How Poland and Hungary Led the Way in 1989
By Walter Mayr, Christian Neef and Jan Puhl
Everyone remembers the iconic images from the dramatic breaching of the Berlin Wall on Nov. 9, 1989. But the groundwork was laid elsewhere. The fate of Germany and the rest of Europe was decided in Warsaw, Budapest and Moscow.
By that evening of Nov. 10, 1989, Anatoly Sergeyevich Chernyayev had been meticulously keeping a diary for 20 years. Every day, after coming home to his apartment on Deneshny Pereulok from the party headquarters on the Old Square or from the Kremlin, he had sat down at his desk to write in his diary.
After gazing out the window at the Foreign Ministry building, a Socialist Classicist monstrosity built shortly before Stalin's death in the neighborhood where Moscow's coin makers traditionally had their shops, he would write a detailed account of his daily experiences. He focused, in particular, on the thoughts that he could not express at work, where he was surrounded by fellow party comrades: his futile hopes, frustrations and disappointments.
Chernyayev, a close associate of then Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev, made a short and laconic entry into his diary on Nov. 10: "The Berlin Wall has collapsed. An epoch in the history of the 'socialist system' is coming to an end," the advisor to the president and party chairman wrote on that Friday evening. "Following the Polish and the Hungarian workers' parties, Honecker has now fallen, and today there was news of Shivkov's departure. All we have left now are our 'closest friends': Castro, Ceausescu and Kim Il Sung. All people who hate us."
His tone was not one of bitterness but of deep sarcasm. Chernyayev had seen this day coming for a long time. "It's the end of Yalta and the Stalinist legacy," he concluded.
Let History Pass it By
The motto "Workers of the world, unite!" was still emblazoned on the front page of Pravda, the party-controlled newspaper, lying on the table next to him. A top headline, on that Nov. 10, read "Today is the day of the Soviet police." Pravda had let history pass it by.
t was a completely different story elsewhere in Europe, where people were celebrating with abandon, almost overwhelmed by the images from Berlin showing East and West Germans in each others' arms. "Germany weeps with joy. Berlin is Berlin once again!" wrote the tabloid BZ. The news that Berlin, divided for 28 years, was united had even traveled as far as the remote reaches of the Australian West Coast. German film director Wim Wenders, was on a visit to the region at the time ("I couldn't have been farther away from Berlin than I was at that moment," he said), encountered a hermit living in a cave. "It was early in the morning, and he was dead drunk. He was a Lithuanian and he spoke a little German. He kept drinking toasts to Berlin, speaking in a loud voice in an attempt to drown out the Wagner music blaring from his ghetto blaster. 'No more walls! No more walls! No more walls anyplace in the world!'"
1989 went down in the history books as the year of the fall of the Berlin Wall and of peaceful revolution in East Germany. That, at least, is the way the Germans like to see it. It was also the way then-Chancellor Helmut Kohl saw it from the beginning. "We are writing a chapter in world history, once again, it must be said," the chancellor said on Nov. 9, in an emotional speech during a state visit to neighboring Poland.But why did it take so long for the Wall to come down? And who actually destroyed it?
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