Since the Wall came down I have the feeling that the Western media get much more worked up about the ‘Stasi question’ than the majority of the people in East Germany did or do – an impression that my ex GDR friends share. Because of their fixation on this aspect of GDR life, the West can’t understand the current ‘Ostalgie’ – literally East nostalgia - and why opinion polls suggest that an absolute majority of former citizens old enough to remember say they were happier then that they are now. ‘Nostalgia for a Dictatorship’ go the headlines. Having been over there more or less every year from 1986 to date, and seen what has happened to a lot of people – mass unemployment, impoverishment, devastation, alienation, the loss of the feeling of social solidarity, of their whole identity as citizens of a communitarian state - I do understand, maybe better than the majority of West Germans who have never been there. Economic deprivation and a doctrine of enforced individualism against the will and inclination of millions is at least as much in breach of human rights as denial of freedom of speech and the right to travel: the dream of the activists who brought down the Wall was to end the latter without allowing the former to flourish. Sadly, of course, this was not to be.
And it really is not true that there was no discussion or freedom of speech in the GDR. Of course, advocating the restoration of capitalism was outlawed, and fundamental criticisms of the Party’s direction (as with the ecological movement) or personal insults hurled at the leadership got people into serious trouble. But when it came to the way people ran their local communities, it seemed to me to be very much a grass roots society, and constructive collective discussion of problems was absolutely encouraged and acted upon. Some anarchists will probably hate this, but much of what I saw on a day to day level in the GDR reminded me of the left wing autonomous centres where myself and my band play the majority of our gigs in Germany today, West as well as East, or of the communities which stood together during the miners’ strike. People working together in a common cause, driven not by a desire to make money but by concern for each other and for their community. Simple stuff - which mainstream Western society rejects absolutely, but which still strikes a chord with many ordinary East Germans. That’s why so many people in the East are so disillusioned today.
The final memory I shall share of that 1988 tour was of a legendary Bruce Springsteen concert in East Berlin, a marvellous event in front of 300,000 people, which coincidentally took place the day before our aforementioned gig at the Insel der Jugend. The Boss had had a huge following there for years, and his blue-collar roots and progressive - by US standards! - political stance meant that he was an ideal guest for the wannabe modernisers of the FDJ. The Neurotics and I were backstage at that gig, and quite apart from hugely enjoying Springsteen (I am quite a fan, especially of the early stuff) it was wonderful to see the new hope on the faces of so many in the audience, a belief that the reforms emanating from the Soviet Union would mean a new, different, more liberal socialism. New and different it would be soon enough, that’s for sure, but not in the way millions hoped…
More sad goodbyes to Robert, George and our other friends at the end of another tour, but not long afterwards I was invited back for the 1989 Political Song Festival, this time on my own: after nine inspirational years the Neurotics had finally called it a day at an emotional night at the Fulham Greyhound on October 29th 1988. The fact that I could make my contributions in German and now had a pretty good understanding of everyday life in the GDR was definitely a factor in these repeated invitations. So back I came again the following February, and this time there was a real feeling of revolution in the air – revolution from the Left. Banners at the events saying ‘Mehr Sozialismus, bitte!’ (more socialism, please) prominent ecological campaigners at the late night discussions in the Haus der jungen Talente, Gorbachev now a hero to all but the most died in the wool party hacks, a genuine feeling in the circles I was moving in that a new society was possible comprising the best of the economic and social achievements of the GDR with real political democracy. It was the Left – and, as far as I could see, only the Left – who were leading the opposition to the current regime and trying to move things forward, and the feeling of solidarity at the festival was incredible.
