My Own Private Plattenbau

There were certainly many other places I could have stayed here in Berlin, but I chose the Ostel quite deliberately. The entire conceit of the place is that guests will have a taste--however superficial and Ostalgic (East-nostalgiac)--of what it was like to live in a genuine DDR-apartment. Perhaps what I found most surprising was the feeling that the rooms weren't really all that terrible. I realize it would be absurd to pay money to stay in an uncomfortable place, like a medieval historian choosing to stay in a damp, drafty castle, but I expected I would notice some very specific weaknesses. I didn't. Wallpaper patterns (in both the rooms I stayed) are intended to provide depth, so that the rooms don't seem quite so small and flat. The bathroom had plenty of hot water. The most notable design choices had to do with furniture and appliances, which were, presumably, from the 70s or 80s.

Still, even though I was living in spaces outfitted to give me a feel for day-to-day East German "style", I knew that I would have to dig around a bit to learn more about Plattenbauten (panel-construction) apartments.

This is what the Ostel looks like from the outside. They've done a nice job of sprucing it up with a colorfully painted facade.

Plattenbauten buildings might best be described as "pre-fab". One of myvsources asserts that the Dutch created the technique, and the most common type of Platte in Berlin was the WBS 70 (Wohnbauserie 70). Following the war, there was an acute housing shortage in Berlin, and the Soviets had essentially looted all the heavy equipment in their sector. Simply put, there was no way that the GDR could rebuild without sufficient raw materials and enough heavy equipment. Even though the SED called for "National Building" in 1952, and although the next 20 years saw some impressive constructions (for propaganda and prestige purposes), the housing shortage remained an acute "political-social" problem, threatening the legitimacy of the regime.

Then, in the 70s, when the construction of public buildings such as the Fernsehturm or the Haus des Lehrers was completed, the regime initiated a large-scale housing program. There are entire areas of the city that consist almost entirely of Plattenbauten. In areas such as Berlin Mitte, near the wall, builders added appropriate mosaics or facades, in an attempt to retain the historical feel of the neighborhood, but they never really lived up to West German standards.

The bathrooms in these apartments have no proper ventilation. Mine had a series of holes in the base of the door to encourage air circulation. For that reason they were called "Wet-cells". Nonetheless, it appears that East Germans prized their apartments when they finally got them. Like their Trabis, they lavished individual attention on their new personal property. Unfortunately, because each apartment was built to identical specifications, and because all the available furniture was built to identical specifications, they usually looked almost identical. But, like so many things in the GDR, the differences were subtle.

Scholars described the GDR as a Nischengesellschaft or "niche-society". It was necessitated by the constant surviellance and pressure to conform. Individuals would express their differences in safe spaces with close friends and family. These "niches" would be their new, damp apartments, their "dachas" (garden-houses or larger vacation cottages), and their hard-to-come-by Trabant automobiles. Although the SED provided them with youth clubs and art and leisure centers, but the common people avoided them. Instead, them met in small groups at their "dachas". Individually, they would read world literature rather than watch state-controlled television.

So, it took me about 10 days and some reading to really appreciate my own private Plattenbau.
 
 

The Legacy of Stalin: Karl-Marx-Allee and Treptower Park

In 1949, the SED determined it would be appropriate to re-name the Große Frankfurter Straße “Stalinallee”. The entire borough of Friedrichshain was destroyed during the war, and after years of neglect, rebuilding was finally underway. The East German regime built a massive, 2.3 Kilometer long boulevard to honor Stalin. Each block consists of “workers-palaces” built above shop-spaces on the ground floor.

It was along this street in 1953 that the June 17 uprising occurred. After Stalin died, the street was re-named Karl-Marx-Allee. It compares favorably to similar city-planning in the Soviet Union during the 20s, when the Communists transformed cities like Kharkov and Kiev into modern expressions of party power.

Treptower Park is yet another Stalin-era monument. The memorial site covers the remains of 5000 fallen Soviet soldiers. This monument was built, in large part, with granite from Hitler's former Reichschancellory. The most impressive element of the monument is the Red Army soldier smashing a swastika with his sword while cradling a child in his free arm. Allegedly, as the Soviets were trying to cross the Landwehr Canal at Potsdamer Bridge, this young soldier risked his life to race out into the crossfire and save a terrified child. It's the kind of story that builds myths—the myth of communist humanity in the face of fascist inhumanity, and the image of a paternal Soviet Union suffering terrible losses to free the decent people of Germany from a brutal regime.

