I studied together with my friend and classmate, Bill, in West and East Germany in 1988-1989. He and his family recently traveled to Rostock — his first trip back since our shared studies there. I was moved by what he posted on Facebook. With his permission, I’m reposting his thoughts here:

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Just finished up an amazing few days in Rostock with Renee and Dirk. I haven’t been back to Germany since leaving in the summer of ’89 and can’t imagine a better guide to past and present than you, Renee. Thanks for your incredible hospitality, and for making Ben, Marcia and I feel so welcomed into your wonderful home.

With almost 35 years passing in between, it was hard to match the technicolor present with my black and white memories. Glass buildings, colorful shops, and lively cafes have replaced the landscapes of cement structures. Warnemünde is a quaint tourist hotspot, and Rostock’s main square deserves a stop on any traveler’s journey.

While it hurt my brain to have Renee take us to places that made up my daily routines back then and draw only a blank, a few stairways, shops and walking paths were like time capsules that opened up to a rush of thoughts and feelings that have been hidden away for so long.

Moving around with no armed guards, Stasi or Wall felt odd but liberating, though I must confess there was a strange feeling of loss knowing that the world we knew is now irretrievable. Hard to say where that sense of loss comes from, really. Dirk reminded me that we all experience that sense of loss when we return to the spots so important in our younger years and realize the tree forts are gone, or the big hill we rode bikes down is only a slight grade to us now. So true.

And yet, there was something about that time in our lives, and the rare experience of leaving the West to live in a place outside the rat race and the market’s spell that was so much more than just a fond memory. It was an alternate universe, a glimpse into a strange universe where all the seemingly insoluble problems in the world we knew — homelessness, crime, inequality, rampant materialism — were addressed while all the givens we took for granted were missing. We all knew how privileged we were, philosophizing about whether the DDR’s trade of security for freedom was worth it with friends who had to live with the downsides while we were free to leave. But those discussions were no less profound because of that asymmetry. Indeed, the desire to bring the lessons on either side of the wall together into a new dialogue shaped my whole career, trying to figure out how we balance the need for each person to pursue their own goals while still ensuring we create conditions that ensure everyone has what they need to thrive.

I suppose that is part of what feels like a loss — the hope that it was still possible to visit a place that preserved that unique time in history, and in our lives. But that small sense of loss pales in comparison to a profound sense of appreciation. I’m left with an even deeper sense of gratitude for our experience, and a stronger connection with each of you. I have re-watched the videos you so thoughtfully helped inspire, Toby, better understanding now that our memories are fading resources worthy of careful preservation. So grateful for everyone’s generous contributions on this thread …

I hope someday we might all return, together, for a reunion of sorts. Rostock is still a magical place.

Jacquelyn and I studied together in Rostock in 1988-1989. She has been living in Berlin for at least 10 years.

Inspired by her “30 Years After The Wall” video series, I reached out to her and asked her if we could discuss our memories and Germany then and now.

I captured most of the discussion in this 78-minute video. Topics ranged from what differences between the former two Germanys still exist to the present-day Covid-19 pandemic.

You may click “Show More” to see timestamps and clickable topics.

Jacquelyn Reeves and Robert Gibson created a series of 6 videos discussing their experiences and evaluation of the former East Germany and reunification.

Reeves was my classmate and studied in Rostock the same year I was there.

Gibson, a historian, lived and worked in West Berlin in 1977. During that time he traveled often to East Berlin. He returned to Berlin from 1990 to 1992 right after reunification.

Each video lasts between 4 and 7 minutes.

Part 1:
Robert and Jacquelyn introduce their connections to the GDR and how it made a lasting impression on them as interculturalists and people

Part 2:
Jacquelyn talks about the strong emotional connection established through her experiences

Part 3:
Jacquelyn and Robert continue their discussion on intercultural behaviors

Part 4:
Jacquelyn and Robert discuss the reunification decision-making with 30 years hindsight

Part 5:
Jacquelyn and Robert discuss the legacy of the reunification period with 30 years hindsight

Part 6:
Robert and Jacquelyn give travel tips to enjoy and learn about the former GDR at the same time!

As I wrote a couple months ago, I sent a formal request for my Stasi file. Yesterday I received a response in the mail.

Poring over the letter, I learned they were only able to find three index cards with very basic information on me. More documents may be uncovered in the future, and I was invited to write again in two years. I intend to do this.

