Berlin 1978

I was a child, but I remember everything. In front of Brandenburg, an empty Unter Den Linden Street. Everything is white. Berlin is covered in snow. It is freezing cold.

I remember the conversations at home. Should we go to Italy? Yes, but you can always go to Italy. In 1968, when he was a student and doing an internship at BASF, my father tells me that he went from Mannheim to Berlin and saw very interesting things. What if the wall falls one day? Let's see things we will never have the chance to see again; let's be fond of history. "Never mind Italy now, there will be no more country called Germany Democratic Republic, and no more wall that is there today," says my father, insisting on taking us to Berlin. Italy is still there anyway. The decision is made and we set off from Regensburg to Berlin in a turtle Volkswagen.

Since my father is curious and eager to tell us everything we see, we listen to him. He tells us without thinking whether the topics will be difficult for my age. I am impressed by what I see and listen to. I try to understand everything.

West Berlin is full of color. The streets are decorated with sparkling Christmas trees. The shops, the houses, everywhere are bursting with color. Actually, I shouldn't be surprised by this, but the reason for my surprise is East Berlin.

In those years, it was free to move from the Federal Republic of Germany to the Democratic Republic of Germany. However, it was forbidden to move from the Democratic Republic of Germany to the Federal Republic of Germany. Today, neither of these two countries exist. They united on October 3, 1990 and became Germany.

From Checkpoint Charlie, you can easily pass to East Berlin. The world changes color in a striking way. The colorful world of West Berlin suddenly presents black and white photographs on the snow. Except for the white of the snow, everywhere is black and gray. The photographs taken with a color reel come out like the photographs taken with a black and white reel. After seeing East Berlin, I understand why I perceived West Berlin as so colorful.

People are queuing for bread. Women with pale faces and very white faces are waiting in line to buy bread. No one is smiling. Their faces are sullen. Even today, I remember the faces of fat men that show that they are angry.

There is a wall in two rows. There are wires on the wall and it is charged with electricity. There were many escape attempts from East Berlin to West Berlin, but many failed. Those who got electrocuted after getting caught in the wires, those who tried to dig a tunnel to escape…

The gloomy world of East Germany, made even quieter by the silence of the snow, is impressive. We are moving from East Berlin to West Berlin. I collect coins from every country we visit. I personally want to add a few pennies to my coin collection. I have a lot of Democratic Germany money in my pocket, but by great coincidence I never take these coins out of my pocket when I cross the border.

The soldiers at the border want us to wake up my little brother Tuna, who is still sleeping in our vehicle, and take him out of the vehicle. My mother and father resist. They say things like they don't understand how a baby should be taken out in the freezing cold, but it doesn't work. They don't just take my brother out; they force him to wake him up. These meaningless checks are nerve-wracking, but there's nothing to do.

After returning from Berlin, we were surprised by what we learned. There was a 3-year prison sentence for taking money from the Democratic Republic of Germany to the Federal Republic. They were smuggling children from West Berlin to East Berlin by placing live babies inside dolls and sewing the dolls together. This is how our experiences become meaningful.

After East Berlin, Unter Den Linden is much more colorful, much more exciting. The other side of the wall, the West Berlin side of Brandenburg, is very different now. I am surprised at how I remembered so many things, how I interpreted them at that age, but years later I say, it is a good thing my father insisted. Today, I enjoy witnessing history and being able to write this article.

In September 1989, we set out on a three-week trip with our family friend Hans Gerd Kuxdorf and his students, starting in Istanbul and extending to the Mediterranean, reading, talking and discovering the history of each stone, one by one, which story lies beneath. Before studying the ancient history of Turkey, Istanbul. After breakfast, our eyes are drawn to the television. We all lock onto the screen. The citizens of the Democratic Republic of Germany, who had crossed from East Berlin to Czechoslovakia, cross into the Federal Republic of Germany via Bavaria. The borders are opened. In the following months, the wall is torn down. I understand my father's insistence in 1978 much better.

The group is discussing the developments in Germany in the coming days. On the one hand, we are in the ancient cities of Assos, Bergama, Ephesus, and Didim, and on the other hand, we are talking about what is happening in Germany. I tell the group about our 1978 trip. There are those among them who have never seen Berlin. I tell them about Berlin, the wall, my childhood impressions, and Unter Den Linden. As a Turk, telling 18-19 year old Germans about Berlin and the Democratic Germany causes very interesting conversations to take place between us.

The days I worked at DuPont in Geneva. We chatted constantly with the German manager. He never left his office. He occasionally teased me by saying, “Young Turk, how are you?” In 1996, I was 25. Our conversations got deeper. For the first time in his life, he left his office during working hours and bought me a coffee at the company cafeteria. He began to tell me.

He tells how he was separated from his wife, who was his girlfriend at the time, when the wall was built in 1961, and what he experienced for 9 years. He tells how they longed for each other, how they reached the closest point where they could see each other from the buildings on either side of the wall and waved to each other. After living like this for 9 years and exchanging letters, he somehow smuggled his wife to West Berlin. He would say, “No one has done more harm to Germans than Germans,” and he would tell me their stories. He had conversations with me that he never had with anyone else, and when I was leaving Geneva, a farewell dinner was held. He was a car enthusiast. He took me to where we were going to eat in his convertible that he took out on very special occasions. We had a big age difference, but we had struck up a very enjoyable friendship and he would often tell me about Germany and Berlin. I learned a lot from him. He would not even go to Germany for a holiday, and he made me feel like he had found a friend with whom he could tell and release the pain he had experienced in the past. I listened to him with curiosity, interest and emotion.

It was time to return from Berlin. We would enter the year 1979 in Regensburg. And so it happened, but how. The snow had turned into a blizzard. My job was to keep my brother awake. If he fell asleep, he would freeze. The visibility was only enough to see the end of the car. My father was sweating profusely, and my mother was trying to support him by wiping the steam off the windows so that he could see the road as much as possible. Years later, they would talk about how they did this madness, but it was fun to remember the past. One was 29, the other 33. They were much younger than I am today. Of course, young people should be understood. They had done something mad.

How we got to the Kassel area, my mother and father relieved by the sudden rain and me recovering from the psychological exhaustion of trying to save my brother. Our entry into Regensburg under fireworks. With students and faculty on the university campus, December 31, 1978.

43 years ago today. A little history, a little memories, and memories and stories that I can and want to pass on to those after me.

Photo: Arda Tunca archive.

The darkest moment of the night is the moment closest to dawn.