The 25th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin
wall and the celebration that ensued was a pleasure to watch.
It proved to trigger more than a few
memories. While I was born in Scarborough
Ontario, a long way from Berlin, the city is still a part of me, as it was the
home to both my parents, my grandparents and many of my relatives. My Parents
left Berlin for Canada in 1957, a few years before the wall was constructed but
the border had already tightened immensely.
I grew up with the stories of my parents and there are many,
stories of living through the bombings of Berlin, the disappearance of
relatives that defied the Nazis, the
return of an Uncle captured by the Russians and not released from Siberia for
ten years after the war had ended. The stories were plentiful, often difficult
to comprehend while living in the safety and freedom of Canada. The stories of the Russian soldiers arriving
in horse drawn carriages were surreal.
Just as the American led Berlin airlift was heroic, to defy the Russians
and keep West Berlin democratic and part of the free West Germany despite being
an island in the communist controlled East Germany.
My parents have never stopped emphasizing how lucky we were
that the allies defeated Hitler, and also stood their ground against the rise
of Communism that surged after the 2nd world war. As a kid I did question my parent’s
earnestness at times, finding it hard to believe how bad it was. On paper the
idea of a communist state seemed quite utopian.
In theory everyone was to be equal, all working toward a common good,
protected by a paternalistic state. How bad could it be? Well, the first hint was that a giant wall
had to be built to keep the people in…though the official line was that it was
to keep the westerners out…
None of it truly came to light for me until I made my first journey
to Berlin as a young teenager. My parents felt it was important that I not only
meet some of my relatives overseas but see first hand what the iron curtain was
all about.
I was thirteen or 14 at the time of my first trip to Germany
and to Berlin. This was about 8 years
before the fall of the wall. The communists were still entrenched in East
Germany and the wall, keeping West Berlin as a landlocked island, was still very
much in place. I spent a week in West Germany before venturing into Berlin. I loved
my time in West Germany, Bavaria specifically, there was a very similar culture
to Canada and I found a very free country. Watching “Dallas” dubbed in German
during the time of “who shot JR” was a blast.
The trip to Berlin however was an eye opener. We flew into Berlin in a smaller jet, a
turbulent ride as the airspace was restricted by the communists. We landed in
West Berlin and I experienced what felt like a dying city. The city was
populated by “old“ people. The younger
generations had left for brighter shores. Who wanted to start a family in a walled city?
What corporations wanted to headquarter in a city under constant threat of being
invaded by the east, where transportation was a huge hassle? Berlin was an artificially sustained place to
defy the Soviets, subsidized by West Germany and the Americans. It was no longer the capital city. Travelling
around the city was a little bizarre as once grand boulevards ended abruptly
with a 3 meter high cement wall.
The
mood was morbid. My mother chose to go
back to the west by train, so I would get to see a little of what life in the
communist side was about. My parents had long since become Canadian citizens
and carried Canadian passports but I could still see the tension in my mother’s
face as we dealt with East German customs, could there be a list somewhere of
those that had “escaped” the east in the late 1950’s? In the end the Canadian passport was respected
and the East German guards treated us far better than our fellow German
travellers. We were forbidden to get off
the train while travelling through the East, or have any contact with locals.
As East Germans were not permitted to leave, the train was thoroughly searched
inside and out by guards with search dogs at both borders and at any stops in
between. When the train passed through the border into the west, it was though
we had gone into a time warp. The decay
was striking, the infrastructure was crumbling, the people were dressed plainly
and uniformly, and technological progress seemed to have stopped 30 years
prior. But I think the sight of the Dobermans and German shepherds searching underneath
the trains for potential escapees was what struck this 13 year old most. Was this something right out of a bad movie?
Unimaginable in Canada…right?
All the years of stories I had heard from my parents
suddenly came to life, and became real, they now had context. I now knew why my Grandparents had abandoned
a house and a lifetime of memories and hard work to start over again in the
West. Now I understood why my family had
smuggled clothes and cash out past the Russian border control, why neighbours
had to be misled to ensure a successful escape. My Grandfather had begun to
build an addition on the house to avoid suspicion by the authorities that they
were thinking of leaving…permanently.
My
grandparents never saw that house again. I was the first family member to lay
eyes on it 30+ years later when I returned to Berlin as a re-unified city.
I returned to Berlin in 1991 as a young adult about a year and
a half after the wall had come down. The difference was stunning. Much of the
city seemed like a construction site (visons of Toronto) and the positive
energy and excitement was tangible in the air.
Walking through the Brandenburg gate (under restoration to restore it to
its’ original design) the former East
German soldiers and police were selling their uniforms, chunks of the wall, East
German currency (now worthless) and other paraphernalia. The wall had been bull
dozed in many areas, streets and boulevards rejoined.
With the assistance of a great Uncle, I went on a bit of a pilgrimage
to find the house my grandparents had abandoned 30 years prior. It was a little challenging, the Communists’ had
renamed the streets, and the uncle that was helping me was from my Mother’s
side of the family and had never been to my Dad’s side of the family home. With some verbal assistance from my Dad over the
phone from Canada we ventured off to “AltGlienicke”. Before the time of Google
maps and a GPS, instead we relied on landmarks and eventually my uncle suggested
we find somebody that was old enough to have lived there before the war that
might remember the old street names. As
luck would have it, the first fellow we asked for assistance turned out to be a
former neighbour and work colleague of my Grandfather and was able to direct us
to the place with ease and also to the graveyard where my Dad’s brother was
buried. I must say it was an emotional
moment and I regrettably could not muster the nerve to knock on the door of the
house to see who if anyone, lived there now. The reception may not have been
friendly as technically we could have made a claim on it…but my Grandmother had
closed the book on this part of her life and did not want us to reopen it…so we
honoured her wishes. She was however keenly interested in the photos I brought
back, and it gave her great peace to see that her sons’ grave site was being
meticulously cared for…by who we don’t know.
The living history lesson was incredible. I walked through what was formerly East Berlin freely. Watched the little "Trabants" with their 35 hp 2 stroke engines navigate traffic alongside VW Golf's and Mazda's. Saw the former parliament buildings of the East German government with the statues of the Marx and Engels now marked with Graffiti. Those 10 days in Berlin were, in hindsight, life changing. My roots became more real, yes I am a Canadian, born and bred. But my history is undeniably in this great city. I felt at home in Berlin, it was comfortable and all the stories I had heard growing up became mine…my history.
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It's now been over 20 years since my last visit to Berlin. Life happens, we get busy in the present, making ends meet, raising kids. But I watched the 25
th Anniversary with interest. I was surprised how this milestone has caused me to look back and once again take stock of where I came from. My parents have now lived in Canada far longer than they lived in Berlin, Canada has always been my home. Our family here has grown and prospered. My sister lives a few hours away and I have a niece and nephew close by. But still, these events and celebration were in a little way was also my family history unfolding. So how thin does the thread get over time and by generation? As a dad of 6 year old I want to take him to Berlin, but I don’t think it will have the same impact it had on me. He is curious about what this is all about, and he does question his Opa about what the German language is all about, and wants to know if we can drive there on some weekend adventure. He asks if they too have tall buildings. If and or when I take him I don't know how he will feel. But it will be part of his story too…