For those interested in the full letter, I did my best to translate it in its entirety (with a strong assist from Google). Here’s my translation:

Mr. Loftus,

You have requested access to the documents which may exist about you from the State Security Service of the former German Democratic Republic. The searches in all the files in question according to your data have shown that you were registered by the State Security Service in July 26, 1989, in a “security operation” of Dept. XX of the BV Rostock (Appendix l).

Security operations (SiVo / SVG) included certain groups of persons which, in the opinion of the State Security Service, were to be “secured” on account of their special position, professional activity or interests, meaning that a number of persons were recorded in a single backup process. A registration did not mean that the people were purposefully and systematically observed.

The registration in security operations was basically done without knowledge of the persons concerned and usually had a low value statement. Security Operations offten contain only the name, address and date of birth of the persons entered.

Security operations generally ran for years, with new people constantly being recorded, and others – for example for reasons of age – were cancelled. The application date of a security operation can therefore take many years for an individual person.

The procedure file F 22 (Appendix 2) allows access to the archived registered procedures and files by registration number.

The lower half and the back of the index card were reserved for the registration of modifications (e.g. change of employee, service unit, IM category, etc.).

You were also entered with your personal details in a “VSH card” (“Precompiled-, Search- und Tip-Card”) of Dept. XX of the BV Rostock. (Appendix 3).

The “pre-compilation, search and reference cards” (VSH files) created by the State Security Service were not stored centrally in the Ministry of State Security, but only
for the respective area of responsibility of the individual service units.

Information on persons was recorded in these files and, if necessary, continuously added to, which was of interest for security reasons. Thus, the corresponding service unit of the State Security Service could access relevant Access information on short notice.

Explanation:

Since 1964, the Department XX of the BV (district administration) was responsible for the security and control of the state apparatus, competitive sports, churches, culture and opposition.

For you, beyond these index cards no further documents were found. Copies of the found index cards are included for your information.

I would like to draw your attention to the fact that this information refers to the previously developed documents of the State Security Service. However, it can not be ruled out that further documents on your person can be found during further development work.

Because of the high number of available documents, unfortunately, I can not inform the respective applicant about newly found documents.

You may requst additional information from me by quoting the above mentioned job number in about two years.

Because we require a handwritten signature, I ask that this should not be done by e-mail, but rather with an informal letter.

With friendly greetings,
<signature>

Summary: Considering the Stasi

To this point, my blog entries have mostly avoided the subject of the Stasi (short for “Ministerium für Staatssicherheit” or administration for state security).

I’ve focused mainly on my day-to-day experiences in the DDR. But what role did the Stasi play in my life and that of my East German peers?

The notorious and much-feared Stasi cast a long shadow over many citizens, but it is hard to know how much of that fear was based on fact versus imagination. Since we were fewer than a dozen Westerners in a socialist state, we had to assume people were watching our movements and possibly listening in on our conversations and phone calls.

Informants might have included classmates and teachers, but we never knew. Some of my U.S. classmates speculated about which of the locals we knew might be a Stasi informant, but I wasted no energy on such thoughts.

I had no way of knowing, I felt I had nothing to hide, and I was there to experience and learn what I could … not limit myself by fears either real or imagined.

As I’ve written earlier, people were mostly relaxed in their homes and sometimes the dorms, and willing to express dissatisfaction with government corruption and oppression, limits on travel, the hated Soviet soldiers stationed in their country, being compelled to study the Russian language, and more.

In public, people were more guarded and limited conversation to mundane topics. If there were informants and people following my movements, they were not obvious.

Unlike tours in China, Iran, or the former Soviet Union, where every group of visitors was accompanied by an official minder, we were free to come and go as we pleased, without any chaperone or minder.

We were regularly warned, however, not to photograph bridges, train stations, shipyards, or any other major “strategic” installations. I snuck one or two, careful to keep an eye out for anyone who might catch me and rip the film from my camera. That never came close to happening.

The Berlin Wall fell in November 1989, only a few months after I had returned to the states. The Stasi headquarters were ransacked and Stasi files made public. At that point, many former East Germans found out which of their fellow citizens had collaborated with the Stasi. Here are a few articles with such stories:
The Stasi files: Germany’s 600-million-piece puzzle
East German Stasi files open to public online for first time
Stasi Files Revisited: The Banalities and Betrayals of Life in East

Some of my U.S. classmates requested their Stasi files. Several were told there were no files; they either had been lost or destroyed, or perhaps there had never been any.

