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Middlebury College
«At least they can't divide the sky,» Manfred states in Christa Wolf's novel
They Divided the Sky , when his lover Rita chooses socialist ideals and life i
the German Democratic Republic over westbound Manfred. «The sky?
Rita thinks in response, «this enormous vault of hope and yearning, love, a
sorrow?» «Yes they can,» she says, «the sky is what divides first of all» (191
Originally in German, Wolf's Der geteilte Himmel was written in 196
during the aftermath of the construction of the Berlin Wall, a time of high c
war tension. The story is the tragic one of two young lovers who find thei
lives separated by the Wall.
I am interested in the concept of a «divided sky» and seek to examine how
the airspace situated along the border between East and West was exper
enced sonically in divided Berlin. Blesser and Salter define an acoustic arena
a «region where listeners [share] an ability to hear a sonic event» (22). In wh
follows, I leave Wolf's novel behind and present three acoustic arenas th
showcase how the people of East and West Berlin lived in and visually
experienced separate spaces, while sharing the sonic airspaces of the Co
War: first, the highly politically charged sound war that took place in the ear
1960s at the command of those in charge on both sides of barbed wire and
Wall; second, traveling sound waves at a concert given by Western artis
(including David Bowie and Genesis) on the west side of the Wall but
intended for East Berliners to hear in 1987; and third, traveling ambien
sounds in the border area of the train station Berlin-Friedrich Straße, a transf
station for West transit into Eastern territory. These sounds include en
gineered and accidental sounds, sounds amplified through loudspeakers, and
sounds that were completely unprocessed. There is no doubt that sound
played a significant role in the everyday lives of East Berliners - acoust
control and surveillance through the Ministerium für Staatsicherheit (Stasi)
and socialist mass songs are just two examples - but I argue that the Cold W
as it was fought acoustically within earshot of the Berlin Wall was, above all,
loud war. Studying the sounds along the Wall sheds light on the manipulati
and control of the sonic public in divided Berlin. Visually speaking, the Wa
was a monumental reminder of German division; understanding the aur
This article focuses on the aural aspects of narrating Germany's past, which
holds one seat at the table of what Smith terms «Sensory History»: not a field
within the traditional discipline of history, but rather, a certain «habit» in
«thinking about the past» {Sensing 5). «What are usually considere
historical <fields> of inquiry - diplomatic, gender, race, regional, borderlands,
cultural, political, military, and so on,» argues Smith, «could all be written
and researched through the habit of sensory history» ( Sensing 5). In other
words, the senses function not only as an avenue to philosophically
experience our own world, but also as a <lens> through which society,
both past and present, can be investigated.
Applying this <lense> to understanding Berlin's past reveals soundscapes as
a site of power struggle. Defective relationships frequently reveal themselve
through sound. A lack of mutual tolerance and deficient willingness to
communicate are often reinforced by loud rhetoric. This is exactly how the
media along the Wall dealt with one another in divided Berlin. The war o
sound waves happened in the shared airspace. For our auralization, let us
backtrack a little.
The construction of the Berlin Wall appeared as its own distinct sounds
cape: shortly before 2 a.m. on 13 August 1961, the lights around th
Figure 1 : Photograph from the Landesarchiv Berlin showing the Studio am Stacheldrah
vans in action.
Western newspaper were hard to come by in the East, and in the first years
after the construction of the Wall, West German radio could not be received
everywhere. Lipschitz sought to fill this information vacuum in East Berlin
with the mobile loudspeaker units (Stratenschulte). The broadcasts always
started with the famous military tune «Taps» (known to Germans as the
trumpet solo from the 1953 Hollywood movie «From Here to Eternity»)
followed by the slogan «Hier spricht das Studio am Stacheldraht.» Before
Gerull read the news, he appealed to the members of the Volkspolizei
(German People's Police of the GDR) and the Nationale Volksarmee
(National People's Army) not to shoot at people who tried to escape:
«Wer einen Menschen erschießt, der von Deutschland nach Deutschland
gehen will, begeht einen Mord. Niemand soll glauben, er könne sich eines
Tages, wenn er zur Rechenschaft gezogen wird, auf höheren Befehl berufen.
Mord bleibt Mord - auch wenn er befohlen worden ist.» The reporter's voice
addressed the officers who could see him and asked why they had been
standing there since 13 August («Warum eigentlich? Fragt euch einmal,
warum ihr hier stehen müsst.»), then immediately offered his own explana-
tion: Walter Ulbricht and other officials wanted to persuade them that the
construction of the Wall was to protect the citizens of the GDR. But the
reporter pleaded: «Ihr seid klug genug, um diese Lüge zu erkennen.»
Ulbricht, he said, wants to force them to commit crimes of violence. «Fragt
euch selbst, fragt eure Kameraden, wie lange dieser unglückliche Zustand
noch andauern soll. Sie hörten das Studio am Stacheldraht.» After fifteen
Die Fahrzeuge zogen natürlich den Unmut der <Organe> auf sich. Tränengas,
Nebelbomben, Steine, Abfall wurden gern von der anderen Mauerseite zu den
Wagen geworfen. Ich habe auch gezogene und in Anschlag gebrachte Waffen
gesehen. Wie dem auch sei, zumeist dauerte es nicht lange, dann tauchte auf
Ostberliner Seite ebenfalls ein Lautsprecherwagen auf, der Gegenparolen oder
sowjetische Marschmusik verbreitete (Steinführ).
It was the citizens of West Berlin, added the earwitness, who were saddled
with the burden of authorities fighting this deafening war: «Wer bezahlt das?
