It was late on a
Saturday night in August 1961, when a group of young East German
servicemen were handed a startling order: they were to move up to the
borders between allied West Berlin and Soviet-occupied East Berlin and
“expect some sort of conflict.”
But instead of weapons, they were given construction equipment and told to build a wall.
Overnight, the border would be closed. Seventeen million people would
be trapped inside the barbed wire and hastily dug ditches that would
morph into the geopolitical monstrosity known as the Berlin Wall.
Then, just as
abruptly, on a damp fall night in 1989, the wall that brutally divided
East and West Germany opened up — with a new cast of confused servicemen
playing a pivotal role in history.
To the outside world,
the wall’s demise 25 years ago was the last act of a cataclysmic drama
that spanned the Cold War. It was also the culmination of the courageous
acts of ordinary people whose persistence wore it down.
But within the East
German regime, the wall’s final hours were closer to a comedy of errors,
says Mary Elise Sarotte, author of .The Collapse: The Accidental Opening of the Berlin Wall. “If I published the same book and called it a novel, people would say it was too ridiculous to be true.”
At the heavily
barricaded Bornholmer Street checkpoint the night of Nov. 9, 1989, it
was anything but a laughing matter for 46-year-old Stasi officer Harald
Jager, the passport control official temporarily in charge of the
crossing. Surrounded by surging, euphoric crowds struggling to breach
the border, he groped in vain for orders. When none arrived, “he looked
at the colleagues standing nearby and said words to the effect of,
‘Should we shoot all these people or should we open up?’ ”
The Stasi had a
reputation as all-knowing and all-seeing, a diabolical force to be
feared. Without direction, in an age of limited communications, they
were reduced to Keystone Cops.
Jager had no idea that
an equally befuddled East German official had just issued a stunning
statement — one that was internationally broadcast and seemed to declare
the wall kaput. With no command from officialdom, he went with his gut. The checkpoint was opened. The Cold War was on fast defrost.
But as jubilant East
Berliners streamed through to the West shedding tears of joy, Jager’s
colleagues wept with pain, betrayal and fear. For nearly two decades
they had guarded the barrier from “traitors.” Brought up to revere the
communist system, they understood that the reign of repression was over,
and they were standing on shifting ground.
The fall of the Berlin
Wall was the result of years of East German dissent, Western pressure
and mounting efforts by East Germans to slip through the Iron Curtain.
The perseverance of
the non-violent protest movement ultimately created an unstoppable tide
that was able to sweep away the regime without bloodshed. But it was the
chaos, blunders, misunderstandings and failures of communication within
the regime that created a juggernaut of errors that unwittingly brought
down the wall.
“Individuals were the sparks that set off the explosion,” says Sarotte, a history professor at Harvard and UCLA.
One of those was
Gunter Schabowski, a high-ranking Politburo member described as “a man
with the face of an outraged bulldog” by British journalist Anne McElvoy.
Schabowski was
accustomed to East German-style press conferences: recounting turgid
explanations of equally tedious communist events. And he had the bad
fortune to be handed a slap-dash announcement of a new draft travel law
to read to the international media on the night of Nov. 9.
In the stuffy,
overheated East Berlin press centre, a large gathering of reporters and
broadcasters waited expectantly, including NBC superstar Tom Brokaw.
“The first 50 minutes of the meeting were excruciatingly boring,” said
Sarotte. “People were falling asleep. Then he misread the announcement
that he himself was only reading for the first time. And suddenly
everyone who spoke German snapped awake.”
What Schabowski announced — although droningly delivered and painfully worded — echoed around the world like a gunshot.
“The party had decided
‘to issue a regulation that will make it possible for every citizen . .
. to emigrate,’ ” recounted Sarotte. “He would now read a text of the
new rules, he said, as soon as he could find it. He began digging
through his thick stack of papers.”
