Berlin is very disorienting. You’re an outsider in a place where the inhabitants are outsiders. Each individual in the crowd wears multiple labels — hero, victim, aggressor, protester, dissident, patriot. The location shifts constantly as if you’re looking through the prism eyes of an insect.
Today Dean took us to the Stasi museum. (Well, the proper name is the Forschungs-und Gedenkstätte Normannenstrasse in the former headquarters complex for the Stasi. And for the history challenged, the Stasi were the East German secret police.) And as you walk through the rooms of propaganda, secret cameras and wire taps, the cutting edge of interrogation torture in the 50’s, the lists of the missing and disappeared, the jail cells, the board rooms, the medals and commemorative plates, you keep thinking to yourself — what. the. fuck. were you people thinking?
And then by the time you get the secretarial station of Evil, you do get a bit giddy…
The Switchboard of Terror
The Break Room of Terror because after all sometimes Evil likes a nice hot cuppa tea in the afternoon.