Livio Senigalliesi: Imagine No Heaven
Berlin 10th November 1989 - Checkpoit Charlie © Livio Senigalliesi
End of Cold War
Go To Exhibition:End of Cold War
Berlin, 9 November 1989
© Photo and textx by Livio Senigalliesi
I remember the day well. I’d arrived in Berlin a week before intending to tell the story of a divided city, and found myself amidst an event that revolutionised both modern history and my own photojournalistic career. The wind of Perestroika was blowing from Moscow, and Mikhail Gorbachev’s doctrines brought new ideas and a longing for democracy and liberty, which would have been inconceivable only a few years earlier. Even in countries under the Warsaw Pact the people were demonstrating their desire for change and the nomenklatura held onto power by brute strength alone.
I’d followed these events with interest from Rome, in the newsroom of Il Manifesto, a breeding ground for great journalism which at the time was paying a good deal of attention to the innovations coming from the East. The Moscow and Bonn correspondents – Astrit Dakli and Guido Ambrosino – told me it was time to leave. We needed to furnish proof of ‘die Wende’ (1). They felt that something new was on the brink of happening, something I shouldn’t miss. The flight of GDR citizens towards Czechoslovakia was the evidence that the regime’s disintegration was beginning – the rupture in an already-rusty iron curtain. Spurred by the news, I took a night train from Milan to Munich.
It was 1 November 1989. Around mid-morning, I boarded a rather ancient carriage heading to ‘die Zone’ (2), destined for East Berlin. No one could have predicted that, one week later, I was going to find myself catapulted into an event which would end up changing the economic, political and strategic order on a global scale.
In Berlin, I was sleeping in a squat in the Kreuzberg district. From my window, I could see the Wall – the militarised zone dividing the American and Soviet blocs. It was just the place to come to terms with the aura of a location suspended in time since 1945. The realisation came when I first crossed Checkpoint Charlie, passing under the banner that warned in English, “You are leaving the American Sector”. I braved endless checks before emerging from a tiny iron doorway facing Friedrichstraße and entered the ‘zone’, as it was referred to in all the maps and tourist guides available in the West. A strongly sulphurous smell tainted the air that overcast autumn morning – the stench of brown coal, used in the East for both domestic heating and industrial production.
Police corps were on every corner. I felt observed, but marched on decisively towards East Berlin’s International Press Zentrum, where I was to deliver the letter of accreditation Il Manifesto had supplied. This would give me the rare opportunity of going where most people couldn’t. Along the way I spotted many signs of war damage. Everything had remained unchanged: the Reichstag in ruins, the bombed-out houses and scorched earth, facades battered by shrapnel, either from Allied aircraft bombing, or the artillery shells shot point-blank by Red Army soldiers attempting to wipe out the last nuclei of Nazi resistance.
Once handed the bureaucratic paperwork, the kindly but zealous Ministry of Communications official told me that I’d have to come back in a few days. In the meantime, until my press pass was issued, photos were forbidden (“Fotografieren verboten!”). And I complied with the instructions – a Volkspolizei car tailed me everywhere, observing and reporting on my behaviour. The ‘spy come in from the West’ syndrome was ever-present in the Stasi’s thinking.
With my cameras stuffed inside the bag, I took a wander through the centre of East Berlin to scope out key locations and re-entered the West, full of thoughts and emotions. I was profoundly struck by the stark contrast between Berlin’s two halves, divided not only by the Wall but also by a completely different system of political and social organisation. The very mindset of its citizens made real the spirit of a place which stood for the Cold War. In the East, they spoke with a different timbre; they dressed in a simple, retro-ish way.
In the week that followed, I returned to East Berlin several times, and when I obtained my accreditation I was told I could take pictures freely around the city; any further requests needed to be negotiated separately.
This was 9 November, the day that would go down in history. By early afternoon the light was already too dim for shooting. My films only allowed a limited degree of exposure, especially the slides, which were extremely delicate. They needed sunlight to give their best chromatic range and so these seasonally leaden Berlin skies were not ideal for colour photography.
I crossed Checkpoint Charlie, where the security screening was still onerous, if a little less rigid, given my press pass and the collection of passport stamps I’d now gained on each crossing. As had become my way, I stopped at the Adler Café, on the corner of Kochstraße, which made for an excellent observation point and an ideal place for a snack.
The newsroom of the ‘Taz’ (3) stood nearby, and I regularly called in to submit photos and chat with Petra, the woman in charge of the picture desk. This was an easy and fruitful collaboration, as the ‘Taz’ was, and still is, the paper of the Left and of Berlin’s alternative scene, very close to Il Manifesto in its political outlook. Sipping a cappuccino, I waited for nightfall, attentively studying the border, the backdrop of grey Soviet-style tenements, the shivering Vopos (4), and passers-by with their shopping bags heading home.
