These memories played a central role in the exhibition “Blown away. The Palace of the Republic” (May 17, 2024 to February 16, 2025) and in the accompanying book. A small selection of excerpts from these interviews is featured here.
Judith Enders, Visitor
“I still remember when they dismantled the inner part of the emblem on the Palace—the hammer and sickle* —leaving only the wreath of rye. Even back then, I found that intrusive. I thought: Poor building, it always tried so hard to be kind. That was my childlike perception. This building wanted to be something for everyone, even if it didn’t always succeed. So why are they shutting down this one? It was our Palace!
To me, it felt like they were closing a library or a school—like tearing down a hospital or other public service buildings, just like that. It was a gesture of dominance over East German identity. People could have had either a positive or a negative connection to the Palace, but they had one, nonetheless. To simply erase it and level it to the ground felt quite aggressive to me.”
*What is meant are the hammer and the compass.
Annegret Miersch, Tour Guide and Interpreter
“I wouldn’t have torn it down, but I would have preserved it differently—or at least kept certain parts. Once it was standing there like a skeleton, there was no choice but to demolish it. Then I thought: better sooner than never. Because by then, it had become a sad, pitiful figure. It was simply unbearable to look at. It was a ruin.”
Jonas Burgert und Holger Nawrocki, Co-Initiators of the Exhibition “Fraktale IV” at the Palace of the Republic in 2005
JB: “As someone from West Berlin, The Palace of the Republic was always a mystery to me. It stood on the other side, in East Berlin, and was clearly a symbol of how East Germanys new architecture had taken over the old Prussian center. To me, it always had something cynical about it—built for the people, yet the people couldn’t freely decide. So it was ambivalent. I found it stylistically and symbolically very powerful that it had to be completely gutted, leaving only a skeleton behind. That was actually the reason we went in at all—to say: now it’s honest.”
HN: “I was once in that big hall as a teenager, on a school trip. However, that was it. Everything I despised or that rubbed me the wrong way was symbolized there. Whether it was the globe-shaped lamps or the dreadful Socialist Realism in the paintings—it was just a cave. For me, during East German times, it was a clear symbol of oppression. That’s why I rarely went inside, and when I did, I tried to get drunk down in the basement.”
Atif Hussein, Visitor at the Palace of the Republic
“Our father used to take my sister and me there. Moreover, I should say—he was always enthusiastic about anything new and had a real talent for passing that excitement on to us. I clearly remember how he walked in the middle, with my sister and me each holding one of his hands, as we climbed that very shallow but wide staircase. I looked up at him—and of course, this is a translation from today. Back then, I couldn’t have expressed it like this. However, he looked as if he were filled with pride, as if he had built the place himself: ‘So, kids; now I’m going to take you inside and show you something beautiful we have here.’
My father is from Sudan and was deeply involved in the country’s transformation from a colony to a free nation-state. Part of that rebuilding process was the question of how we shape our public spaces and who has access to them. Moreover, I think when he came to East Germany in the 1960s, that mindset didn’t stop. He didn’t arrive in a place where everything was already finished—he understood that this idea of ‘we’re building something, we’re transforming’ continued. And in that sense, the Palace of the Republic was a symbol of that for him.”
Brigitte Renner, Non-Visitor from Bautzen
“Berlin felt far away. Berlin was the government. Berlin was the parades. Berlin was the sports festivals. However, personally, I had no connection to it at all. So it never really bothered me. Of course, sometimes you were annoyed that certain things were only available in Berlin—especially when you wanted to treat yourself to something special. But that was usually about food, not culture.
We knew about the Palace of the Republic by hearsay. Nevertheless, we never even considered going there. When we did visit Berlin, it was during the pre-Christmas season at Alexanderplatz, shopping in the Exquisit stores for delicacies we couldn’t get here in the deep East.”