Wahrscheinlich doch die Steuerzahler, die doppelt geschädigt werden,
finanziell und gesundheitlich» (24).
The East's authorities went on to install permanent speakers next to one
another on the horizontal bar of former overhead masts of the tram. The
speakers were directed at West Berliners as earwitness Peter Ulrich from
Lichterfelde (West Berlin) recalls:
So gab es Tage, an denen wir acht oder zehn Stunden hindurch - pausenlos -
beschallt wurden - und an anderen Tagen war überraschend wieder völlig Ruhe;
eine unberechenbare Taktik war das, die uns zermürben sollte. Doch nicht bloß
Nachrichten oder Kommentare gab es, sondern auch einfach nur Tanzmusik, mit
der man glaubte uns unterhalten zu müssen; mal lauter, mal leiser, wie es eben
gerade kam. Und nicht nur tagsüber ging das so; es kam vor, dass es spät abends um
22 Uhr immer noch hinter der Mauer quäkte, jaulte und brabbelte [...]. Diese
Praxis wurde fast drei Jahre lang fortgeführt; erst im Laufe des Jahres 1964 hat man
uns allmählich wieder Ruhe gegönnt. (Ulrich)
But before the sound war finally quieted down, it became very loud one more
time. On 7 October 1965, more than four years after the acoustic war had
begun, the Nationale Volksarmee celebrated the GDR's sixteenth anniver-
sary on the military grounds just across the border from Berlin-Gatow. The
Studio drove up to the Wall and disturbed the GDR's festivities with its
It is quite telling that this earwitness does not remember any other humans or
human sounds - only the eerie sounds connected to the vast empty space. In
most underground stations, there are waiting passengers, signs, benches, and
often concession stands. Many West Berlin train stations featured musicians
who entertained the masses hoping for a few Deutschmark. Yet since the
Cold War's ghost stations were underground stations void of any signs of
human life with the exception of the border guards, there were no soft objects
(hair, clothing, strollers, filled trash bins, newspaper kiosks, etc.) to absorb
sound waves or dampen them; the hard surfaces of the stone or concrete
floors, walls, and columns simply reflected the sounds of the train, causing
the space to sound like an enormous hollow chamber with eerie reverbera-
tions. There were some ghost stations aboveground, but most ghost stations
were underground, meaning that the train passengers passing through would
not see East Berlin scenery, only the interior of abandoned train stations
dimly lit by humming neon lights, just enough for train conductors and GDR
guards to see. Earwitnesses also recall that once the trains passed into the
ghost stations, conversations on the train would cease.
The train ride was, for the passengers, a highly aural experience; this was
true for the East Berliners aboveground as well. But in addition to hearing,
they also smelled, and even felt, the West Berlin U6 traffic through ventilation
grids and air shafts. Around the train station Friedrichstraße, not more than
twelve feet separated passers-by on foot in East Berlin from those on the train
heading back to West Berlin.
The only train station along the U6 that did not become a ghost station was
the train station Friedrichstraße, at which passengers from West Berlin could
switch onto other West Berlin trains. The S3 that started in Wannsee actually
ended at Friedrichstraße. This last example for the «divided sky» in Berlin
remained a busy station even after the construction of the Wall. It was a unique
situation in which a physical wall existed within the train station, separating
East and West traffic: East and West Berlin in one building, on East German
territory! This made Friedrichstraße the site of numerous attempts, a few
Notes
Works Cited
Besser, Barry, and Linda- Ruth Salter. Spaces Speak: Are you Listening ? Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press, 2006.
Dietrich, Nicole. «Audible Cartography of a Formerly Divided City.» Germany in
the Loud Twentieth Century. Ed. Florence Feiereisen and Alexandra Hill. Oxford
and New York: Oxford UP, 2012. 95-108.
Mugay, Peter. Die Friedrichstraße. Geschichte und Geschichten. Berlin: Ch. Link
Verlag, 1995.
Pragal, Peter, and Eckart D. Stratenschulte. Der Monolog der Lautsprecher und
andere Geschichten aus dem geteilten Berlin. Munich: DTV, 1999.
«Propaganda-Posaunen.» Die Zeit 17 May 1963: 24.
Schafer, Murray R. The Soundscape. Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the
World. Rochester, VT: Destiny Books, 1994.
«Schall und Rauch.» Der Spiegel 29 Nov. 1961: 37 f.
Sparschuh, Jens. «Bahnhof Friedrichstraße. Ein Museum.» Grenzübergänge. Auto-
ren aus Ost und West erinnern sich. Ed. Julia Franck. Frankfurt a. M.: S. Fischer,
2009. 225-44.
Smith, Bruce. «Tuning Into London, c. 1600.» The Auditory Culture Reader. E
Michael Bull and Les Back. New York: Berg, 2003. 127-35.
Smith, Mark M., ed. Hearing History. A Reader. Athens: U of Georgia P, 2004
- . Sensing the Past: Seeing, Hearing , Smelling , Tasting, and Touching in Histor
Berkeley and Los Angeles: U of California P, 2007.
Steinführ, Rainer. «Lautsprecherkrieg. Meine persönlichen Erfahrungen im Berli
Ost- West-Konflikt.» www.welt-der-alten-radios.de. Wumpus Welt der Radios, 2
June 2013. Web. 14 July 2016.
Sterne, Jonathan, and Mitchell Akiyama. «The Recording That Never Wanted to B
Heard and Other Stories of Sonification.» The Oxford Handbook of Sound Studi
Ed. Trevor Pinch and Karin Bijsterveld. Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 2012
544-60.