So much happened that night, but we were not yet in the age of the internet. There were no mobile phones either, so I – like a good many Berliners and others – learnt what had happened at Checkpoint Charlie from the radio the following day. My alarm rang at 6am on 10 November and the other squatters told me the incredible news. Not believing my ears, I hurried towards the Brandenburg Gate, running along the side of the Wall amongst folk of all ages, breathless and babbling with excitement. There was total, inebriating, confusion at Checkpoint Charlie. Sleepy-faced Vopos in total disbelief were looking on as a sea of men and women trespassed the Wall, welcomed by photographers’ flashbulbs and a mass of West German citizens, who tearfully embraced them. A number of Trabants (5) appeared amidst the crowd and I – with a lump in my throat – was taking black-and-white pictures, ingraining these unique moments on film. This wonderful profession allows you to live history from the front row. Those images have since been continually published, and are now part of a Europe-wide travelling exhibition organised by the Goethe-Institute. It’s flattering to think that my photographs have now attained historic and educational value.
I’d set off intending to stay in Berlin for two weeks, and in the end remained there for a year. I finally went home on 3 October 1990, after the ceremony marking German reunification. I go back enthusiastically every year to update my historical archive, recording what’s changed. My complete gratitude goes out to Uta Keseling – nowadays a noteworthy correspondent for several high-profile German newspapers – who during that year interpreted and led me through the understanding of a key turning point in modern history.
Some of the journeys we’ve undertaken together through the industrial areas of southern East Germany remain unforgettable. Armed with special passes issued by East Berlin’s Press Centre (written in both German and Cyrillic), we reached locations never-before visited by foreign journalists. The key zones, at the heart of the chemical and mining industries were under Soviet control. We crossed several checkpoints along the way, baffling the soldiers with our passes.
Ten kilometers out from Bitterfeld, the toxic air pollutants made our eyes and throats burn. I took black and white photos of the factories, workers and inhabitants; some of the children who lived there in poor hovels sidled up, curious about us and my cameras.
The visit to the ‘Thomas Müntzer’ copper mine in Sangerhausen, crown jewel of the mining industry, was memorable. Here people had lived off quarrying for over 300 years, passing on the trade from father to son. After some token pleasantries with the director, I asked if I could descend to the tunnels to document working conditions. Only a month before this would have been unthinkable, but the political changes in the air introduced more flexibility, so I was prompted to put on a miners’ tracksuit and protective helmet. Uta’s presence was essential in terms of translation, and another rule was shattered. What used to be prohibited became possible so Uta too got on board the hoist which lowered us to a depth of 900 metres, along with the miners’ team starting the new shift.
A month after our visit, the historic ‘Thomas Müntzer’ mine – as well as all other heavy industry productive units – was closed down, considered obsolete and not in line with performance criteria issued by West Germany’s authorities. To the thousands left unemployed, the only alternative was to drown their frustrations in booze.
These radical social changes instigated protest marches organised by trade unions, left wing parties, unaffiliated groups connected to the squats, and everyone else outside the mainstream in both East and West Germany. They saw in both the mighty Deutsche Mark and in slogans such as “Wir sind eine Volk” (7) the omens of a big game, a veritable anschluss (8) which would lead to huge social imbalances amongst the GDR citizens accustomed to a system which guaranteed all life’s needs from cradle to grave.
In the first few months of 1990 all the productive sectors of the East German economy were shut down, considered Abwicklung, something to sell off. Millions of workers were made unemployed and began living on benefits (Arbeitslosengeld). Many others moved to the cities of the West, seeking work and a new life based on the canons of a new religion: der Markt (9).
Whoever remained in the Eastern Lander receives a lower salary to this day. The unification has deeply disillusioned many and in recent years a strong sentiment of “Ostalghia” has developed – nostalgia for the East and of the life one could conduct in the days of genuine Socialism.
Notes:
(1) Die Wende: the turning point.
(2) Die Zone: the term used in West Germany to refer to the GDR.
(3) The daily newspaper, whose full German name, Die Tageszeitung, means exactly that.
(4) Vopos were the GDR army guards deployed alongside the Wall.
(5) The Trabant was the most popular car in the GDR.
(6) Val Trompia is a wild mining area up to the mountains of Lombardy, northern Italy.
(7) Abwicklung: to be closed
(8) Arbeitslosengeld: unemployment benefit
(9) Wir sind eine Volk: “We are one people”.
(10) Anschluss: an annexation.
(11) Der Markt: the market.
Go To Exhibition:End of Cold War