Paving Over Stalin's Grass

For those of us in the West, it was simply the Berlin Wall; for those to whom it mattered most, it was Antifaschistischer Schutzwall. To understand this distinction is to begin an authentic inquiry into the extraordinary and often subtle implications of 1989. It's hard to imagine that just over twenty years ago, this iconic, and seemingly indelible monument to the Cold War met its end at the hands of those it confined- both physically and psychologically. While recent media coverage has immortalized the event with all the tinsel of nostalgia and ceremony, deep and complex neuroses still cripple many residents of the "emancipated" East. Unfortunately, the explosive demise of East Germany and its festering psychological fallout cannot be sufficiently relayed by the spectacle of broadcast. A genuine pursuit of historical significance requires empathy. And real empathy is not virtual.

A faithful commemoration of “the fall” would entail nothing less than inhabiting the fragile lives of those who dwelt in its menacing shadow for so long. Any attempt to convey this plight in either words or images inevitably falls short. Our strenuous empathy requires the solemn physicality of place. In other words, you have to be there. However, sadly for Berlin, this monument of struggle is now almost totally gone. The notorious wall that interned a generation is quickly vanishing for good. While some may greet this summary extinction with joy or, worse, apathy, I think the complete lack of organized preservation is both harmful and wrong, and tragically represents a much larger social trend.

As its agitprop name suggests, the Antifaschistischer Schutzwall was foisted on the East German public as a prudent solution to keep the “fascist” West at bay lest the “capitalist cannibals” beset the happy collective. In reality, of course, the wall or “death strip” as it was known locally, was a penal rampart with unparalleled, methodical lethality. Stock media images of the relatively innocuous concrete slabs do not approach an accurate portrayal of the inhumanity. More than a barrier, the strip was a complex system of watchtowers, staggered fencing, anti-vehicle trenches, bunkers, and other cruel obstacles designed to kill or disable those daring to trespass (“Stalin’s grass” was the local nickname for the nail-spiked stretch of corridor intended to impale and trap victims’ feet). The soundtrack was equally unforgiving: the incessant, barking rasp of border dogs, the ghoulish crack of sniper fire, and the grinding wail of military vehicles. Taken together, the wall’s imposition on the human soul was immeasurable.

It begs the question: why would anyone want to preserve any vestige of such obscenity? Because it’s history? Yes- but most importantly because it’s ugly and you could never replicate its aura of depravity. No documentary, no blog, no research paper could ever record or evoke the stark drama of place. If we lose our tangible connection to the past, we forfeit a vital piece of our collective identity, and we resign ourselves to a fate where our only relationship with history is through media-sponsored simulation. We enter a frenzied hyperreality that is devoid of authenticity or originality; where the priceless topography of meaning is constantly razed and repurposed at the careless whim of society; where representation totally supplants reality. We become aliens in our own land, the characteristics of which are unrecognizable and always fleeting. We become passengers of a rudderless vessel at the mercy of a mercurial sea. Unanchored to the past in any meaningful way, we drown in the present. Defeated and demoralized we passively submit to the will of the Spectacle. In a very real sense, we ARE all Berliners.

I recognize the irony, but here is a....

...poignant documentary on the Fall:

...and a BRILLIANT fictional film I HIGHLY suggest renting:

SHIG