A little bit of history repeating

"Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it."

- George Santayana

Berlin's a fascinating city. There's a sense of tragedy about this place that's embedded into the fabric of this city. Everything that's happen in the 20th century has left its mark on Berlin. The pathos from this place is palpable.

From the Prussian empire, the Germans learned nationalism, and from nationalism came the first World War. From the Weimar Republic came the Nazi Party, and from ashes of the second World War, the Cold War started. Marx and Engels lived here, and communism was born here. Communism divided Berlin and turned the city into a symbol of the world divided. And when the wall came down, Berlin became a symbol of a world reunited.

There's this street in Berlin, Unter den Linden (under the lime trees). It's the sweetest sounding street I've ever heard. Frederick Wilhelm intended it to be the grand boulevard of Berlin. On one end is the Brandenburg Gate, and at the other end was the former Imperial palace. The street itself is flanked by palaces and cathedrals and all the trappings of Imperial Germany.

But the building that's most moving is an unassuming brick building between Humbolt University and the Berliner Dom. In the time of the Kaisers', it was the Imperial Guardhouse. In the time of the Nazis, it was a memorial to the victims of war and communism. In the time of the Communists, it was a memorial to the victims of war and fascism.

But now, it's a memorial to all victims of war and terrorism. It's haunting in its simplicity. Inside, there's a single statue of a mother holding her dead soldier son. There's a hole cut in the roof, and the statue is exposed to the elements. In summer, she's warmed by the sun. In winter, she's covered by snow. And when it rains, she's crying for her lost son, and she represents all the mothers who have ever lost sons before their time.

And all throughout this city, there's this almost desperate sense of impressing onto people that THIS history must not happen again. It's a race against time, because as the prime witnesses to the horror of the Holocaust die off, the lessons are being unlearnt. It's scary, but that's the way of the world.

I went to the Sachsenhausen concentration camp today. The most disturbing thing wasn't the barracks, or the gas chamber, or even the pathology lab where Nazis would inflict their medical experiments on the prisoners. It was the fact that neo-Nazis set fire to the Jewish barracks, the ones that were rebuilt to remember the atrocities inflicted upon those people.

Humanity has a short memory. In the end, all memorials end up forgotten. In the end, the only way we learn is by making the mistakes of our parents. It's profoundly depressing, but Santayana was right.

Still, Berlin been fun, as well. Quite liked my time here, despite the morbidness. I'm leaving for Prague tomorrow, and for the first time in a long, long while, I'm excited more than anxious.

About my sister-in-law

"They call us JAFAs over here - Just Another Fucking Australian."

- Grace, a JAFA, about a couple of days ago

Around the turn of the century, back in the foggy mists of time, my sister-in-law lived in Heidelberg for a year as an exchange student. On her holidays, she went backpacking around Europe. That was before she married my brother, settled down and became a respectable lawyer, so I imagine her days were spent living the hard-partying, boozy lifestyle I've noted of most Australian backpackers.

Thinking it over, I'm a bit envious. It's one thing to meander aimlessly around Europe for six months, it's another thing to live in a place and really get to know it. And my sister-in-law still keeps in touch with the folks in Heidelburg - in fact they visited them during their honeymoon. Must be nice to know a place as well as that.

At the moment, I'm just a JAFA.

Actually, I'd like to see more of Germany. I've just been in Berlin, and while it's a fascinating city, I get the impression it's not typical of Germany. I'm curious about lederhosen, beer halls and bratwurst. And I'm not going to, because I really don't have the time to go to Bavaria, or the Rhine, or the Alps.Pity.

Still, you gotta walk the path you're on, right? And my path right now is to walk up the road and spend €0.15 on a couple of bread rolls.

In other news, Rudd's increased the first home owner's grant from $7,000 to $21,000. I'd be very happy with that news, but I figure house prices are just going to go up by a uniform §14,000...

Holocaust Memorial In Berlin

Went to the Holocaust memorial in Berlin today.

It's a field of grey stone blocks of irregular height, set up in a grid. As you walk through the field, the ground drops and the blocks darken, and soon, you're walking in amidst a field of black stone pillars that block out everything but the sky. It's claustrophobic and uncomfortable, and it's a relief to get out of there.

There's no explanation of the memorial. The architect said that there's no why to explain an event like the Holocaust, and there's no way to provide an explanation for its memorial. It just is - a permanent reminder of how people can do something so horrible that it defies comprehension. Or maybe it's just that everyone needs to come to a personal understanding of what happened, that it's too important a lesson to just read off a plaque.

When you start walking through it, the blocks are at shin-height. You can step over them, you can see over them - people even sit on them while they watch everyone around them. But as you walk deeper into the maze, you sink deeper into the ground, and the blocks suddenly surround you and cut you off from everything. You're isolated and alone, and the only thing that's of comfort is the light that shines straight ahead of you. And as you walk ahead, the ground rises, the blocks shorten, and you're back above the maze again.

And maybe that's purpose of the blocks. To let us know that evil starts off ordinary and even banal, but as we walk further along the path, we sink deeper and deeper, until we're over our heads and have lost sight of our bearings. And yet, to let us know that there's always a way out. If we can see the light and walk towards it, the ground will rise, and we'll reach an end.

Eventually.