One student I had known received an extensive file that included detailed information about where she had hung out, whom she dated, etc. We’ve speculated that since she had relatives who were East German, she may have been more of a target for surveillance.

I resisted requesting my Stasi files for decades. I didn’t want to know if any of my classmates had been informants. If they had, would it have been due to malice or coercion?

But thirty years have passed, and it has become much easier to request your Stasi files. You don’t even need to know German.

So I sent in my official request. I just received official notice that my application has been received. I’m keeping my expectations low; it has been 30 years, and since no files turned up for a couple of my classmates, I won’t be surprised if none are located on me.

Summary: Social Order at the Crosswalk

There is a German cliché: “Ordnung muss sein” (or, as I learned it, “Ordnung muß sein”). It literally means, “There must be order.” It expresses the German cultural appreciation for, and general adherence to, rules and social order.

I saw it expressed in the punctuality of trains and the extreme lengths to which my West German classmates went in their recycling (even removing, cleaning, and collecting the aluminum lids to their yogurt containers).

The level of adherence to social order and norms appeared to me to be greater in the DDR, at least out in public. In the privacy of one’s home, you might see a relaxing of the rules in both words and actions.

But in public, most citizens kept up the appearance of order and frowned upon those who did not. An especially vivid memory of DDR social order comes from crosswalks.

Interestingly, the designer of the of the East German crosswalk Ampelmännchen worried that the design would be rejected due to the hat. From a Spiegel article about it:

The hat could be a problem. The hat is the embodiment of capitalism, and that’s why Karl Peglau was somewhat anxious when he made his recommendation before East Berlin’s traffic commission on Oct. 13, 1961. Peglau, then 34 and the leading traffic psychologist in communist East Germany, was carrying his vision for a new pedestrian crossing signal in his bag. It was two men in red and green, and both wore hats.

But to Peglau’s surprise, the hats passed under the critical gaze of research councils and traffic officials without arousing complaint. In fact, the only thing they changed was the direction in which the figures were walking, switching them from right to left. Peglau’s concern that the hats would be rejected as petty bourgeois was “luckily not necessary,” he later remembered.

Here in the US, the crosswalk signal may be red, but if you perceive no traffic coming, many of us choose to cross rather than wait for a green light. Even if traffic is coming, some people dash across, in disregard of the signal.

I don’t recall, but I think it was a little lax in West Germany at the time I studied there. Since Tübingen was a university town, I suspect the foreigners, like me, were apt to cross against a red light, whereas many Germans might wait.

In Rostock, no one crossed the street when the light was red. It could be 10 p.m. with not a single moving vehicle or other pedestrian in sight … but people would dutifully wait until given the literal green light.

This took some getting used to for me. When other people were around, it was easier to emulate the group and remain frozen in place, seemingly oblivious to the absence of any visible traffic. But walking alone, it was really hard for me to remain stock-still.

After a semester, though, I had grown accustomed to waiting for the green light and didn’t have to think about it.

When I left the DDR for the first time on a trip through Denmark, Sweden, and Finland, I had to readjust all over again.

When my Danish friends would start across the street against a red light, the upper half of my body began to follow them, but my legs and feet remained frozen. I leaned forward and nearly face-planted as my body argued with itself about whether to proceed.

I wonder, 30 years later, what my body would do if I saw the distinctive East German Ampelmännchen again.

Summary: Visiting a class of silent DDR grade-schoolers

One day Volker, a Rostock student who attended Brown University the year before I went to Rostock, took me and possibly others (I cannot remember) to visit a little elementary school in Rostock. He was going to talk about his time in the U.S.

I was interested to see what Volker would say. I was also was eager to talk directly with the kids and see what, if anything, they thought about the world, the U.S., and me.

Volker gave a slide show that showed pictures of Brown University, cars, businesses, and the city. What I remember sticking out, though, was his picture of homeless people – something unknown in the DDR. Thirty years ago, Providence, R.I. had a few panhandlers near campus, but nothing compared to Boston, or NYC, or present-day Portland, Oregon.

The students watched in silence, and after Volker was done, he opened things up for questions and answers. He also introduced me, and assured them I spoke good German and would welcome their questions.

My memory is that there were no questions. The kids merely regarded us silently. I spoke up, wanting to assure the kids I could, indeed converse with them and that I welcomed any question they might have. Still, there were no questions.

As Volker and I left the classroom and the school, he shook his head with mild disgust. “This was a golden opportunity for them,” he grumbled, “and they just sat there.”

