can only be hoped that after the concrete Wall has fallen, a new Wall of Money will not be erected.

Berlin November 29, 1989

Postkarte aus Berlin

An diesem Tag ist das Quecksilber im Minusbereich und die Frösche sitzen schon lange im Eis. Trotzdem verstärkt sich das Hämmerkonzert von Metall auf Stein.

Maurer ohne Schlechtwettergeld? Keinesfalls. Bewaffnet mit Hammer und Meißel, die so neu sind, daß oft das Preisschild noch darauf klebt, picken ungeschickte, aber begeißterte Menschentrauben mühsam Betonstückchen aus der Berliner Mauer.

Berliner und Touristen sind überzeugt davon, daß sie beginnen, etwas niederzureißen, was bald nur nochErinnerung sein wird.

Und um noch andere Erinnerungsstücke mitzunehmen, stürzen sie sich auf die improvisierten Verkaufsstände auf dem Potsdamer Platz. Dort wo drei Wochen zuvor der Eifer der Menschen Teile der Mauer niedergerissen und eine Bresche in die kommunistische Starre Ostdeutschlands geschlagen hatte, gesellen sich, zur Schau gestellt auf T- Shirts, Gorbatschov- Figuren, die aussehen wie Goldorak, rissige Brandenburger Tore, humoristische oder begeisterte Sprüche wie "9. November - ich war da".

Das Symbol der Berliner Mauer, sollte das dieser nur für Handwäsche geeignete Stoff sein, er abfärbt wie der Wunsch nach Freiheit auf der anderen Seite des Eisernen Vorhangs ?

Einige hundert Meter weg von dem mit Graffiti übersäten Beton wacht, imposant und wichtigtuerisch, das Brandenburger Tor. Die Jugend erwartet, es schwanken zu sehen, um sich sicher sein zu können, daß sich wirklich etwas geändert hat . Aber noch dient ihm die Mauer als Bollwerk.

Neben einer Vielzahl von improvisierten Studios ausländischer Fernsehsender in Wohnwagen (heute sind sie verlassen, DAS TOR ist noch nicht geöffnet ), hat ein Berliner Fernsehsender ein großes Podium installiert, das den Neugierigen als Aussichtspunkt dient, wenn ihnen improvisierte Konzerte geboten werden oder wenn sie mit ihren Bräuten kommen, die unbedingt zu Füßen der entwaffneten Vopos posiren wollen. Diese jungen Frauen, die der Mauer den Rücken zu kehren, um auf Glanzpapier die Ketten der Ehe unsterblich zu machen - symbolisieren sie die Mauer von Berlin ?

Jedenfalls, hier wie anderswo, siegt das Anekdotenhafte oder das Lächerliche über das Wesentliche; genauer gesagt scheint es zu siegen, weil glücklicherweise keine Maschine, kein Computer es noch geschafft haben, tiefschürfende Gedanken und persönliche Gefühle geschickt genug zu stehlen.

Und wie soll man wissen, ohne Ostberliner zu sein, was sie an jenem denkwürdigen 9. November gefühlt haben ? Wie soll man die Freiheit preisen, wenn man sie nicht mehr genießt, weil man sie noch nie verloren hatte ?

Auch wenn man sich nicht sicher sein kann, erlaubt Berlin nichtsdestoweniger, die Verzweiflung, die Bestürzung oder vielleicht auch den Fatalismus einer eingemauerten Bevölkerungzu erraten. Man muß sich nur vorstellen, Paris würde von einem Tag auf den anderen auf der Höhe der Champs- Elysees geteilt. In einer Nacht, einer einzigen Nacht im Jahre 1961, wurden Verwandte zu Fremden, weil sie nicht im selben Stadtviertel wohnten. Und Jahre und Jahre lang beobachteten Berliner andere Berliner durch ihre Fenster, ohne ihnen näherkommen zu können. Manchmal verabredeten sie sich in Briefen, um sich zu bestimmten Zeiten über die Mauer hinweg zuwinken zu können.

Man muß einige der 45 km langen Mauer entlanggehen, man muß Maschendrahtzäunen näherkommen, dem Stacheldraht, den Wachtürmen, man muß auf vermauerte Fenster und Türen stoßen- und versuchen zu verstehen, was in den Köpfen dieser Menschen vorgegangen ist, die wie Käfigtiere eingeschlossen waren.

Nach den nun  eher routinemäßigen Polizeikontrollen stürzen sich die Ostberliner auf die Geschäfte. Von dort kommen sie mit Elektroöfen und Hifi- Geräten zurück, die Arme schmerzend vom Tragen schwerer Körbe oder unsicherer Plastiktüten. Die, denen es ein wenig Besser ging, sitzen am Steuer von Autos, die künftig diese Bezeichnung nicht mehr verdienen, stopfen den Kofferraum und die Rücksitze voll.

Maß sich für diese Familien die Bedeutung des Wortes  Freiheit  an der Möglichkeit, ungehindert einzukaufen ?