But the bad things – the pollution, the leaden hand of bureaucracy - were of course still there: the old guard was still in control and everyone was being careful. As well as my festival gigs, the discussions, the beer, the sheer excitement of the times, I had a mission on this visit: as mentioned earlier I was determined to organise a UK tour for Horch, George’s medieval rock mates from Halle, and to go through whatever bureaucratic hoops were necessary to make it happen. If I thought that the changes in the air would make the unbelievably complicated procedure associated with getting UK tour exit visas for a bunch of GDR musicians (plus George as translator) any easier, I had another think coming! But the fact that I was by now an established visitor and the band were held in high esteem in the GDR meant that after a couple of meetings at the Artists’ Agency I was given a guarded yes, subject to various checks which would mean more phone calls and faxes (those old things) when I got home. Once again I said my goodbyes, this time hoping very much that at least a few of the friends I had made in my years of visits would finally be able to make it through the Wall and the wire and come and see us. Back home I talked some more with the Artists’ Agency and, to our collective delight, finally got the go ahead - but history was about to render all my efforts unnecessary.
Despite Party General Secretary Honecker’s disgusting endorsement of the Chinese Tianamen Square massacre in early June 1989, leading to concerns that the same thing could happen in the GDR, the opposition movements across the country and in Eastern Europe as a whole grew in confidence throughout the summer, in the wake of Gorbachev’s assertion that the Soviet Union would not interfere in the internal affairs of other socialist countries. In August 1989 Hungary opened its border and thousands of people began leaving the GDR via Czechoslovakia (which had always been open to GDR citizens) and thence to Hungary, heading for Austria or West Germany. The broad Left group Neues Forum (New Forum), founded in September, became the first independent political movement in the GDR to be recognised by the SED. In the same month the Leipzig Monday night demonstrations began, led by the church and the environmentalist Left: these increased in size and confidence and spread to the rest of the country.
The Party hierarchy celebrated the 40th anniversary of its founding with a massive parade in Berlin on 7 October 1989 as though nothing untoward was happening. But the reformers’ hero Mikhail Gorbachev was in attendance: his presence overshadowed everything. FDJ members on the parades could be heard shouting ‘Gorbi! Gorbi!’and ‘Gorbi, help us, Gorbi save us!’and the oft-photographed embrace between him and Eric Honecker was followed by Gorbachev’s famous statement ‘Life punishes those who come too late’ implicitly supporting the demands for change in the GDR. The end was near. Powerless to stop the mass exodus of citizens except through the use of brutal force, Erich Honecker and much of his cabinet resigned on 18 October: Honecker was replaced by his top lieutenant Egon Krenz. By 7 November the entire government had gone. Monday nights became protest night all over East Germany: on 4 November half a million people thronged the streets of East Berlin chanting the slogan of what became known as the Peaceful Revolution: ‘Wir sind das Volk’ (We are the people’). On 9 November the Politburo of the SED bowed to the inevitable and voted to allow GDR citizens to go directly to West Germany: Gunther Schabowski, East Berlin party boss, gave the order for the Wall to be opened. I was doing a gig at the 1 in 12 Club in Bradford that night, watching the joyous scenes on TV, drinking a toast to absent friends celebrating in Berlin and wondering what the future would bring.
In the very short term, the future brought me Horch – Andreas, Witsch, Rainer and Klaus – and George, spluttering happily into England in a battered old Wartburg van in early December. An ironic twist: they got out of East Germany fine, of course, but I had to p
rovide proof of income and gigs before the border authorities would let them into the UK! All was sorted, however, and I’d organised a 12 date tour: as far as the UK media were concerned Horch’s visit just after the Wall had fallen was big news, an excellent example of being in the right place at the right time. There were TV appearances, radio interviews and I was invited to write pieces in the Independent and Guardian newspapers. The UK media warmed to George, with his superb command of English and his intelligent and insightful analysis of what was happening in his country: he ended up doing about thirty interviews and gatecrashing the NUS Conference. The gig plan was simple: each evening George would do a talk about the recent momentous political events and the GDR Left’s dreams of an independent, democratic socialist country, I’d so some poems and songs and then Horch would whip out the crumhorns, shawms, flutes and lutes and rock the night away.
