What do we owe each other? This question was at the front of my mind last year as I settled into a panel alongside a radio journalist, a YouTuber, and two podcast hosts. We’d assembled to discuss Berlin’s past and present on a sweltering summer day. As the discussion reached its end, the moderator trained his eye on the future: If we could change Berlin for the better, where might we start?
I paused. There are many things I love about the city I’ve called home for the last decade: The density of parks per capita, and the hot night air that blows from August to September; the freshwater lakes to the north and west, the knots of forests to the south, and the abundance of sunsets worth watching; the protests that wash across the streets on a near weekly basis to demand a better life for all – and the dedicated networks of people organising and enabling these actions, and ensuring participants’ safety and comfort. I could count on both hands the things I love about Berlin once, and then again and again and again until my sorry little joints gave out.
But there’s one thing that I can’t stand about Berlin: The phantom sense that we don’t owe one another anything, whether that’s our next-door neighbour or the man asking for money on the train. When you walk through Berlin, there’s a distinct sense that people see you at once as both a grave threat and a complete non-entity. You can be completely ignored and antagonised at the same time. A while back, I laughed as I told a friend, “Berlin is a GOATed place to grieve because you can cry nearly anywhere and no one will look at you twice” — and if you’ve ever cried in Berlin, you know that this is true. In celebration and in sorrow, you’re understood as both an unwelcome interloper and wholly invisible by the people around you. On the panel last summer, I paused, and then said something like:
In Berlin, there’s an extinguished culture of care. You see it on every street corner, where someone’s asking for change and only getting ignored. You see it as pizza boxes and takeaway cartons spill out across the pavement when we won’t walk an extra 20 meters to dispose of them in an emptier bin. People make messes with no intention of cleaning them up because it’s always someone else’s fault at the end of the day: Rigid Germans, entitled expats, lazy immigrants, the city, the government, the guy next door. There’s more bad faith in this city than there is faith in the city, and we’re all the worse for it.
This question – what do we owe each other? – has been back on my mind this week as municipal governments across Berlin’s districts announce austerity measures to make up for the mass budget deficits caused by poor planning. In the Neukölln district, the local government plants to address the roughly €23 million deficit by severe rollbacks on public services: School security and cleaning staff face drastic cuts, and maintenance for parks and playgrounds will be withheld, including trash collection. The annual Christmas market is cancelled, but perhaps most shockingly, the already meager support for people with drug dependencies and people experiencing homelessness will be further reduced or entirely eliminated.
This is why I’m writing to you today to ask a quick favour: The Berlin Soli Cooking project is in need of donations to continue providing hot meals and fresh drinking water to anyone who needs it in Neukölln on a weekly basis (you might recognise BSC as the beneficiary of last year’s F4A Holiday Gift Guide). In 2022, the volunteer-organized and volunteer-operated project provided over 1000 meals to members of our local community in Neukölln, including many facing the harshest austerity measures.
If you’ve enjoyed Furniture For All, please consider donating using this PayPal link, or the PayPal account linked to berlinsolicooking@gmail.com. For more info on the the Berlin Soli Cooking project, check out the description in our previous post here. If you don’t use PayPal but want to contribute, drop me an email directly — donations of any and all sizes help ensure this project can continue at a time when it’s needed most.
It’s been a minute! I’ve had a busy year, sometimes for better and often for worse. After spending most of June on the road reporting, I’m back at my desk to write up my dissertation ahead of submission at the end of the month. I also quit my day job, and I’ve recently taken up both ballet and boxing in hopes of becoming a one-man Barbenheimer by summer’s end. Speaking of which: Stay tuned for a special Furniture For All: Barbenheimer Edit next week. Mood board: Think mid-century modern Candyland with cavities and ketamine.