Im Gespräch erfährt man, daß sie zu lange darunter gelitten hatten, für ihr Geld nichts kaufen zu können : der Überfluß in den Regalen macht sie euphorisch wie unsere Kinder, die vor den Auslagen mit Spielzeug oder Süßigkeiten leuchtende Augen bekommen. Im übrigen reicht es, wenn man sie in eine Elektrogeräteabteilung begleitet, wo sie den Propagandisten für Geschirrspüler oder CD- Spieler fast wie einen Zauberkünstler ansehen, um sich darüber klar zu werden, daß sie in einer anderen Welt aufgewacht sind; daß sie ein anderes Universum entdecken, genauso wie ein afrikanischer Stamm, der eingeladen wird, auf den Champs- Elysees zu defilieren.

Derselbe Glanz höchsten Staunens füllt übrigens die Augen der Kleinen, die, sobald sie auf der anderen Seite sind, sich auf die banalsten Kleinwagen stürzen, mehrere Male darum herumgehen und ihre Eltern dazu bringen, das Innere dieser kleinen Wunderwerke anzusehen. Werden wir, kurz gesagt, daraus schließen müssen, daß der Ansturm auf die Visakarte die Jagd nach dem Ausreisevisum ersetzen wird und daß die Lebensmittelkarte dem Kassenbon Platz macht ?
Und selbst, wenn es so wäre- könnten wir wirklich sagen, daß sie selbst dafür verantwortlich sind ?

Es sind Berliner, die in den Bars Plakate kleben mit der Aufschrift "Freier Eintritt für DDR-Bürger. Getränke nur 5 DM" (sonst 28 DM), und die zum Feiern aufrufen, nicht nur für die Freiheit.

Es sind die Westdeutschen, die sich auf Ostberlin stürzen und an diesen letzten Tagen alles und jedes kaufen : Kerzenständer , Kopfbretter, Nippes - Hauptsache so billig wie möglich. Und es sind immer noch nicht die Ostdeutschen, Berliner oder nicht, die die westliche Welt zu einer ausufernden Konsumgesellschaft gemacht haben.

Also sollten wir nicht schockiert sein von der Flut aktueller Nachrichten, die von den übersteigerten Bedürfnissen der Berliner nach Konsumgütern berichten - und denen der anderen Länder  des Ostens.

Die Möglichkeit zu haben, sein Einkommen auszugeben, ist auch eine Form der Freiheit. Und ihr folgen andere Möglichkeiten und Wege: die Freiheit zu reisen, die Freiheit , mit selbstgewählten Freunden zu feiern ( so baut man am besten eine Welt neu auf, hier und überall sonst ), zu lernen, zu lesen, zuzuhören, also zu vergleichen und folglich Wirtschaft und Sozialstatus in Frage zu stellen.

Endlich und vor allem, sich auf die Gewöhnung an eine andere Existenz einzulassen. Nach der Erfahrung des Mauerfalls, nachdem sie den vergessenen Geschmack von Bananen und Tomaten wiederentdeckt haben, nachdem sie sich die Nasen an den übervollen Schaufenstern des Westens plattgedrückt haben, haben diese Menschen aus dem Osten Berlins die freie Entscheidung getroffen, in den Osten zurückzukehren.

Hoffen wir dennoch, daß nach der Mauer aus Beton jetzt nicht zwischen beiden Teilen Berlins, zwischen beiden Teilen Deutschlands eine Mauer aus Geld entsteht.

A 45 Kilometer Long Newspaper

In the past weeks the colorful and artfully composed cement in Berlin has increasingly been covered by the black scribbling of political slogans, calling for Krenz' removal or celebrating the future Reunification. The Wall has become a giant newspaper with its pages spread along 45 kilometers. Of course the Berlin Wall can claim no originality here: Pompeii led the way in ancient times, the student revolution in the late 1960s brought an outburst of graffiti expression, the New York subway appears to be an art gallery for teenagers, and the Chinese have their Tinamen Square.

But on the Berlin Wall, next to the unavoidable platitudes, dated signatures, and interlocked hearts are also political witticisms ("Here begins the world's biggest prison") or black humor ("Last one out turn off the lights") along with artwork. In the past few years, the Wall has been a canvas for a succession of layered and overlapping paintings, leaving little to improvisation. A few works by individuals - for example the two Frenchmen Thierry Noir and Christophe Bouchet, among the very few who use oil paints - are lost in a sea of some 200 well-organized collective works carried out by groups.

Often, the groups start by designating those who will be responsible for gathering the material; a thirteen meter long painting requires about fifty cans of spray paint, costing 7 DM each in a department store (which claims a daily loss of about 40 cans as a result of shoplifting). Sometimes the cans are bought for 2 DM each from the shoplifters, or are simply stolen. With a carefully thought out sketch of the work, the group (there are groups which have an all-female membership) stakes out its stretch of the Wall, carries out the project, meticulously works on each letter, and often finishes with inscriptions (naturally in English) before signing: Crime, Dane, Asea, Desa, KSF, Ron, or Jean, made up of French-loving Berliners. Until 9 November 1989, the graffiti artists were mainly worried about being plagiarized (such works were immediately painted over) or having their work being covered by new layers of colorful artwork.