Everything started smoothly with packed shows at Bretton Hall College in Wakefield, the aforementioned 1 in 12 in Bradford (followed by a trip to a curry house: the mildest korma in the world was an ocean of fire to the East German palate and they had to leave the lot!) Axminster in Somerset and Manchester. Horch were superb and George’s talks were brilliant: he’d brought some newly-hewn bits of Berlin Wall with him and he raffled them in aid of ambulance workers who were on strike at the time. It was fascinating seeing Horch’s reactions to everyday life here; the sight of a beggar in a prosperous city centre shopping mall had a powerful impact because they’d never seen one before, and walking round Northern cities they soon realised that life for a substantial minority in this country was far more difficult than for anyone back home. On the other hand, UK hi-fi and music shops were a constant source of wonderment: technology beyond their wildest dreams.
And good old GDR technology was about to let us down, big time. For the first few days the stuttering, exhaust-fume-belching two-stroke Wartburg van we were travelling in had stood up to the test: it had been given a new engine specially for the occasion and my misgivings were starting to recede. And then, somewhere between Manchester and Wolverhampton on the M6, it suddenly decided to go to the great big garage in the sky. No bangs, no histrionics: one moment the bloody thing was working, the next it was time for another new engine. Yes, another one! The breakdown man who removed it from the motorway had it about right: ten times worse than a Skoda, he said.
Fortunately Horch had breakdown cover (it must have been from a company with very poor business sense) and so we continued on our way in a hired van while the original one was schlepped back to London. Wartburg engines were, unsurprisingly, not commercially available in the UK, but I had a piece to write for the Independent newspaper and used the opportunity to make a national appeal. Sure enough, there was a Wartburg enthusiast out there who saved the day and enabled everyone to get home at the end of the tour. I did insist that we did the rest of it in the hired van, however…
And so on we went, taking in the whole gamut of the London music scene. The scruffy punk splendour of London’s legendary George Robey pub: the equally renowned Mean Fiddler, where, fittingly, Billy Bragg put in an appearance: the foyer of the Royal Festival Hall. Then to my old stamping ground at the Square in Harlow, Essex University, Whitstable Oyster Hall and a grand finale in the magnificent surroundings of the Hackney Empire. A brilliant, memorable tour. During my visit to Halle on tour the following year, Horch presented me with a beautiful mandocello, made by a local luthier friend of theirs, as a gesture of thanks. I cherish it to this day.
Three months after the fall of the Wall, from February 11-18 1990, I was back in the GDR, invited to perform at the 20th Political Song Festival. Things were very different; the euphoria of November 9 had given way to a state of flux where the right-wing West German CDU, led by Chancellor Helmut Kohl and strongly backed by the media, was building a strong base. (There had always been a left-wing East German CDU, representing Christians, as part of the Socialist Unity Party dominated government: this party, previously dismissed by enemies of the system as a ‘puppet’, had now been taken over by people whose views coincided with those of the right wing version operating in the West.) Thousands of people who had taken no part in the previous campaigns and demonstrations had poured onto the streets, many of them shouting for the Leftist reformers - whose pressure had forced open the Wall - to leave the processions. They carried banners with a new slogan, calling for reunification: ‘Deutschland Einig Vaterland’ (Germany United Fatherland). This was, ironically, a direct quote from the National Anthem of the GDR which called for Germany to be united under socialism: these people were demanding unity under capitalism…
Hans Modrow, the reforming Party boss from Dresden, had become Prime Minister and asked by the East German parliament to form a new government. On 1 December the GDR parliament rescinded the clause in the country’s constitution enshrining the SED’s guaranteed right to rule. On 3 December, under pressure from the party rank and file, the politburo and central committee of the SED resigned and a round table of new representatives encompassing many shades of political opinion convened to make proposals to solve the crisis: on 6 December Honecker’s chosen successor Egon Krenz resigned as head of the Council of State, leaving Modrow as the de facto leader of the GDR. On 19 December Helmut Kohl made his first visit there, to be met with massive crowds chanting ‘Helmut, Helmut’: the humble banana, virtually unobtainable in the GDR, became a symbol of the new reality as stories emerged of West Germans handing them out to wide-eyed Easterners crossing the border for the first time. Sarcastic leftists had a new banner: ‘Bananenrepublik Deutschland’! The pressure for reunification (on Western terms of course) grew steadily: on 1 February Modrow put forward a draft for German unity, and on the 7th the West German government decided to offer East Germany immediate talks on currency union.
