Peruvian author Mario Vargas Llosa notes that human nature demands two things from the world around us.
One is a hero, someone we pray will solve our problems. The other is a villain, someone to blame for creating them. Without both, life lacks the clarity many crave.
For noted German actress Walfriede Schmitt, that’s the downside of how the world changed 20 years ago today.
When the Berlin Wall fell, it brought an end to a titanic struggle, one that terrified but also defined and shaped us. The Soviet Union and the United States were the ultimate hero/villain. On one of the most significant anniversaries of the last half century, it’s worth celebrating the freedoms that opened to millions of East Germans. The fall of the wall led to once-unimaginable opportunities throughout the old Soviet world.
But it’s also worth listening to how the end of one threat brought an unexpected new one to some.
Schmitt, a child from the other side of the Iron Curtain, wants it understood that she clearly remembers and appreciates the elation of that single, defining moment: chunks of reinforced concrete toppling, exposing east to west. As an actress, she appreciated such a finale. As a human, she welcomed the death of fears of nuclear holocaust.
Even so, 20 years later, she and many others look back surprised by a bit of melancholy for a simpler world.
The nature of national struggle was once Eagle and Bear. Today, even our wars are less easily defined: a war on drugs, a war against terrorism, wars in which something as basic as the enemy is difficult to define. What, exactly, is al-Qaida? Is it top-down or loose-knit? Is it an actual organization, or a violent, vile social movement?
Schmitt recalls that the morning after the wall fell, an American called: “He cheered into it, ‘Walfriede, welcome to the soup.’ ”
The meaning was simple: Everyone would now simmer in the same pot.
Schmitt was known in the old socialist German Democratic Republic. If she worried she’d never act again, those fears were short-lived. She again worked in television, movies and live theater. Just as before, her name and face were famous.
In fact, for the first five years, she lived in the same apartment, walk the same route to the same theater, play the same sorts of roles.
“When the wall came down, we all wanted to be Americans,” she said. “To us, at that time, it meant to buy beautiful things.”
But as her small apartment began to fill with things, she began to notice something leaving as well: The passion that had infused her life. No longer was she weaving subtle anti-government statements between the words of her performances. No one cared for such things; they were all too busy with their own lives. Her shows were no longer driven by a need to bring hope to society. People had become increasingly isolated and self-absorbed.
In work, and in society, Schmitt sensed the notion of a greater purpose was fading.
Why did a life oppressed by fear and totalitarianism have meaning, when a free life became a bit empty? The world, as a whole, was obviously safer. Yet, to many, it felt more dangerous. It’s irrational. But so are the threats of this modern world.
Perhaps it’s best to recall today, 20 years after the wall ceased to divide, the elation of unification. And hope that the future holds more opportunities to celebrate the end of deadly divisions.
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