Dirk Moldt reminisces about squatting in the early-90s and the murder of his friend by neo-Nazis…

It was an exhilarating time to be young in November 1989 and living in East Berlin. It was not only the physical Wall that fell on November 9. It was also the many invisible walls that closed off anyone who didn’t conform. All those who had been largely hidden from sight—punk rockers, dissidents, transvestites—stepped out of the closet, so to speak, and into a newly liberated public realm.

Many East Germans had already fled the country in 1989 before the Wall fell—decamping to Prague or travelling through Hungary to Austria and West Germany—and many more streamed across when the border opened. They left behind their jobs, their Trabants, and, perhaps most importantly, their apartments. For those who stayed behind, especially young people, there were suddenly a huge number of empty places they could occupy. The big cities in East Germany, but particularly East Berlin, became squatters’ paradise. Even people from West Berlin, which had its own squat culture before the Wall fell, began moving East, to the new land of squat opportunity.

As a young man, Dirk Moldt was involved in the opposition movement in East Germany, particularly the Church from Below group that broke away from the official church structures. He was also at the center of the squatter culture that blossomed in East Berlin in the early 1990s. Back in February, in a café in what had once been a primary squat neighborhood in East Berlin, he told me about the party atmosphere that prevailed in those early days after the Wall fell.

“On Mainzer Straße, there were 11 buildings squatted,” he related. “Visually and culturally this was something new. The part of the street with squatted houses was 200 meters long. On the street there were several different groups. One house, for instance, had transvestites. The boys walked around with very hot female clothes. It looked like in a movie. They were wearing make-up and blonde little curls and short skirts, it looked really crazy. Other houses were really militant where they were always wearing black clothes and hooded jackets. All the houses were draped with flags and banners. Every evening, people would sit in front of their houses eating, chatting, and drinking.”

But the squats occupied only one side of the street. “On the other side of the street, normal people were living,” he continued. “The problem was that they had to get up early to go to work. Most of them didn’t dare tell the squatters to please be quiet. If they called the police, the police said: ‘We are not stupid, we are not going in there.’ A street where the police doesn’t go? No state can tolerate this.”

The state struck back. So did the neo-Nazis. Eventually the forces of gentrification also ate away at the squat culture. Dirk Moldt still lives in the apartment that he squatted so many years ago. Over coffee, he remembered the intense joy of those early days as well the intense despair that followed, particularly when neo-Nazis killed one of his close friends.

The interview was conducted on February 6, 2013 in Berlin. Interpreter: Sarah Bohm.

Tell me a little bit about yourself.

I was born in Pankow, a district of East Berlin in 1963. I have had several professions. I am a trained watchmaker. I worked for the Volkssolidarität (People’s Solidarity), a social organization in the GDR, which was supporting old people. I also worked as a librarian, and in 1996 I started to study at university. I studied medieval history until 2002. From 2004 to 2007 I did my Ph.D. Now I work as a historian and sociologist in different areas. It’s difficult to find a job. Hence I do not have a permanent job.

Do you remember where you were and what you were doing when you heard about the fall of the Wall?

I overslept the evening of the fall of the Wall. I worked very hard on November 9. I was very tired, and we had an appointment with friends. We wanted to meet, but they didn’t come, so I went to sleep early. The next morning I he…