Remembering Berlin, 8th – 12th November 1989
The 30th aniversary of the ‘Peaceful Revolution’ and the fall of the Berlin Wall is back in the news and a focal point for analysis and review. But for many, including myself it’s an event etched in memory; an experience never to be forgotten.
Realising that a momentus political change was underway I flew to Berlin on an impulse, arriving on the 8th December. What followed was beyond expectation - four days of drama, spontaneity and celebration.
It was an all day, all night happening with little time for sleep. By day I joined the crowds, chipping at the wall with hammers, taking photographs, sharing the mood while the nights were given over to partying at spontanious wall-side gatherings or in packed Berlin bars. It was a time to meet, marvel and celebrate, though occasionally I made it back to my hotel for brief naps, to eat and to warm up – as it was bitterly cold.
What remains now is a kaleidoscope of memories; of climbing and standing on The Wall as the East German border guards gradually morphed from their habitual sullen brutality into kind smiling humans, and an all night vigil at Potsdamer Platz on the night of the 9th Dec, watching as the East German guards cut through the wall – sparks from their grinders breaking through the concrete. On the western side, people sang, drank and held sparklers. The first piece of the wall – the rounded top section - was craned off around midnight and in the dawn, in the newly made gap, solders from East and West leant through that space and embraced, greeting each other as comrades.
The supposedly impenetrable wall of the iron curtain falling apart in an instant; a cruel ideology overwhelmed by people power
That small opening of the wall at Potsdamer Platz was widened, a temporary surface laid across the once mined ‘forbidden zone’ and on the 11th the crossing opened. An ever growing stream of East Germans poured into West Berlin, some driving their ubiquitous Trabants, the majority on foot. They were greeted by girls in traditional dresses handing out flowers and food while the West German police, many also adorned with flowers did their best to manage the human tide.
The atmosphere was electric; a carnival of hope and utter delight. Relatives and friends long separated could be seen hugging, visibly overwhelmed. As the West German Government had promised a gift of 100 DM to every arriving East German, queues soon formed at banks where they could collect their money before heading to department stores to spend it on everything affordable. The Berlin Woolworths was completely emptied of stock.
Crowds wandered about in astonishment, window shopping, making their way through the once forbidden land of capitalism. But it was a freezing cold day and with classic German efficiency, soup kitchens, food trucks and Red Cross stations were quickly established; the jubilant new-comers were increasingly hungry and cold but in keeping with the mood of the moment, their needs were met with generosity and respect.
My last memory of that day was crossing into East Berlin in the late afternoon, through Check Point Charlie without anyone giving my passport even a cursory glance. I was walking with a group of Polish University students who like me, had travelled post-haste to Berlin to see it for themselves. While they waited for the night train back to Warsaw, we sat in an Alexanderplatz bar, dining on schnapps, bread and cheap sausage, talking about all that we had witnessed. We were all astonished at the rapid turn of events, the political changes. Daring to dream of a new united Europe that would include them, these young Poles were none-the-less anxious, aware of their history, unsure of the future.
By late the next day I was back home in London, tired and in need of sleep (and a liver detox) but forever uplifted by those remarkable events. It was a moment when many of us had dared to dream about; of a different world – one that symbolised the very best in us.
