It was like no other celebration I’ve been to, and just as the rest of the million plus people who turned out won’t forget Mauerfall 25, the 25th anniversary of the Berlin Wall coming down, I never will, either.
It was the rare, perfect mix of somber and celebratory. The Chancellor tucked a single yellow rose into a remnant of the Wall, paying tribute to the people who had died trying to cross it. The political speeches were short. One of the key activists from the former East Berlin had a leading role in the ceremonies. Along the Lichtgrenze, one could read 100 different stories of ordinary people’s lives who were changed forever by the Wall. And the illuminated balloons, stretched along a 15 kilometer stretch, evoked UFOs, which was really the perfect way to represent the Wall – as an alien body.
But the balloons each had a “godparent” or Pate, as they are called in German, and each (biodegradable) balloon had an individualized, hand written message attached to it. As my friends Peter and Barbara and their son Daniel and his girlfriend Tania and I walked about a three-mile stretch of the Lichtgrenze last night, we stopped to read some of the messages along the way. Like virtually everything about these past few days, they offered a welter of emotions, some as airy as the helium gas that filled the balloons, others in memory of some of the 136 people who were killed trying to cross the Wall, others still demanding that all of the remaining political walls in the world be torn down.
The crowds along the route never forgot why we were there, and so while there was an undeniably festive air to the foggy night, it was also laced with serious discussions between parents and children and friends and foreigners about what the Wall had represented. Everyone was talking about it, in dozens of different languages, and, for the Germans, in an uncharacteristically open way. I probably heard a hundred of those conversations myself as I walked the entire stretch over two days.
We opted to stay away from the Brandenburg Gate and the hundreds of thousands of people who congregated there to hear the politicians speak and listen to Daniel Barenboim conduct Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. Instead, we watched on giant screens erected at the very end of the Lichtgrenze, across from what is the longest remaining stretch of the Wall, now called the East Side Gallery, an outdoor art gallery, and near the Oberbaumbrücke, a bridge crossing over the Spree that was closed when the Wall went up. Our crowd consisted of a lot of locals, people who lived in the apartments looking right over the Wall at the water’s edge, and some of them recalled the horrors they had witnessed from their own living rooms, safe in the West. As they talked and we waited for our balloons to go up – they were released sequentially – a few people on standup paddle boards plied the waters of the Spree, where they could not have when the Wall was up. As the temporary balloon Wall lifted skyward, a pair of mallards flew overhead, backlit by the glow.
Somehow, it all fit together, magically and poetically.
This morning early, heading to an appointment at the American Embassy, right next to the Brandenburg Gate, I marveled at how clean the city looked. Crews had worked all night, and the barriers were down, the streets were swept and the trash had been emptied. Even the bases of the balloon holders had disappeared. The Wall truly was gone, and by 9:00 a.m., Berlin was nearly back to normal. I can’t say the same thing about myself.