Berlin is rough. Berlin can be kind, too. Berlin changes but is always unfinished. Berlin, at times, seems less like Berlin and more like London, where people cross paths but don't meet, and smiling at strangers has become a rarity.
There is one day of the year, however, when people still manage to smile at strangers. It's November 9th, that fateful date inscribed in German history for the good - the fall of the Wall - the bad - the Night of Broken Glass - and the dramatic - the end of the German Empire in 1918.
I use November 9th as a litmus test for my feelings towards this city and its inhabitants. Every five years, I take stock: How many smiling glances have I exchanged while walking past signs or listening to ceremonies? With how many people have I felt a connection, rather than estrangement? How many have I encountered taking time to pay homage, on this evening that is at once joyous and ill-fated, to its Jews, killed and expelled on and after 9th November 1938, missing pieces of the city's soul, who will never be replaced?
The political climate, as you know, is as gray these days — as the weather. My feelings towards this city — one I've studied and loved so deeply — have also clouded over the past five years. I've reached a point where I feel like a stranger, despite knowing every stone, square, and building of these streets, including those that no longer stand.
Yesterday, however, I encountered smiles: we looked at each other, in front of videos, panels, words. And we smiled at each other, strangers who remembered for a moment that they had something in common, something fundamental to believe in. The value of freedom and the gratitude of living in this democracy, however imperfect.
Many were here with their children, talking about what they had seen and learned. Some, as I have done in the past, explained to their guests in English the meaning of slogans and posters, pictures and music. Our paths crossed as we watched and listened. We smiled at each other.
A spontaneous smile between strangers who are there to remember where we come from is much more than a smile. It is the sign of a city and a country that is not yet lost. Because it knows where it comes from. And it knows how fortunate it is.
Be happy, Berlin!
Five years ago, 9-10 November 2019
On each strip, people´ thoughts, “What do you wish for the future?” “What does democracy mean to you?”
In front of the Getsemane Church in Prenzlauer Berg, a key site of the civic protest that led to 9 November:
On 10 November 1989, the border between East Berlin and Potsdam was reopened at the Glienicke Brücke, known as the “Bridge of Spies”. At 18:00 of 10 November 2019, on the bridge packed with people, we all sang Beethoven's Ode to Joy, our European anthem:
Back to today:
Music credits: Serge Pavkin
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