During my brief time in Berlin, I have been walking around and
seeing a lot of museums, monuments, and old buildings, and so far I have had an
amazing time. I love how Berlin seamlessly mixes things that are ancient,
relatively old, modern, historical, and connected to specific cultures. I love
being in Europe, but especially Berlin, because everywhere you go, everywhere
you step, there is a sense of a deep history. I feel the history of the city
around me as a walk through it, whether it is artifacts from ancient Greece in
the Altes museum, or stumbling stones that commemorate people who were deported
in the Second World War. When I walked into this great, round room in the Altes
museum, I was rendered speechless for two reasons: 1) the architecture was
astoundingly beautiful, and 2) I wondered how a country with a past filled with
such horrors of colonialism, racism and terror could have things that are so
beautiful.
When I stopped to think about this juxtaposition, I caught
myself being a bit hypocritical, because we do this so often in the United
States as well. When I ask myself what is beautiful and renders me speechless
in the US, I think of gorgeous nature scenes or the skylines of iconic cities
that I have visited, like Manhattan. But then I think about the history that
lies underneath, such as the native peoples who used to live on these beautiful
expanses of land or the immigrants who pass by Manhattan, looking for a better
life but for decades receiving nothing prejudice and poverty. I was talking
with some of my classmates earlier in the week after walking around to see some
of the monuments near Humboldt University, such as the site of the Nazi book
burning, about why Germany deals with shameful history differently. We reminded
ourselves that people in America committed atrocities too, such as the genocide
of Native American peoples and the extensive history of slavery, as do many
other people in many other nations, but no nation has been forced to face its
dark past in the same way that Germany has, and the conflict between these two
historical narratives in Germany (that of pride and beauty versus shame and
terror) has resulted from this.
The artifact that I found on Monday near Humboldt University
was a stone commemorating the executions of about 30 protesters that destroyed
Nazi propaganda in the Lustgarten square on May 18th, 1942. The
memorial was put up in 1981, and was then added to later with glass panes to
explain the next part of the story that went untold. The protestors prompted
the retaliation action of the government; the main security office arrested 500
Jewish men at the end of May 1942 and killed half of them immediately. I was really struck by this artifact because
it was, compared to the grand buildings and beautiful fountains and gardens
around it, the stone block is quite small, but it has such a story behind it!
It has such a story and layers of complexity that meant pieces of Plexiglas
were added to the memorial so people passing by would know what happened and
why. The attention to detail and context, which I think is so important,
actually happened here. I’m really glad that this layer was added, but I wander
if creating additions in the name of context is appropriate in all situations
of commemoration.
The Palace of Tears was a very eye-opening experience for me
because, until I walked in to the exhibit, I was completely taking for granted
what a key role the train station played during the time of the wall. I was,
for some reason, upset that I didn’t originally give enough weight to a place
where so many were separated from their families, or were denied entry to the
West, or were caught “smuggling” basic necessities across the border. One part
of the exhibit that is stuck strongly in my mind is the video that presented
the differences in parallel film reels between the West and East; the same
events, such as the initial military enforcement of the border between East and
West, were portrayed in such utterly different ways by the Western and Eastern
media. Such contrasting narratives so close to one another is not only
concerning, but frightening. The prospect of a nearby neighbor getting utterly
opposite information to what you receive is unsettling, to say the least.
To conclude this weekly journal, I wanted to briefly reflect
on my community partner, the Coop Campus (or Die Gärtnerei). I absolutely love
everything that this project is about, and I am having a wonderful time working
there. To summarize, the garden is composed of a few large plots of land on
what is still a cemetery where there is a literal garden, honeybees, a
wood shop, an art studio, a kitchen, classrooms, and community space for anyone
who wants to be there to spend time and have a place to be at home. In
particular, the Coop Campus helps refugees find a community and support system
by offering German classes, workshops in both practical skills and creative expression,
and hopefully connecting people to job opportunities if everything falls into
place. I have met so many wonderful, welcoming people who work and learn there,
the community is extremely welcoming, and a lot of that comes from affirmation;
no matter who you are, when you walk into the campus everyone says hello! People
who didn’t even know me, who can’t even speak the same language as me, greeted
our group with an open heart on our first day (Wednesday). Since then, I have
worked in the garden raking and pulling weeds, sanded down boards to make
signs, washed dishes, picked herbs, made tea, and spent time with people who
work at the campus. I’m really excited to get to know more about the community
and to see what I can do next to help the people who work there.
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