A vestige of communism stirs passions in Germany

BERLIN -- The wrecking ball is once again about to rewrite German history, with the planned demolition of a gargantuan concrete-and-steel citadel erected by the same regime that built the Berlin Wall.

Good riddance, say many Germans, who see the hulking Palace of the Republic -- better known as the People's Palace -- as an eyesore relic of the bad old days when the country was split between the communist East and capitalist West.

''It looks like an industrial building, and an ugly industrial building at that," said Wilhelm von Boddien, a businessman prominently involved in the drive to tear down the palace in the center of Berlin to make way for a replica of a Prussian ''schloss," or castle, that stood for more than five centuries on the site until it was torn down by the communists in 1950. ''A great city should have a great building at its heart."

But surprising numbers of former East Germans are seeking to save the derelict structure. The passionate opposition to the demolition, which could begin as early as this month, seems to be less about architectural aesthetics than about the deep rifts that still divide Germany. The country was unified in 1990, but the economy, and to large extent national agendas, are still dominated by the far more prosperous west.

''The new Germany wants to wipe out all memories of the GDR," said Alwin Steindorf, 79, a retired schoolteacher, using the acronym for the German Democratic Republic, the formal name of the deposed communist state. ''It wasn't a perfect place, but decent people lived decent lives there. This building was a proud symbol to us. Tearing it down is like tearing down our culture."

The issue is complicated. The People's Palace itself was built only after the communists demolished the earlier Prussian Palace, intent on eradicating the grand era of the Prussians, which most Germans regard as glorious but which East Germany sought to obliterate from the national memory because, in the Marxist mind, Baroque places and proud memorials symbolized imperialism, militarism, and oppression.

The People's Palace rose in the 1970s, when the Soviet-sponsored East German regime was at peak power. The vast structure on boulevard Unter den Linden covered an area equivalent to 24 football fields. Theoretically serving as the seat of government -- it housed the dictatorship's rubber-stamp ''parliament" -- the Palace was intended to provide entertainment for the masses: It contained a 5,000-seat concert hall, theaters, state-subsidized restaurants, a wine bar, a youth center, and spaces for art exhibitions, plus rooms for weddings in a land where church ceremonies were all but banned.

''It is a building that reflects a certain time and place, and, by the standards of that time and place, it is a good building," said Lisselotte Schulz, who worked as an electrical technician in the East German postal service and is one of the fiercest campaigners in what appears to be the doomed bid to preserve the structure. She has collected more than 100,000 signatures for a petition against demolition.

''Germany is intent on eradicating all fragments of the GDR," she said. ''Germany wants to destroy even places where people were married or celebrated anniversaries or enjoyed cultural events. They want to smash everything that was ours."

Few East Germans truly mourn the passing of the oppressive Marxist government, whose symbol was the Berlin Wall. Nonetheless, there is considerable nostalgia for an era when life was predictable and when jobs, if low-paying, were guaranteed for life.

The brave new world of capitalism has been a mixed blessing for Ossies, as easterners are called. The government has invested billions to improve infrastructure in the east, but unemployment has soared and many easterners are resentful that after 15 years of unification their standards of living lag behind the west. Their housing is shabbier, rates of joblessness are reckoned to be three times higher than in the west, and whole regions of the east are emptying.

Easterners also resent what many see as the haughty attitude of West Germans, who dominate the bureaucracy, the judiciary, and businesses.

''We weren't unified," Steindorf said. ''We were annexed."

That's an exaggeration, of course. In perhaps the only indisputably historical event to occur in the People's Palace, the first, and only, democratically elected East German government convened in its main hall in 1990 and voted overwhelmingly in favor of reunification with West Germany.

Soon afterward, it was discovered that asbestos levels were dangerously high in the building. Cleanup crews moved in. Interior walls were ripped out; the marble work, mirrors, and garish carpets removed; hundreds of monstrous chandeliers were carted off; and the huge hammer-and-sickle symbol over the entranceway disappeared. The People's Palace today consists of a steel skeleton, stained structural concrete, leaking roof, and broken panes of glass covered by plywood.

The People's Palace has been shuttered for much of the past decade, occasionally serving as a venue for brash young painters and sculptors, as well as graffiti sprayers and protesters of various stripes.

In 2004, the main hall was intentionally flooded by self-styled performance artists, who pulled visitors through hip-deep water in rubber rafts -- a ''cultural fantasy," as it was billed, that perhaps didn't help the building's mildew problem. Last year, a huge light installation atop the Palace visible from a mile away spelled out the word ''doubt." Commentators said the exhibit captured the angst of the east.

By then, however, the German government had already voted to knock down the shabby monster on the River Spree to enable the $800 million reconstruction of the Hohenzollern Schloss. The castle, with portions dating to the 1400s, was destroyed by the communist regime -- ostensibly because of damage inflicted by World War II bombing. But the real reason for the demolition was ideological: The Marxist leadership derided the Baroque Prussian edifice as a reminder of an imperialist past.

Today, infuriated Ossies accuse the present government of similarly trying to eradicate history through demolition.

''In the new Germany, we celebrate the old Kaisers" -- the Prussian rulers of Germany until 1918 -- ''and try to wipe out the 20th century," Schulz said.

Nonsense, said von Boddien, whose group has raised $14 million toward a re-creation of the exterior of the Prussian castle, similar to archeologically precise reconstructions of historic buildings in Dresden and other cities in Germany. ''Removing an eyesore doesn't mean we're trying to erase history," he said. ''We want to restore an architectural treasure."

What is expected to be the last art exhibition in the crumbling, obscenity-smeared landmark ended last week. ''I don't care so much about this building, but I do feel that Berlin needs a forum for local artists more than it needs a Prussian castle to amuse tourists." said Lisa Junghanss, one of the organizers of the exhibit.

Among those who turned out for the display of ultra-contemporary paintings and sculptures was Steindorf, the retired teacher. He was bemused by the abstract artworks, he said, but grateful for one last opportunity to linger in an edifice that East Germany's people truly considered their own.

''I came to say goodbye to a building that is an old friend," Steindorf said. ''Perhaps the building is ugly, but for me, it evokes warm memories . . . and a life that was never as bleak as the West Germans try to portray."