In what can only be described as the most German crisis since the invention of punctuality, the Berlin Flak Tower demolition row has escalated faster than a bratwurst at a beer festival. The concrete monstrosity, an ugly great lump of Nazi architecture that's been squatting on Berlin's skyline like a bad hangover, is finally getting the wrecking ball. But hold your schnapps, because a gaggle of British heritage experts have waddled in, monocles steaming, to declare the demolition 'absolute madness,' which in Expert-speak translates roughly to 'but won't someone think of the grim fascist aesthetic?'
Yes, friends, these guardian angels of historical preservation argue that the bunker, which gleefully rained flak on Allied bombers and later served as a nightclub where hipsters could ironically dance under swastikas, is a 'vital piece of living history.' Vital. Like a root canal. Like Jeremy Clarkson's opinions. The bunker, a concrete behemoth thick enough to make a Cold War general weep with joy, must stand, they say, as a reminder of the 'banality of evil.' Which is rich coming from a nation that still can't decide whether to call Colonialism a bit of a boo-boo or a jolly good lark.
Our experts, presumably with names like Alistair P. Wetherby-Smythe and Penelope Fortescue-Nukem, are frothing at the mouth because 'you can't erase history.' No, but you can put a golf course on it, a function space, a reasonably priced car park. The local Berliners, who have to live with this eyesore and its annual flock of earnest historians in sensible sandals, are reportedly delighted. They see the bunker not as history, but as a big grey obstacle to everything from affordable housing to a decent view of the Spreepark.
But the heritage lobby is relentless. They warn that without these physical reminders, we'll forget the atrocities of the Third Reich. Because, of course, we all know that the only thing standing between civilisation and a fourth Reich is a crumbling concrete bunker in Mitte. Forget education, books, memorials, and that pesky thing called 'collective memory.' We need a concrete block that looks like a pissed-off garden shed.
The irony, of course, is thick enough to spread on a kaiser roll. These are the same people who likely tut at the 'gormlessness' of modern architecture, who think any building after 1920 is a crime against aesthetics. But they'll fight tooth and nail for a building that, let's be honest, would look better as a pile of rubble. Or a car park. So to the Expert Brigade, I say this: history is not a museum piece. It's a messy, brutal, living thing. And sometimes, to move forward, you have to knock down a few Nazi bunkers. Preferably with a very large hammer and a soundtrack of military oompah.
So go on, Berlin. Smash it. Turn it into a beer garden. Or a memorial. Or just a hole in the ground. History will remember. And for those who insist on a concrete reminder, I can only offer my heartfelt condolences and a pamphlet on 'How to Build a Lego Swastika.' Because some symbols are better left to the toybox.
