The fall of the Berlin Wall on November 9, 1989, was more than the end of a Cold War relic; it was a thunderclap of freedom that reverberated across Europe and the world. The physical barrier that once separated families and ideologies became, overnight, a potent symbol of unity. Yet, 35 years on, Berlin remains a city grappling with the weight of that history and the challenges of its present.
Having visited Berlin in 2018 as part of an artist residency, I experienced firsthand this blend of history, culture, and contradictions. I was put up a few kilometres away from the centre of Hermannplatz, one of the busiest railway stations in Berlin. My ‘home’ was located in a quiet residential area of some amazingly old buildings of the World War era. The vicinity also included an abandoned airfield which was now used as a park for recreation purposes by the locals. I ended up making friends with an ageing Algerian who lived one floor above me, and told me in broken English laced with German accent that he had migrated to the city back in the late seventies and took to painting homes to make a living.
The past was palpable everywhere, especially at the remnants of the Wall, now transformed into a canvas for global artistry.
Berlin’s cultural significance has long been intertwined with its role as the epicentre of Cold War espionage, reflected in a prodigious number of spy novels, making the Wall and the Brandenburg Gate as essential adornments in a veritable cottage industry. The ‘divided city’ inspired the likes of John le Carré, whose The Spy Who Came in from the Cold brilliantly captured the murky morality of espionage amid the tension of East-West relations. Len Deighton’s novels - such as Funeral in Berlin and the Bernard Samson series, especially Berlin Game - further entrenched the city in the popular imagination as a labyrinth of spies, betrayals, and shadowy alliances. These works, emblematic of Berlin’s divided past, have become as much a part of the city’s identity as its graffiti-covered walls.
The graffiti on the Wall is a unique testament to Berlin’s resilience and reinvention. Among the most iconic contributions are the works of Thierry Noir, who began painting the Wall in the 1980s to reclaim it as a space for creativity rather than oppression. Noir’s bright, cartoonish figures became synonymous with the Wall’s artistic transformation. Artists like Kiddy Citny, who adorned the Wall with symbols of hope and unity, and later Keith Haring, who left his unmistakable mark on Berlin, turned the barrier into a global symbol of freedom and artistic defiance.
The Wall once sliced through Berlin like a wound. Built in 1961, it embodied the geopolitical stalemate between the Soviet bloc and the West. For 28 years, it divided East Germans from the promise of the West, leaving behind a trail of heartbreak and heroism. When it fell, it marked not just the reunification of Germany but the symbolic demise of Soviet hegemony in Europe. Today, the Wall’s fragments, adorned with colourful murals, tell stories of resilience while attracting throngs of tourists. Yet, the Berlin Wall’s fall, so vividly remembered, contrasts with the less celebrated struggles of its aftermath.
The city’s challenges today feel like echoes of its divided past. Berlin, a cultural and artistic haven, struggles to house its citizens and an influx of refugees from war-torn regions like the Middle East and Africa. The vibrancy of a multicultural metropolis coexists uneasily with the economic pressures of skyrocketing rents and insufficient housing stock. Back in 2018, I met young professionals living in camper vans because they could not afford apartments - a predicament that persists, exacerbated by the strains of integrating newcomers.
The commemorations for the 35th anniversary of the Wall’s fall reflect Germany’s enduring struggle to reconcile memory with forward momentum. Efforts to establish a permanent memorial, most notably the planned Monument to Freedom and Unity which has been delayed for decades and have been mired in debates over symbolism, inclusivity, and execution. The proposed design, a seesaw requiring collective effort to tip, seems an apt metaphor for Berlin itself: a city that works only when its diverse voices and memories find balance.
For Berliners, anniversaries like this one are not merely historical markers. They are opportunities to revisit what freedom, unity, and identity mean in a city that continues to evolve. After all, Berlin’s story is no longer just German; it belongs to the world.
The city is a living testament to the idea, to quote William Faulkner, that “the past is never dead. It is not even past.” On this anniversary, Berlin reminds us that tearing down walls is only the beginning. The real challenge lies in building bridges strong enough to withstand the weight of history, the demands of the present, and the hopes of the future.
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