Nightmare
Suddenly, the prison cell door was opened. Two uniformed bullies entered, grinning in expectation to have some fun with the prisoner. A huge, strong hand pushed Lothar‘s face to the ground, another hand twisted his arm behind his back with such a force that it nearly fractured. Lothar screamed in pain. They jerked his body out of the cell and into the hallway. There was nobody else outside, all the cell doors were closed, and Lothar found himself to
be alone with his two tormentors. No one could help him now.
While beating his back with their clubs, they jostled him forward. Lothar stumbled, and saw the club coming down on him again. He tried to block the hit using his arm and nearly broke it. The beasts were playing with him, and kept pushing him forward down the stairs. They obviously enjoyed what they were doing to the defenseless prisoner.
It’s the year 1967. In East Germany, Communism had firmly established and the Security Police had become a State within the State. Any individual opposing the regime was prosecuted and punished mercilessly, many were killed or disappeared without a trace. Lothar had just turned 20. He had repeatedly tried to escape to the West. And this time, he had only made it as far as Bulgaria, straight into Sofia‘s most feared prison, the "Banja"..........
Looking back in anger - A little freedom - The Sixties
Way too American (excerpt 1)
If the ruling Party would have given us just a little bit of freedom, things would have been much easier. Why ban books from Karl May, who every youngster in Germany had read in the last sixty years? The guy was even born in East Germany, in Radebeul near Dresden, where ironically the city ran a "Karl May Museum"! Why then ban his books?
Or the thing with the Blue Jeans. Every youngster loved to wear them, we were crazy about them. And those of us, who were blessed with relatives in the West, were able to get them, and we were envied by those who did not. Why not simply produce and sell these damned Jeans? Especially as the Blue Jeans originated as clothing for working people. The Commies talked about the "Working Class" all the time. Wouldn’t that have been a perfect match?
But it was clear to me, why they couldn’t jump over their own shadow. America! These things were just too American! And they hated America. Karl May’s books had too many terms, names and places in it, which directly or indirectly related to America. ‘Prairie’ or ‘Apache’ or ‘Old Shatterhand and Winnetou’.
Same thing with the Blue Jeans. The name! American. Originated where? In America. Also associated with "Cowboy"! And that they couldn’t stand.
Wasn’t that a bit childish? Yes, it was. Wasn’t that stupid? Yes, that too. It was petty and utterly ridiculous!
Looking back in anger - A little freedom - The Sixties
Way too American (excerpt 2)
The western radio and TV station broadcasted the official public carnival parties, mainly the famous ones from Mainz and Cologne. Standup comedians would make fun about every politician known to mankind, including the East German and Russian ones. Hilariously funny, and nobody went to jail for that!
People making fun of people! The fundamental ingredient of any joke or comedy since a thousand years!
But in communist East Germany, Party leaders had to be excluded from jokes! But why? We had some pretty funny ones; Walter Ulbricht for example, East Germany’s first leader.
Just listening to him was funny! Because of his nasal Saxonian dialect. And he was so stupid, that many times he’d say things that comedians didn’t even have to invent. They were funny all by themselves.
Example: One time a West German station reported about shortages of basic things in East Germany, mentioning toilet paper, soap, toothpaste and such. And balls. Balls, kids play with. He heard of it and commented:
“Even if the western imperialists report that we don’t have balls, we do have balls! We just don’t show them off!”
Was that not funny? Hell, if they would have allowed East German standup comedians to make fun of Ulbricht and members of the Politbureau during carnival, the West Germans would have watched our carnival sessions, and not the other way round!
Looking back – ‘Boy Scout Adventures’ – Early Sixties
The good old days
While Bernd mounted the bomb in a large crack in the rocks, I was standing at a cliff, looking towards the West through my binoculars. It was a clear day and one could see far into West Germany, see the mountains near the town of Goettingen.
The West! So near one could almost touch it!
“Hey, have you ever thought about skipping town?” I hollered at Bernd.
“Skipping town? Where to?”
“To the West, where else?”
“You’d better get down from that cliff, because there is going to be a huge explosion any minute now!” Bernd yelled back, ignoring my remark. He then came climbing up from the rocks, unwinding the ignition cord behind him. Together we found protection in the forest and laid flat on the ground. Bernd lit the cord and soon after, a devastating explosion rocked the area. A huge chunk of rock had come loose and rolled down into the valley. We got up and watched the rock on its way down for a while, then sat down
on a bench. Bernd reached for his cigarettes and we both lit up.
“Go to the West, eh?”, Bernd picked up my earlier comment, “yeah, I’ve thought about that before. Used to go hunting down there with my father, before the Wall was built. At that time, there wasn’t much of a border, but that is different now for sure.”
“Can’t be that much different, it’s only been a year and a half since they closed the border.”