Since then, some have tried to convince tourists armed with chisels and hammers to desist in order to preserve the artwork. Others have gone so far as to demand that the Wall be left standing as an official artistic monument!

It's in the Bag

Christian Bourguignon is a group organizer in a social-cultural center in the French sector in Berlin. With evident anger, he recalls the last rampage of skinheads who maliciously shattered shop windows. His voice completely changes to jubilant enthusiasm when he tells of meeting Marco Ziebarth.

"He his a young German student; One day in September 1987, he arrived at the Center with a beautifully painted backpack on which I witnessed a new work of art every week. Marco told me that he painted this artwork on the Wall and invited me to come discover the largest outdoor art gallery. Beforehand, I had only seen the literary side of Wall graffiti, filled with frustration and revolt; I was immediately fascinated by the beauty of these ephemeral works, this living newspaper which seemed so important to preserve for posterity.

"I shared my enthusiasm with a friend; in the snow-covered coldness of winter and under the burning Berlin summer sunshine, we both photographed nearly 130 kilometers of graffiti which decorate the 'Wall of Shame'.

"In March 1989, after having organized our photos by theme, we were able to exhibit a selection of four hundred posters in the French Cultural Center in Wedding.

"'Der Zufall wollte es, dass wir uns trafen': Chance meant for us to meet each other. This statement by Jan Kablau on the original drawing of his first signature as an artist, 'Kamon', was precious help for both of us. He generously gave his time and his artistic creativity.

"After having won a trip to Paris, in order to create a graphic signature of Yves Saint-Laurent, he became our project painter. "In light of recent events, our exhibition 'The Living Wall' has an anachronistic title. The Wall lives and will continue living in our photographic archives, but perhaps a page of history has been turned. In any case, we hope that the Wall will remain a symbol for quite some time: a symbol of the world and its thoughts."

Brian's Impressions
Thursday, 9 November 1989

I remember the day after a television interview of Christian Bourguignon, assistant director at the Talma Center (Franco-German Social and Cultural Center).

I finished my work at 9:00 pm, the beginning of a three-day weekend for me. As I locked the door of the Center, a drunken man stumbled down the sidewalk singing the German national anthem "Deutschland, Deutschland".

Upon returning home I made dinner. Without checking the program, I turned the TV on and began listening to ARD, the "Channel One" of the German State television network.

Chancellor Kohl was being interviewed live from Poland, where he was on a diplomatic trip. I turned up the volume in order to be able to hear the TV from my kitchen. As I was cooking my dinner, I heard the chancellor say that he would immediately interrupt his trip in order to come back to Germany as soon as possible. I thought that there must have been some problems with the relations between the two countries during the day.

I sat down in front of the TV set, ready to eat my dinner. A journalist in Berlin reported that people were jumping over the Wall at the Brandenburg Gate, but he added that he had no images to broadcast because things were happening so quickly. I couldn't understand the gist of what he was saying. It was too late to call someone and ask for more information. After finishing dinner, I turned off my TV and left my apartment to take a look around my neighborhood. While walking, I thought of the unfathomable news, then of the drunken man I had seen earlier who had been singing "Deutschland, Deutschland" (undoubtedly once for the West and once for the East).

I jumped in my car in order to get to where these events were taking place. While driving, I remember the words of the French politician Laurent Fabius which appeared in a French newspaper on 5 November 1989: "I do not know if or when it (reunification) will legally come about, but in any case, it is inscribed in the collective conscience of the two peoples". And further: "I do not exclude - at some point in the future - the destruction of the Berlin Wall, since one cannot talk about reunification without the fact that there would be no more Wall".

After parking my car near the Reichstag, I began to realize the important changes which were happening to both Berlins. The watch tower light just behind the Reichstag was not lit, as if dead. I heard screams of joy. I followed crowds to the Brandenburg Gate in order to ask people why there was such excitement.

In front of the Brandenburg Gate people were boosting each other up onto the Wall. I remember climbing up on a 70 centimeter high board and heaving myself up on the flat top of the structure.

From my new perspective I could judge the scope of what was happening, my eyes lit by the incredible scene. People from the East were running to get to the wall as if it were a finish line. They made me thought of rabbits being chased through No Man's Land. All were swimming in this moment of intense emotion, of unbridled happiness. All were happy to come together, West and East, hugging and kissing each other, congratulating each other on this informal reunion after 28 years of separation. A West German brandished the federal flag as a way of saying "Welcome!"

I remained still, my feet glued to the cement, not able to jump into the East. I didn't have my ID papers on me and I was afraid of being arrested even though two young East German People's Army soldiers were grinning at the whole scene. I was living an intense and euphoric historic moment.

After midnight, the dream had reached the press with headlines like: "The Wall Has Fallen!" "Berlin Becomes Berlin Again" "The Wall is Finally Open!"

Two weeks after beginning the sale of our first catalog on the "Graffiti on the Berlin Wall", I could not have imagined this change of course for one single second.

I left the ecstatic crowd. With no bloodshed, freedom once again came to Berlin, to Germany, and to the world.

Brian