Remembering The Wall

By Elizabeth Sherman

My generation has no idea what the Cold War is.

We’ve read about it in textbooks, we’ve seen it on TV, but we haven’t lived it. I was not even three months old when the Berlin Wall fell on Nov 9, 1989. I’m sure I was happily sucking on a pacifier somewhere while Berliners from both sides of the wall climbed up, crossed over, and looked forward to a new life.  But something was calling me to Berlin.

I was shocked when I got to Berlin to see the amount of dominoes. I know what the number 1000 means, but I don’t really think I’ve ever had 1000 of anything, so to see these giant pieces of art spread out along an entire mile was shocking. I climbed to the top of the Reichstag building, the seat of Parliament for unified Germany, and looked down over them, crossing my fingers that an unruly tourist didn’t jump the barricades and Knock them over too early.

I decided to walk the old path of the Berlin wall. I got down to Potsdammer Platz before it really struck me what it means to live in face of a giant wall. I stood on one side of the street, and looked across. It was only one city street. Not wide at all. I cross the street every day to do tons of things—go to the grocery store, visit friends, even check the mailbox. For the people of Berlin everything changed overnight. Family members on the wrong side? Non-existent. Favorite fruit vendor on the corner ? Better find a new one. I stood on the side of the street, watching a flood of pedestrians cross it, wondering if any of them had once been stuck on the wrong side.

The night of November 9th, 2009 felt exciting to me. I imagine that on a much smaller scale it felt like the night twenty years previous, everyone buzzing with excitement, which occasionally turned to pushiness or hostility. At first I was incredibly annoyed with everyone in the crowd. How can you keep pushing? There’s nowhere left to go, there’s a barricade. I realized though, that it was that pushing in the first place that brought the wall down.

Finally, when the ceremony started, the mood in the crowd changed. Everyone, even the people who had been trying to push people over and were screaming minutes before calmed down. We all turned toward the dominoes and got quiet. The speeches were great, Bon Jovi’s teeth sparkled as usual, but the dominoes were unquestionably the star of the show. Painted by schoolchildren and those seeking peace all over the world, they were pushed over by leaders of countries formerly controlled by the Soviet Union.

By the time the dominoes got to where I was standing, the crowd could barely take it anymore. Falling past the Brandenburg Gate, once inaccessible because of the Wall, and a symbol of Berlin, the positive energy that was simmering  all night exploded. We all climbed up on barricades, and screamed our heads off. Regardless of any hard feelings earlier in the night, everyone left smiling.

I am not a Berliner, but at the celebrations, it felt like anyone who has ever wanted peace could be one.

Image: Mike McHolm