When Volker had visited American classrooms, the questions came hard and fast: Why do you call yourselves the German Democratic Republic? Why can’t people come and go? Why don’t you take down The Wall?

I had had a delightful conversation with three grade-schoolers during the May 1st holiday, which I wrote about here. I also visited a classroom in Hungary over Christmas ’88 and had a nice interchange. (I recall a poster of John Lennon on the classroom wall.)

I cannot know why those Rostock students remained silent. Did they feel self-conscious? Were they worried about judgment by peers or teachers? I cannot imagine kids not being naturally curious or inquisitive. I can only wonder to this day what might have been going through their heads.

Summary: Experiencing Socialized Medicine in an Actual Socialist Country

I rarely get sick. Maybe once every couple of years I might feel poorly enough to take a day or two off work. The number of times I’ve been to the doctor due to feeling bad or with an urgent concern could be counted on a single hand.

But I got sick in the DDR. I don’t recall the details of my symptoms, but it must have been pretty bad to motivate me to undertake the challenge of going to the doctor in a foreign country.

I can’t remember, but I assume the physician was associated with the university. The office was old and drab, like something out of a ’50s movie scene, and the equipment wasn’t shiny or state of the art.

I recall the doctor was a woman: efficient and no-nonsense. After checking various vitals and asking me a few questions, she wrote up a prescription. It was on a paper receipt, and like the cliché, the handwriting was scribbled and completely unintelligible to me.

Having no clue about what I was to get or where to go, I think I asked the doctor’s receptionist where I should go next. She brusquely said any pharmacy, and pointed me in the direction of the nearest one.

I walked in and waited my turn. When I passed my handwritten prescription to the pharmacist, I watched with growing concern as they fetched more and more items. A dozen tablets, four brown bottles of some unknown liquid, maybe something further.

I tried to remember how many East German marks I had on me. Had I brought enough money for this?

After a small cafeteria tray’s worth of items were presented to me, the pharmacist turned away and called the next customer.

“Um, how much does this cost?” I asked. “Nothing,” came the flat, perfunctory response.

I felt conflicted. Surely I needed to pay something. So I asked to buy some facial tissues. The total cost to me was probably less than 25 cents US.

Mine was just a brief, minor experience. Yes, the technology and facilities may have been antiquated, but they were available to everybody. I had to pay nothing, and I was not even a citizen of the country.

I know of rural regions of the U.S. that would be happy to have any facilities, even those from the DDR 30+ years ago.

I’ve often thought back to that experience in subsequent years. When discussions turn into heated debates over the pros and cons of “socialized medicine” versus the for-profit US healthcare system, I am often amused when people fervently tell me of the ills and horrors of socialized medicine.

I find the most emphatic and impassioned arguments against any centralized or government-run healthcare system often come from people who have never been abroad, much less to an actual socialist country. Of the few that have travelled abroad, most of them have typically never received medical care in any Western European or Asian country.

Decades before heated debates over “Obamacare,” I would sometimes quip that I’d take the DDR healthcare system of a 30 years ago over the present-day US system. The latter, though state-of-the-art, is unavailable to far too many citizens, and bankrupts those who have the audacity to get seriously ill.

It is fascinating to me to see how discussions of single payer, Medicare-for-all, and other potential healthcare and insurance plans have transformed from complete political non-starters to accepted and promoted planks of many mainstream candidates.

Summary: Using and abusing pay telephones in the DDR

In 1989, international phone calls were expensive and the sound quality mediocre. It’s easy to forget this today when video phone conversations with excellent fidelity that connect multiple chatters from around the world can be made with your smart phone — and for free! I hosted one such video call with 10 friends just last month!

Back then I remember making international phone calls from home. You had to dial a long sequence of numbers on a rotary dial, hoping you didn’t make a mistake, could reach your party, and would get a decent connection.

Phone calls to and from the DDR were even more challenging. You couldn’t call the US from DDR phone booths.

For that, you had to go to the post office. There, you would go up to a teller, give him or her the number you wanted to dial, then sit down and wait until you were summoned. When you were ready, the teller directed you to a private numbered stall. There, you would make your phone call. Afterward, you would return to pay the teller for the call.

People in the US could call directly to us. But there was only a single phone for incoming calls in the whole dorm, and my dorm was at least 12 stories tall. Each dorm had a little entry office staffed by students. Every day when you left, you’d give them your key, and when you came in, they would return it to you. That little office was also where the single telephone was located.

