On the occasion of this event in modern history, Patrick Mottard reflects on his trip to the German capital and shares his testimony of the era.
After more than 1600 kilometers of highway drenched by torrential rains reminiscent of the southeastern United States, we find ourselves at the Brandenburg Gate with its nondescript architecture and somewhat overblown quadriga. Yet, we cross the structure with a certain emotion. Admittedly, this emotion is less exuberant than the last time, a few months after the waking dream of the fall of the Wall, but it is still present, very much so. Brandenburg is the symbol of Berlin, and this city, which I ultimately know quite poorly, is in fact the historical keystone of my life as a man just as it is for an entire generation, my generation. Together, we experienced a bipolar world that was said to be dangerous but ultimately proved to be rather reassuring. Together, we were thrilled by the abrupt end of this communist system so devouring of freedom while being destabilized by the fall of this Wall behind which so many certainties had been built. It is with the tenderness one lends to one’s own history and doubts that I feel so close to this city. Ich bin ein Berliner!
This is what I think about while watching the youth of the world happily strolling from east to west and west to east, from the Reichstag lawn to the first stretches of Unter den Linden. And amidst the crowd, I seek, without much hope, my friend Damiel, the angel from Wings of Desire. I would so love to ask him what he thinks of today’s Berlin, he who ultimately familiarized himself so well with yesterday’s Berlin. Perhaps I will still have the joy of crossing paths with him before the end of my stay. After all, Berlin is no stranger to miracles.
