Cornelia Brelowski: The Old and the New – a city in flux

As spring arrives – the little yearly wonder of which no Berliner can ever get enough – we think about transitions and renewal.

Berlin has always been, and will probably always be, in flux. Take the 1848 revolution, the Golden 20ies, Berlin’s rise from rubble (literally) after WWII, the construction and – more importantly – the fall of the Wall: Nothing in this place ever evolves quietly.

The same goes for the rapid rent rises over the past decades. There are some among us that still remember the ridiculously low rents during times of federal subsidies in West Berlin – which came along with the right to endless landline chats without charge and other perks. To understand those times of next-to-zero living costs better, you must take into account that living in West Berlin before the reunion also meant living under siege – a subsidized, free-spirited one, but still: The place was surrounded by one long border – aka the Wall.

A city in flux. Photo: Max Langelott / Unsplash

Well? These times are now subject to urban tales as the world has long rushed in, and with it investors and tycoons of every “couleur”. I heard of a Danish property firm buying up whole streets in former East Berlin during the “Noughties”, selling the formal rentals for double and triple the market price – which in turn has gone up and up…and up, ever since the start of the new millennium. As a result, people are clinging to their rentals with all their might for as long as possible. We are a renting nation after all – and for students, families and old people, as well as low-income earners, times are getting tough.

Bridges for Walls – Schwedter Steg, Berlin. Photo: Fionn Grosse on Unsplash

Meanwhile, available plots are getting rarer than in the first decades after the reunion. In my East Berlin neighbourhood, transition is temporarily showing its face in the form of the painfully slow destruction of a turn-of-the-century ‘Gründerzeit’ house, to be replaced over the next two years by a ‘lightweight concrete’ building. The house currently shows its insides like a gaping wound, a view reminding of earthquake sites. Each day, a crane takes more bricks away, randomly eating its way into the rooms, while a strong water hose supplies the necessary cooling effect. The street corner is still filled with dust though, and phones are raised daily to pay witness to the destruction – there seems to be a fascination accompanying the finality of taking down a house which has been standing here for generations.

The green cloak of Tiergarten. Adam Vradenburg on Unsplash

The ‘Palace of the Republique’ – a masterpiece of GDR design both on the out- and the inside, was taken down in the same, slow manner and for a long time, the cranes eating on the structure looked like vultures having come to erase any traces of the regime. It makes you wonder, if that is always a good thing to do, as memory is an important component of shaping a better future. But come spring, the linden trees, planted and replanted for centuries to better the Berliners’ lives (linden or lime trees having actual anti-inflammatory powers) will burst into life again, laying their green, soothing cloak all across the city.

Photo: Coline Mattée