The classic end of communism comedy, Goodbye Lenin, is critical viewing for anyone moving to Berlin. It was first released in 2003, a decade after the fall of the Berlin Wall, but with memories of communist rule still ever present. The film charts the final days of the German Democratic Republic through the eyes of a family that represents two conflicting, and conflicted, views of the totalitarian state. The mother of the family, a convinced communist party member; her two children, rebelling against the tedium and repression of GDR society.
Much of the comedy, and the tragedy, comes from the fact that, after the mother wakes from a coma during which she ‘slept’ through the fall of the Berlin Wall, the family have to find ever more inventive ways to recreate every detail of former GDR life to protect her from a relapse. This sparks a quest to find food, drinks, toiletries and many other items from the former GDR that had all but vanished as Western commodities flooded the market. This involves a near-futile search for a special type of pickled gherkin.
Today, the film remains a poignant reminder of a world that has rapidly disappeared in the 28 years since the reunification of Germany. Communist East Germany existed for only 41 years, and the self-styled socialist “workers’ and peasants’ state” that emerged from the Soviet Occupation Zone at the end of the Second World War, disintegrated with few tears shed. Unless they were tears of joy as the Berlin Wall fell, and thousands of East Germans exercised a sudden and unexpected freedom to travel.
A recent viewing of Goodbye Lenin reminded me to visit the small, informative and fun GDR Museum, which sits opposite the Berliner Dom cathedral in the former eastern part of the city. The museum explores the history of the GDR through personal stories and everyday objects. One of the highlights is the reconstruction of a typical East German apartment from the 1960s. In the living room a TV blares programmes from the era, and is decorated with wonderfully period designs.
Housing was in short supply, and the woefully inefficient centrally planned economy incapable of providing material goods. When new apartments were built they were all identical, choice was a Western decadence. A common East German joke ran that if you woke up in bed and your wife had a new hairstyle, the chances were that you were in the wrong apartment. More seriously, there’s also a listening station as used by the State Security Service, the Stasi, to spy on citizens in their homes.
The museum is fascinating, but small and can get very crowded. That said, I learned a lot, including nuggets of wisdom such as East Germans were the heaviest consumers of alcohol in Europe, some 17 litres of pure alcohol per person per year, presumably to anaesthetise themselves from the reality of daily existence. Then there is naturism, and how being nude in public turned into a subversive political movement – a freedom of expression in a country where there were few other freedoms.
Outside the museum, reminders of the GDR are increasingly scarce – if you discount the regular sightings of Trabant tours. Segments of the Berlin Wall remain, as do the jolly green and red Ampelmännchen road crossings, and some iconic GDR buildings and artworks. We passed statues of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels en route to the former GDR parliament, in an ironic twist now a business school. Here symbols of the GDR regime have been preserved, and occasionally it’s possible to visit the interior to see stained glass windows as propaganda.
Today, these leftovers from the former GDR seem almost exotic, and it’s easy to forget the misery and repression that they represent. Near our apartment is an old GDR-era building that has a beautiful mosaic of a dove of peace, a much used and abused symbol of a regime that was anything but peace loving. It sits neglected and largely unnoticed by a main road, a relic like the country it once represented.