If someone from the US called, the student in the key office would have to dash out, or send someone to fetch you. That student would take the elevator up (if it was functioning) or climb the stairs to your floor, knock on your door, and the two of you would dash back down to the entry office to take the call.

Pay phones were relatively easy to use, but they could only be used for phone calls within Europe. Here is a picture that looks similar to what I remember:

Pay phones had three separate coin slots, with a column of lights beneath each. Before making a call, you would insert up to three coins into the appropriate slot. They would stack up, and the lights would illuminate to indicate how many coins were queued up.

As the phone call progressed, the bottom coin in the stack would drop, and the column of lights would shrink by one. This showed you how much credit you had left.

When all coins were used up, all the lights winked out. When that happened, your phone call was terminated. If you wanted to keep talking, you would have to keep adding coins so that at least one light remained on. If coins were left at the end of your call, they were returned to you.

Sometimes pay phones would be sabotaged. The common method was to affix a fine thread or fishing line to a coin, drop the coin in the slot, then secure the other end of the line with tape or a knot. When the phone would try to drop the coin, since it was suspended by the line, it would remain — and the single light for that coin would stay illuminated.

In this way, you could make the longest call you wanted for the cost of that one coin. Anyone after you would enjoy free calling.

It was obvious when a phone booth had been sabotaged: a long line of foreign students would be queued up outside it. Each would wait patiently for his or her turn. I recall making at least one phone call to friends in West Germany and maybe to Finland on one of these rigged phones.

I once attempted to recreate this mechanical swindle … and failed. When I dropped my coin in the slot, the string followed, and was completely ingested. I feared the next caller would discover the problem. I had no desire to be caught, so I quickly departed.

My life as a phone saboteur in the DDR lasted less than five minutes.

Summary: Conspicuous Westerner receives, eventually returns, long stares

The difference between studying in West Germany and East Germany was like night and day. The colors were muted and drab in the DDR. Goods available for purchase were limited in variety and often of mediocre quality.

And there were very, very few foreigners. What really stood out about studying in the DDR was, well, how much I stood out.

In Tübingen there were well over a hundred students from the US and the UK. They’d gather to drink, smoke, play cards, and speak English. I generally avoided those groups.

I have always hated smoking, and I wanted to continue to improve my language skills and interact with Germans. Why come to Germany only to hang out with English speakers?

When I walked down the street or through the center of Tübingen, no one would give me a second glance. In Rostock, the absolute opposite happened.

There were only about ten students from the West in Rostock, and we stood out like flashing neon lights wherever we went. If I boarded a streetcar, everyone on board would turn to look at me … and continue staring for an uncomfortably long time.

Normally, when you walk down the street or sit in a park, if your eyes happen to meet those of a stranger, you immediately look away. You might smile or nod in silent greeting, but that moment rarely lasts more than a fraction of a second.

Imagine sitting in a bus or a streetcar, and when you meet someone’s gaze, the connection locks and you find yourself eyeing each other for 5 to 10 seconds. That feels like an eternity. And if you look away to someone else, you find that she, too, is looking at you!

There was never a smile or a nod. It wasn’t a blank stare or a nosey, inquiring look. It wasn’t quite a glare or scowl of judgment. Just a neutral, unsmiling gaze, like the vacant black-and-white countenance in many a foreigner’s passport photo.

I found this very unsettling. The voice in your mind asks whether something is wrong with you: a stain on your shirt, your hair mussed, food hanging from your cheek. You try to remain calm, but inside you are going through an inventory of all the things that might elicit such discomfiting stares.

Often, I’d feel their eyes directed at my clothes, whatever I might be carrying, etc. I was told that even if I wore East German clothes, my shoes would give me away, since the variety of footwear available to purchase in the DDR was scanty.

Finally, I realized, “Hey, if they can look at me, I can look back at them!” So I’d stare back. Unsmiling, neither inviting nor defensive, I’d take my time to study their faces, hair, clothes, avoiding any hint of judgment, attraction, or fear.

As Americans, we are socialized to smile. It took some practice to break that habit. Thinking back on it now, I’m reminded of many moments in the Sherlock Holmes adventures, when the famed detective would study and scrutinize a client silently, then come up with a miraculous narrative about that person’s recent and distant past, education, employment, and so on.

My deductive skills were nowhere near the realm of even a mediocre investigator, but being able to allow myself to gaze back at strangers was an unusual and surprisingly fascinating experience, one I have never seen or experienced since.