The 20th Festival of Political Song thus took place in a white-hot atmosphere : excitement, determination and dread in equal measure. In many ways it felt like the last stand of the GDR. Many of those present were still determined to push for an independent East Germany against all odds and were campaigning for the Party of Democratic Socialism - successor party to the SED, now led by the charismatic reformer Gregor Gysi and purged of hardliners like Honecker - in the first East German multi party elections planned for March 18. A minority supported Bundnis 90 (Union 1990) a Left-Green coalition based around the ecological movement, and an even smaller minority campaigned for the United Left, a coalition of Trotskyists, Christian socialists and independents. It was absolutely clear to all the Left activists that monetary and political union on the West’s terms would be a disaster for all who wanted economic and social justice in the East, but wandering round Berlin and hearing reports from other East German cities it was obvious that the bedazzled majority thought they were on the verge of a golden future. The gigs at the festival were as well attended as ever, the late night discussions fascinating, and the fact that I could now extend invitations to my GDR friends to visit me in England absolutely fantastic! But I left with mixed feelings. Pandora’s Box was well and truly open.
And for one group of Berlin residents the fall of the Wall was incontestably an unmitigated disaster.
A vivid memory of the city in GDR days was of the rabbits which gambolled happily in the deadly strip of no-man’s land between East and West. It was supremely ironic that one of the most dangerous places on the planet had provided absolute security for a huge colony of them to do what they do best - reproduce. When the Wall came down and people started walking across their territory, they were of course completely freaked out and fled into the busy city streets. For a time little corpses could be regularly seen until most had been exterminated and a few survivors had established new colonies in new areas of waste ground. During my time in Berlin in February 1990, stray rabbits were everywhere. Someone has actually made a film about it all.
And then came the March election. Sure enough, the right wing alliance (CDU and Demokratischer Aufbruch - Democratic Awakening, for w
hom Angela Merkel was spokeswoman at the time) won on a programme of swift reunification, with the reformed Communists of the PDS getting 16% of the vote and the Social Democrats around 20%. On 5 April the Parliament elected a CDU president, and monetary union came on 1 July: on 23 August the East German Parliament approved political union: on 3 October 1990 the five East German states were officially incorporated into the Federal Republic and, just after its 40th birthday, the German Democratic Republic ceased to exist.
Just before the end, I returned one last time: I’d be back loads more of course, but it would be to a different country.
After the demise of the Neurotics in 1988 my friend Steve had formed a new ‘afro-punk’ band, The Indestructible Beat, and we toured together in mid-September 1990, just a couple of weeks before the official death of the GDR. The tour was organised by George, our friend and translator, who was using his contacts to start operations as an independent promoter under the (for him) fitting banner of Maverick Productions. By this time I had a column in the Guardian about my travels, called, fittingly, On The Road, and I used it to describe what I saw on that tour. Here it is, reproduced more or less word for word.
ON YOUR MARKS.
It is cash that counts in the dying days of the GDR. Attila the Stockbroker joined the wake…
Past the Braunschweig autobahn exit in the autumn dusk, heading for Helmstedt and the erstwhile border between the two Germanies. Memories of previous crossings come flooding back: dogs, barbed wire, searchlights, mirrors, observation towers, 2000 yards of grim, bureaucratic misery. All this until only 11 months ago! Suddenly the road widens and we’re there – the point where once two worlds collided, now entirely deserted. Barracks empty, guards’ huts locked, ‘no entry’ signs lying discarded at the wayside and permanently raised barriers which express better than any words the great changes in Europe in the past year. A deserted East German checkpoint at dusk is a ghostly place indeed.
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