The press conference
fell into frenzy and farce, as flabbergasted journalists bellowed
rapid-fire questions. With the help of flustered aides, Schabowski found
and read the missing text in a rapid, mumbling voice: private trips to
foreign countries “may be applied for,” he intoned, and the response
would be quick.
After dodging numerous queries, he answered the crucial question: “When does that come into force?”
Seizing on some words from the text, he blurted, “immediately.” And ja,
the rules included passage to West Berlin. With the announcement
broadcast live in the West, and wire reporters rushing from the room to
file the story, the stampede for the Wall was on.
In fact, the statement
was not intended as instant revolution, but a modest advance. East
Germans below retirement age were to be allowed visits to the West
without going through an official justification process. The communist
machine would maintain control over visas, and travel would happen in
regulated fashion.
The dismantling of the
Wall was never part of the plan — rather, the new rules would begin the
next day with exit visas, stamps and passports still in force. But the
poorly worded statement, compounded by blundering delivery, hurtled into
history like an unguided missile.
The event, however,
was only one link in a frayed chain that combined panicky errors in
judgment with a failure of communication and the crumbling of a system
that would break because it could not bend.
The panic set in
months earlier with mounting pressure on the East German authorities, as
Iron Curtain countries Hungary and Czechoslovakia — taking advantage of
Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev’s liberalization — opened their borders
to the West, and disgruntled East Germans flocked to those countries
for a quick getaway. The East German authorities tried to block their
exits, and hundreds took refuge in West German embassies.
By November, more than
30,000 had managed to stream through Czechoslovakia and into Bavaria —
infuriating communist officials in Prague, who feared it would embolden
their opponents. They threatened to “take action” to stop the influx.
Meanwhile, in early October, violent clashes swept East Germany’s Saxony
region near Czechoslovakia, after the authorities tightened the rules
for visiting neighbouring Warsaw Pact states.
To make matters worse,
two plucky dissidents, Aram Radomski and Siegbert Schefke, evaded the
Stasi to film one of the massive demonstrations in Leipzig, smuggle the
videotape to West Germany and enable its broadcast in both countries,
inspiring protests across East Germany.
As events sped out of
control, newly installed leader Egon Krenz had the impossible mission of
holding the sinking ship of state on course in a typhoon of change.
Deeply shaken, the ruling communist cadre knew that something must be
done — and sooner rather than later. Among other things, their own jobs
were at stake.
After days of debate
they decided on a plan to create a “hole” in the East German border in
an obscure spot next to West Germany, allowing East Germans to travel
west without a detour. It was meant to pacify the neighbours and quell
the protests by issuing a “deceptive ruling” that would seem to
liberalize the rules, but still allow strict state control.
The original plan had
been for a “new” law that would maintain so many restrictions that
release of its draft sparked even more furious protests. Now, with angry
Czech leaders on the phone, and the threat of swelling protests and
strikes looming at home, a group of second-string bureaucrats was handed
the task of producing a quick but palatable measure.
But with unclear
instructions and no guidance from Moscow or their own leadership, they
misinterpreted the task, drafting “temporary transitional rules” that
gave East Germans the right to freely leave the country until a new law
was made. Schabowski’s announcement that it would happen immediately
only piled mistake on misunderstanding.
In the melee that
followed, no one bothered to inform the besieged guards at the crossing
points, including Jager, of what was to come. “We were kept in the
dark,” he told the Daily Telegraph this week. “My world was collapsing and I felt like I was left alone by my party and my military commanders.”
By morning, the
security forces had managed to take back control of a number of
checkpoints, but their efforts were futile. In a comic opera finale,
Gerhard Lauter, the chief official responsible for the fateful text, was
ordered to appear on television and “explain that applications (to
travel) were still necessary.”
The 3 million East
Germans who surged into the West over the next three days could only
chuckle. Some kept shards of masonry they had chipped off the Berlin
Wall as souvenirs. But it would be several months before the demolition
of the wall officially began.
What remained, like the East German Communist Party, was cracked and crumbling. The wall of fear was gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Liked this post
Place your comment here