“Don’t fool yourself; they‘ve worked on this thing day and night for the last 36 months and a few barbed wire fences, watch towers and mine fields are put in place real quick". He was probably right. Often I had seen the old Russian army trucks pass through our home town driving towards the border, carrying tons of materials to fortify the border installations.
“If we’re not sure, why don’t we just go and have a look for ourselves?” I pressed on.
“You know we’re going to jail if they catch us; you really want to risk that ?"
“I know that, but if we don’t try, we don’t win. Imagine what a sensational thing that would be to just disappear overnight and then send some postcards from the West. We would send one to the Party Secretary and the FDJ-Secretary of the school. Postcards with a big, stuck out tongue on it: ‘Ehh, we’re in the West now, you can all kiss our ass!’ Like that joke about Party leader Walter Ulbricht.“
One fine morning, Walter Ulbricht is standing at the window and greeting the sun. ‘Good morning, my dear sun!’ ‘Good morning to you too, dear Walter!’. After lunch, he greets the mid day sun again: ‘A nice day to you, dear sun!’ ‘A nice day to you too, dear Walter.’ Finally, in the evening, Walter greets the setting sun: ‘Have a nice evening, dear sun!’ No answer. ‘Have a nice evening, dear sun!’ Finally the sun replies: ‘You know what, Walter, you can kiss my ass! I am in the West now!’
None of our friends had ever tried to escape to the West. We would be the first ones. They had never caught us during any of our previous escapades, so why should they catch us this time? We could prove to them that we can do it, and even Gisela would be most impressed. This would be a much bigger deal than throwing rocks into windows or torching railroad banks! Escaping to the West! Just like that!
And as if it were just a bus ride to a nearby town, we had settled with the idea of escaping and considered it a done deal. We were just fed up with all that socialist crap. Didn’t even waste one single thought on the consequences, where we would go and what we would do there. We had not considered it in all its bearings. Once we were out, things would somehow fall in place. Neither did we waste a single thought on the possibility of getting caught. We were as good as gone.
Subsequently, our interest in school affairs faded, and during the political indoctrination in Social Studies we’d just sit there with a devious grin on our face. ‘You can all kiss our butts! We’ll soon be gone!‘
Unfit for Foreign Trade – The Trade Institute – At work, 1967
Poor coffee!
Everything was working fine, both in school as well as at work, however, Lothar began to make minor mistakes. Mistake number one and two he made right on the first day, after he went back to work at the Trade Institute. He had put on his new pair of pants, wore a new shirt, and his dark red pullover. Armed with a pound of "Tchibo" coffee he was on his way to work.
What a great surprise that would be! Finally he could make good on all the favors they had done him. This pound of coffee would last for a couple of weeks. With a cocky look on his face he walked into the office and put the pound of coffee on the desk, right in front of Miss Guderan’s face. “Here, my dear Miss Guderan, why don’t we start the day with a cup of freshly brewed coffee for everyone!” Lothar said fairly loud. But instead of being happy, to Lothar’s big surprise all conversation ceased and everyone
was staring at him. Their eyes wandered back and forth between him and the pack of coffee. Lothar didn’t get it. What was going on here?
“Guderan!”, Gottlieb broke the silence, “hurry up and get that pack of coffee off the desk and hide it in the drawer, before Mr. Moeller sees it and fires our cocky Mr. Mork on the spot!” Lothar felt as if someone had knocked him over the head and looked at Gottlieb in disbelief.
“I thought I was doing you a favor”, he finally stuttered, “you’ve always let me have some coffee for free over the last few months."
“Well, that’s very honorable of you, young man, but you can’t just walk in this office and put a pack of West German coffee on the desk!”
“Why not?” Lothar asked astonished. “If you can’t figure that out yourself, then I think you and I have got to talk.”
“But what do you want me to do. Repackage it into an East German coffee pack?”
And that was mistake number three this morning; he shouldn’t have said ‘East German coffee‘, but ‘local coffee’ instead. Unfortunately, he had just returned from home and his jargon wasn’t properly adjusted yet.
“Mr. Mork, why don’t you follow me down into the cafeteria. Now I’m certain that we need to talk”, Gottlieb replied and got up. Miss Guderan went on hiding the coffee in her desk, and Lothar followed Gottlieb into the cafeteria. Gottlieb ordered two coffees and they sat down in a secluded corner of the room.
“Are you completely deranged?” Gottlieb started his lecture, “I have always thought that you had more brains than that!”
“What the hell are you talking about? What did I do wrong? I simply wanted to do you guys a favor!”
“And if putting the coffee on Miss Guderan’s desk wasn’t stupid enough already, just have a look at yourself”, Gottlieb continued. “What? Now you lost me completely. Have a look at myself? Something wrong with my zipper?”
