For nearly thirty long years, a cement wall divided the central European capital of Berlin, Germany. The Eastern part of the city fell under the control of the Soviet Union, while the Western side enjoyed a democracy protected by the United States, Great Britain, and France. When the Soviets erected the wall in 1961, families and communities were suddenly divided, and many in East Berlin risked their lives to reach freedom in the west.
In fact, impoverished people from all across the Soviet Bloc made their way to East Berlin, hoping their escape attempt would be one of the few to succeed. West Berlin was entirely surrounded by Soviet-held territory, making its existence precarious and consistently under siege – and a popular point of entry for those seeking entry into western Europe and the United States.
The wall crumbled in 1989, in a massive outpouring of pro-democracy fervor that swept through Eastern Europe following decades of austere Soviet rule. The U.S.S.R. crumbled, and Berlin was reunited as one city, the capital of a similarly reunited Germany. Fast forward nearly thirty years, to my visit in March 2016. I expected to find a city thoroughly in the twenty-first century; after all, I was born three years after the collapse of the Berlin Wall and the notion of a divided Germany has always felt part of the distant past.
What I discovered, however, was a city still grappling with the tragedies of the past century. While most of the Berlin Wall was removed in the years following German reunification, some segments remain, unmoved. In other parts of the city, a bronze line along the sidewalk reminds walkers they are casually strolling between one of the most fortified boundaries of the twentieth century.
Nearly every major site in Berlin is emotionally charged, and those that don’t have connections to the Soviet era are often the remnants of Hitler’s tenure. Travelers will rapidly understand Berlin allows its messy, pain-filled history to stand front and center; this is a city built by its history, and throughout my visit, I gathered Berlin’s way of preventing future tragedies is to openly discuss those of its past.
For me, one of the most powerful reminders of Berlin’s tragic history is Gendenkstatte Berliner Mauer. Relatively far from the tourist center, few stop at this memorial on a first trip to Berlin. At first glance, it doesn’t appear to be much. Unlike the more tourist friendly Topography of Terrors, the Gendenkstatte Berliner Mauer isn’t made palpable by an array of curated informational boards in four different languages. Descriptions are threadbare, because the emotion of the site says it all.
As popular a crossing as East Berlin was for those itching to escape the Soviet Bloc, few made it. Gendenkstatte Berliner Mauer highlights those lives lost during the perilous crossing; most were shot point-blank by Soviet guards.
Now, hopefully you’re drawing parallels to the political turmoil of today. A wall was not the answer in Berlin, nor will it be along the southern border of the United States. I’ve always been anti-border, but after visiting Berlin, I viscerally witnessed how physical walls can lead to grave human rights violations. holds added interest for what stood there prior to the infamous wall: a Nazi and German civilian cemetery. A small plaque nearby explains that while roughly one thousand graves were moved in order to construct the wall, experts believe not all of the remains on site were relocated. This means, of course, that the wall was built on top of their graves. Today, a cross stands in place to remember those unnamed civilian victims.
I feel it’s important to offer some context: the Soviets treated the Germans horribly; using modern vernacular, we’d describe the post-war situation as one ripe with war crimes on the part of the Soviets. Before World War II even ended, Soviet troops marched into Germany and terrorized the civilians, particularly the women, who in many cases had to disguise themselves as men to avoid the primary tactic employed the Soviets: rape. I know, it’s hard to imagine a people collectively justifying sexual abuse as a tool of war and building a wall on top of civilian graves out of blatant disrespect.
Sadly, though, many Soviets thought this was deserved retribution. The Germans were far harsher on Russians than they were on the French during the war. They starved out entire Soviet cities; reports of families eating beloved pets simply to stay alive and children dying in the streets were all too common. More Soviets died on the European front of World War II than soldiers from any other other Allied powers. Soviets, both in the military and at home, were furious, and they took it out on those Germans who did survive in some of the most brutal ways imaginable.
In many ways, Berlin is a microcosm of a greater divide within Europe, one that has lasted for centuries: the East and the West. Historically, Western Europe has been wealthier, more stable, and has enjoyed higher standards of living. The system of peasants forcibly tied to the land, living in gross poverty, persisted in Russia up until the Revolution, and Western Europe has typically held strong anti-immigrant and xenophobic sentiment towards those in the East attempting to relocate to the West. But, by the 1950’s and 1960’s, attitudes began shifting as the struggle morphed into one of democracy versus Soviet communism, and the U.S.S.R. did everything in its power to keep its impoverished citizens away from the west. They relied on historic east-west tensions in an attempt to convince Soviets to stay put. Propaganda, half-baked “welfare” programs, and, of course, a physical wall were all a part of the same strategy.
Now, hopefully you’re drawing parallels to the political turmoil of today. A wall was not the answer in Berlin, nor will it be along the southern border of the United States. The post-Brexit UK will solve none of its economic woes by exiling its Eastern European born residents. Denying asylum to Syrian refugees will not make mainland Europe more prosperous.
I’ve always been anti-border, and I’ve studied at length statistics and facts and policy regarding immigration reform; visiting Gendenkstatte Berliner Mauer, however, skillfully added a personal, human dynamic to the longstanding question of physical walls. Standing in the light rain under cloudy Berlin skies, Kevin and I looked at the faces of those who died trying to flee poverty and political persecution at what has to be one of the most visceral sites in all of Berlin. The memorial is simple, really, but incredibly powerful at the same time.