Flakturm Adventure

During the war, Hitler had three sets of Flakturm (anti-aircraft towers) constructed in order to ward off allied air attacks. The idea was to pair up a set of 8 high-velocity anti-aircraft guns with a high-tech radar array, and then create “windows” of high explosive that would knock down any plane that flew into them. Any look at a postwar map of the city reveals how ineffective the monster structures actually were. The Berlin Underworld Association looks after the tower in Humbolthain and offers guided tours as well. The tower was the last of three built, and unlike the others, it was not entirely demolished after the war. The French brought down half the structure, but the remaining battlements overlooked an important S-Bahn route, so they're still standing. Rather than get into the technical specifications of the thing, I'll simply include some images from the war.

This is the Berlin Zoo tower at the end of the battle.

Here are soldiers drilling on the roof of the tower.

What is left of the tower is in bad shape. Standing at the entrance you can see that the facade was heavily shot-up by Soviet ground forces as they tried to work their way from the north into the city. By the time Berlin surrendered, there were thousands of civilians hiding in the tower, without access to fresh water or sufficient sanitation. Inside the tower, staircases are collapsed and there are holes dropping down 30 meters or more. On the tour we wore construction helmets and were carefully shepherded through areas that seemed less stable. The tour was first rate. Our guide combined terrific story-telling with clear explanations of the details of the tower's construction, capabilities, and demolition. I think this would be a great tour for our kids, but the tower is closed to the public during the winter months, as it serves as a bat sanctuary. If the bats are disturbed during the winter months, they won't return to hiberation and then they'll die.

 

Today, the face of the tower doubles as a rock-climbing wall.

Charlottenbruecke, Olympiastadion and the Deutsches Technikmuseum Berlin

Today I visited Berlin's western boroughs, Spandau and Charlottenburg. The purpose of the trip to Charlottenburg was clear: Werner March's (and Albert Speer's) Olympic Stadium, constructed between 1934-1936. While there are many other traces of 1930s era architecture in Berlin, only the Olympic Stadium really captures the style of the Nazi dictatorship. The stadium seems low-slung by Miller Stadium standards, but once you go inside you notice immediately that the playing field is set lower into the ground, so there is still plenty of room and there are plenty of seats (approx. 75,000). The playing field actually had to be lowered an additional 2.5 meters in to meet FIFA soccer standards so that Berliners could host the 2006 FIFA World Cup. The stadium was thoroughly renovated by 2004, so it is a vibrant public space, hosting games and rock shows (in fact, I believe that AC/DC played there last weekend).

The secondary purpose of the space was to further legitimate the power and success of Hitler's dictatorship. If not for the Marienfeld directly to the west of the stadium, it might be easier to do. Hitler had the Marienfeld built so that he could hold parades and military demonstrations. Today, the viewing stands are covered over with grass, although the soccer fields are still clearly in use.
Would this be a good site for our students to visit? Yes and no. For one thing, we'll be visiting in March, and depending on the weather it may be a cold, cold tour. Also, there is much visually to see, but far less to read and explore. I think that the Jewish Museum is far more engaging in that respect. So is the Deutsches Technikmuseum Berlin.

Although it is impressive in all respects, the DTB is about engineering, and touches far less on political or social history. That's not a bad thing. In fact, I began to better appreciate the Panzermuseum more after I visited here--there's only so much that a museum can communicate unless the narrative is concieved prior to the acquisition of artifacts. The Jewish Museum and the DTB (not to mention the USHMM in Washington DC) are impressive in the way that they provide models for 21st century public learning.  For those museums, a pre-existing narrative could help determine the choice of artifacts and even influence the physical construction of the site. That's a bit more difficult to do when the museum is also a warehouse (like it was in Munster).
The DTB is located in a striking space, much as the Jewish Museum is, and the collection of artifacts are ... well ... breathtaking. From dozens upon dozens of model ships to entire airplanes, the museum overwhelms with stuff. Honestly, I felt like I was in a giant child's cluttered playroom. I would be curious to know what the members of our science department would think of the museum.

