In a twist that would make even the most jaded historian choke on their Earl Grey, Berlin is locked in a tussle over whether to demolish a colossal Nazi-era bunker. Yes, a bunker. Not just any bunker, but a hulking, grey, guilt-laden edifice that has somehow survived the war, the Cold War, and the relentless march of hipster coffee shops. And now, like a bad penny, it has surfaced in Britain’s heritage debate. Because who are we to miss an opportunity for national navel-gazing?
The bunker in question, a 3,000-person capacity monstrosity near Berlin’s Gesundbrunnen station, has been earmarked for removal to make way for a swanky new residential quarter. But a group of historians and heritage enthusiasts has launched a cry of protest: ‘Save our bunker!’ they wail, clutching their pocket protectors. Their argument? It’s a vital piece of history, a reminder of the horror, a tangible link to the past. All very noble, but one might ask: how many reminders do we need? Berlin is already a veritable museum of Nazi architecture, with the Olympiastadion and Tempelhof Airport just two of the more photogenic relics.
But here’s the rub: this isn’t just a German problem. Over in Blighty, we’ve got our own heritage headaches. Dr Beeching’s railway cuts, Brutalist tower blocks, and those gloriously ugly 1970s shopping centres. We can’t seem to decide what’s worth keeping. Is it just ‘heritage’ when it’s old, or only when it’s pretty? Do we preserve everything, or just the bits that make for good Instagram posts? The bunker debate has sparked a cross-Channel crisis of conscience. And I, for one, welcome our new concrete overlords.
Let’s be honest, the bunker is a ghastly thing. It’s a monument to megalomania, a testament to the worst of humanity. But it’s also a reminder that we are all, ultimately, a bit rubbish at learning from the past. Should it stay? Should it go? The real question is: why are we arguing about this when there are far more pressing issues, like the quality of gin at airport lounges? I’ll tell you why. Because we love a good moral panic. It’s easier to argue about bricks and mortar than it is to tackle the substance of our collective memory.
So here’s my proposal: turn the bunker into a gin distillery. Yes, a gin distillery. The perfect use for a concrete box. We can call it ‘Remorse & Tonic’. Every sip will taste of shame and juniper. Or perhaps a museum of terrible 20th-century decisions, curated by Boris Johnson. The possibilities are endless. But whatever happens, let’s not pretend this is about heritage. It’s about spectacle, about the eternal human craving for a good argument. And if that means we end up with a bunker that doubles as a nightclub, so be it. History is a nightmare from which we are all trying to awake, but preferably with a G&T in hand.