“Don’t play me for a fool! You know exactly what I’m talking about. Because it’s too goddamned obvious where the clothes you’re wearing are coming from.”
“It’s a Christmas gift from my aunt Erna, that’s what it is”, Lothar explained, “I needed clothes to wear and I don’t have money to buy any. What’s so wrong with that?”
“I understand all that, and to tell you the truth, I personally find your outfit pretty nice. But you can’t run around in this place, dressed up like that. It’s too provocative, don’t you see?”
Lothar was used to a lot of bullshit in this stupid country, but this topped it all. He wouldn’t be allowed to wear his new clothes at work? Not even in his home town of Worbis would any teacher at school have objected to someone wearing a brand new pair of Jeans. Hell, if he had, he would have been forced to send half of the class home sometimes.
“Go home and change”, Gottlieb interrupted his thoughts, “this ain’t gonna work. Mr. Moeller has been through hell in the Nazi concentration camp at Buchenwald, and he will not tolerate you running around in front of him, wearing clothes from the Class Enemy!”
“My aunt Erna is not the Class Enemy”, Lothar resisted stubbornly, “she owns a fish shop and works very hard.” Gottlieb was angry and desperate. “God in heavens, I just want to help you to stay out of trouble! Just accept things as they are, okay?”. “Fine, I’ll go home and change, but as far as the coffee is concerned, I insist that you accept my gift and that we drink it. I just don’t have any other coffee to give you.”
“That’s okay, we’ll just repackage it and then we’ll finish it. But we don’t have to talk about it, and we have to make sure that we don’t accidentally serve Moeller a cup of it. He would not be amused, if he found out.”
Lothar could not believe what he was hearing. Was it really possible that someone refused to drink ‘Tchibo‘ coffee for ideological reasons? Apparently so!
Soon after, Lothar was on his way home to change into his old clothes. His first day at work in 1967 ended with him sitting behind his desk, wearing his usual clothes and drinking ‘Tchibo‘ coffee, which had been repackaged and found itself in a box of an East German brand. Poor coffee!
In the fangs of the Stasi – Interrogations – Punishment
Off to the ‘Karzer’
On January 5th, after the walkout, Lothar was taken once again into the interrogation room. Instead of Stasi-Walter, some rough looking bully awaited him, taking pleasure in knocking Lothar constantly on the head. He had a head like a baboon, and for that matter, a brain probably too.
“You’re gonna rot in here, if you don’t start to make sense. I have had it listening to your crappy story and I want a damn confession. Now!”. “Sorry, there is nothing to confess. I told you guys over and over again that I wanted to stay in Yugoslavia, and I refuse to admit something I didn’t plan or do, and that would result in several years in prison. Do I really look that stupid?”
‘Bang’, another knock on the head. He seemed to enjoy this. “You know, we’ve handled worse smart asses than you. Do you know what the ‘Karzer’ is?”. “No, I don’t”, Lothar lied. He knew what was coming. “That’s a punishment cell down in the basement, and that’s exactly where you will go when we’re done here. Unless, you come to your senses at the last minute!” he yelled, his face turned red in anger and he knocked Lothar on the head again, this time real hard. But Lothar didn’t budge. “My senses are perfectly
okay”, Lothar replied calmly, “that’s why I refuse to admit something I didn’t do.”
The bully by now paced the floor, angry and disgusted at this stubborn inmate before him. Then he opened the door. “Get this idiot out of my sight!” he yelled at one of the guards, “and stick his ass into the ‘Karzer’ for the next two weeks!” So finally they wanted to get tough on him. No more interrogations in the fatherly tone of voice of Stasi-Walter. Instead, they handed the case over to this screwball, who hadn’t even introduced himself. What for, anyway?
The same day, Lothar came to face his punishment. They took him down into the basement and locked him in a tiny little cell, with no window, no bed, no table or chair, and instead of a toilet bowl, he was back to a shit bucket. In the mornings and the evenings he’d receive a small chunk of bread, a cup of water, and for lunch they served cheap oatmeal cooked in water. Ever since childhood Lothar couldn’t eat this chunky oatmeal stuff, he’d simply choke the minute he felt this stuff in his mouth. Thus bread and
water had to do for the next fourteen days. Lothar suffered through fourteen endless days, with nothing to smoke and nothing to read, just sitting on the ground in this stuffy, dark hole. It reminded him a little of his time in Bulgarian prisons "Little Banja" and he was wondering what would happen after that. He’d go back to his cell, but it slowly dawned on him that he’d probably lose his privileges, such as purchasing cigarettes and reading books. This hole probably wasn‘t the hardest part, the real
hardship would still be coming. Boredom! Endless hours, days and weeks of boredom.
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