A section that struck me as immediately "political" concerned the fire-bombing of Hamburg. The museum contained the remnants of a shot-down British Lancaster bomber (the same type of plane that set Hamburg ablaze in 1942) and immediately behind the plane was a multimedia display of the event itself. Otherwise, the planes spoke for themselves. I was amused when I heard a mother explaining to her child that some planes were military because you could see the "Hakenkreuz" (swastika) on them. The little boy responded: "That's a bad thing, that sign".
Finally, my trip to Spandau and the Charlottenbrueke was linked together by Helmut Altner's memoir, Berlin Dance of Death. At age 17 in April and May, 1945, Altner survived a series of harrowing experieces, including the arial bombing of Spandau, the Soviet assault on the Seelow Heights east of the city, bitter fighting in Spandau and Charlottenburg (around the Olympic Stadium, no less) and a night of terror fighting his way through the subway tunnels all the way to Zoo Station in the center of town. I found his account of the battle so compelling (how he recalled such clear, clean details of the event I can't imagine) that I wanted to go visit the single landmark that I knew still stood. One can see how some of the battle-damage to the bridge has been patched up with additional steel buttressing. Otherwise the bridge is the same.

On the morning of May 2, 1945, a mass of civilians, following behind a military vanguard of armored vehicles and soldiers, tried to break out of the Soviet encirclement and escape to the Americans, who they were sure would treat them better. The Charlottenbruecke was the only remaining bridge to the west. The escapees piled up behind a barracade before racing across the bridge-- in the open-- and scrambling into cover on the western bank.
Helmut Altner: 
"Shots ring out ahead again... Suddenly a truck comes out of a sidestreet and races over the dead and wounded. Its windscreen is splintered, the driver's face distorted and determined. He  races past and we jump out of cover and run across the pavement opposite. All hell has broken loose. Machine-gun salvos hit the walls, shells explode and walls collapse, then we are through and fall exhausted into a quieter place. ...
There are ruins left and right. The flood of people has eased off, pressed tight under cover in a dead angle against the barracade.  ... Everyone runs, racing through the fire. The dance of death has begun and the big reaper is mowing his broad swathes through the rows of women, children and soldiers. 
The street ends and a big road junction appears with house facades and ruins, in which hundreds of people are crowding. ... Occasionally a few people jump up out of the shelter of the steps and run across the bridge. ... Beside me among the soldiers are women with babies in their arms, old women, children and young teenagers of both sexes. I look carefully over the top step. Shots are racing across the bridge, and the horror hits me for the bridge is swimming in blood.
I take another deep breath and jump up into the tacking of the machine-gun bursts, throwing myself into the death mill as the bullets strike all around. The road surface is slippery with blood and there are bodies lying around and hanging over the bridge railings. Vehicles and tanks race across grinding the bones with a crack. I dive forward, not seeing any more, just driven by the thought of getting cover. ...
... I can see figures ahead of me running and stumbling as if through a fog. I am without feeling and run, jumping over the dead and trampling on the wounded. Everyone is for himself and has no time to think of others. Then I reach the end of the bridge and crouch down behind the barracade, grasping for air. Shots wing over my head and hit the bodies. The number of figures on the bridge is increasing. Women with babies in their arms and holding children by the hand, Hitler Youths, girls, civilians, old men and women, fall to the ground, dragging down others with them. ... Death plays his dance, mowing his bloody path. Tanks roll over the bridge, over people, squashing them to a pulp, churning them up with their tracks and a wide street of death and blood, of bits of corpses and torn bodies spans the river murmuring beneath the bridge. 
...There is a sudden explosion on the bridge and an ammunition truck blazes like a red torch in the roadway. ... The bridge superstructure has been destroyed and people are falling into the river from the opposite bank of the Havel and swirling away. All Hell has opened up."

It was strange seeing the bridge and the Deutsche-Industrie-Werke buildings described in Altner's account. 65 years is not really all that much time. Helmut Altner continued to make his way west toward the Elbe River, but Soviet soldiers captured him near Brandenburg. He was released from a Russian prisoner of war camp in 1946 and published his story in 1948. The first edition sold out quickly. No second edition was published. Altner, for his part, used his money to buy a motorcycle and ride to Paris. There he built a new life.