Hans-Peter Tennhardt, Acoustic Engineer for the Youth Club, Grand Hall, and Plenary Chamber
“It was always full—full of people. There was always something happening, even if it was just someone reading poetry in a corner or a small group playing music. There were also many little shops, some selling items from the Ore Mountains that you couldn’t get anywhere else. You could take advantage of that too. Getting into the big restaurants required either connections or a lot of patience. The quality was incredibly high, and the prices were very reasonable. The building was constantly in use—even if it was just tourists walking through to look at the flowers or the paintings. It was practically like an art exhibition inside, with works from a wide range of artists, including some who didn’t necessarily fit into the usual artistic circles.”
Ritchie Barton, Keyboardist of the Band Silly
“My clearest memories in this regard are really connected to Silly. That was mainly because of the concert series Rock für den Frieden. We often tried to avoid it—not because we weren’t for peace, but because everything was so heavily ideologically charged. And, moreover, we were a difficult band in that respect, especially with Tamara. We didn’t like being co-opted, you know? Of course, you couldn’t completely opt out—that wasn’t possible. Or it would’ve had consequences we weren’t willing to accept. Therefore, we always tried to arrange it so that we only had to participate every second or third time.
But the atmosphere was good. I have to say, in terms of stage conditions and everything else, the Palace was truly exceptional. You couldn’t experience anything like that anywhere else. It was definitely something special to perform there. And looking back now, I can say that even the backstage area felt incredibly international. Honestly, if it hadn’t been East Germany running the place, you’d have thought you were in New York or somewhere like that.”
Ulrike Kubitza, Trainee in Gastronomy
“They suggested I work at the youth club, and at first I thought: Great. What was the point of learning English and French service, flambéing and carving, if I was going to end up working down there in a disco? However, in the end, I was actually very happy about it, because during the day it was a really great restaurant—just as good as any of the others, in my opinion. And in the evenings, it turned into a disco with regular programming. Walter Plathe was often there, Pierre Sanoussi-Bliss, Matthias Freihof. They’re all actors today. Back then, they were still students—except for Walter Plathe. They performed their shows there, and it was always somehow wonderful.”
Vera Langer, Company Nurse
“I remember French and Japanese children’s choirs coming in—sometimes with a hundred kids. They’d stand on stage for hours during rehearsals, standing stiffly the whole time. They started dropping like flies. They were brought to me at the medical station. I still remember one situation where several children were lying there, and I kept thinking: Oh God, how am I going to get them back on their feet? I used various medications, drops, and so on. And once they had recovered somewhat, they had to march back out again. The training continued.
Then there were the big Russian ballet companies, the prima ballerinas who sometimes collapsed backstage and needed my care. Udo Lindenberg, Katja Epstein—well-known performers who gave incredible performances and, after hours on stage, were completely exhausted. They’d come to me—or to us in the medical area—and we’d do our best to get them back on their feet.”
Hannes Uhlemann, Visitor to the Palace of the Republic
“The idea that this place carried emotional significance might have mattered to a smaller group of people. That it truly played a role as a building and as a structure offering something—offering relationships—I can mostly imagine for those who worked there. Beyond that, I find it hard to believe.
Unless, of course, it’s retrospectively charged with a kind of colonial narrative. Like: ‘We had the Palace of the Republic, and then you came and said: This has to go. It’s in the way.’ That can certainly trigger such thoughts. But whether that reflects people’s inner representations—whether it’s truly an emotionally constructed memory—I’m not so sure. Memories are always experienced in the present. And they’re always colored by what matters in the present moment. If you want to have a conversation about how the Federal Republic of Germany ultimately occupied East Germany, then the Palace is a fitting symbol to illustrate that.
In the 1990s, I didn’t get the impression that the Palace of the Republic or its fate played any role in everyday life here in Berlin. Not even in the alternative scene. There were completely different places—like the Kunstwerke—and there was space to be creative. Construction was happening everywhere. Potsdamer Platz was being developed. It was just one construction site among many. However, it wasn’t anything like a beating heart of homeland love or anything like that. That wasn’t the atmosphere.”