The border officials’ most important piece of equipment, the “border control case”.

A new exhibition at one of the Cold War’s most infamous crossing points recalls the absurdity of life in divided Berlin – By Klaus Grimberg

Anyone who ever crossed into or out of East Berlin at Friedrichstrasse train station during the Cold War is unlikely to forget the narrow, stuffy passport control booths. Seconds could feel like hours as travelers waited, separated by a sheet of glass from the always serious, always strict East German customs officers. The click of the stamp permitting a one-day stay in East Berlin and the sound of the buzzer opening the door of the booth were an emotional as well as a literal release. If you were lucky, it was over within 20 minutes. But it could also take hours.

One of the booths made of shabby-brown fake wood is on display in a new permanent exhibition located in the former border terminal. East Germany’s communist regime used the hall, which was built next to Friedrichstrasse train station in 1962, as a checkpoint for people crossing the inner-Berlin border until 1990. During the decades of the division, it was the scene of countless heartrending partings as people from East and West said their goodbyes, always unsure whether they would ever see each other again. Often it was a farewell forever. The building was soon dubbed the Tränenpalast – the Palace of Tears.

After stepping out of the glaring neon light of the passport booth, travelers found themselves in a confusing labyrinth of winding corridors, stairways, doors, barriers and railings. The way to the platform for trains to West Berlin had been designed by the East German security services with the intention to confuse. A preponderance of screens and frosted glass ensured a disorienting semi-darkness. The route seemed endless, but in reality, the distance travelers had to walk was quite normal for train stations, as a model in the exhibition illustrates.

“We spoke to a lot of people who frequently crossed the border at Friedrichstrasse,” said Mike Lukasch, who is the project coordinator from the House of History of the Federal Republic of Germany in Bonn and responsible for the concept of the exhibition. “But hardly anyone can remember details about the Tränenpalast or the station. Most of them associated the crossing with too much sadness and fear, tension and trepidation.” For older people in particular, the psychological and physical stress of crossing the border was often hard to bear: Between 1962 and 1990, more than 200 people died in and around the station.

As well as being a symbol of the brutal division of Berlin, the Tränenpalast was also a permanent arena of the Cold War. Border officials received meticulous instructions on how to recognize collaborators of the Stasi, the East German secret police, among the travelers crossing into and out of East Berlin. Other documents show how unwelcome visitors to the East German capital were shadowed from the moment they set foot on East Berlin territory. Photographs of the “enemy observation operations center,” with its numerous CCTV screens, are vivid proof that, once in the station, no movement went unnoticed.

However, many courageous travelers were not deterred from smuggling banned books and newspapers or sought-after records into the East. In the other direction, politically-charged manuscripts and photographs or personal documents made it across the border. Despite the almost total monitoring, the checkpoint at Friedrichstrasse station was a bottleneck that could never be closed entirely. Empty boxes of Persil or Ariel washing powder served as exemplary hiding places for banned items in training courses for border control and customs officers.

Countless stories – distressing tragedies as well as absurd anecdotes – are connected with the Tränenpalast and the train station to which it was once linked by a pathway. The exhibition features several audio-points, where visitors can listen to the individual experiences of contemporary witnesses.

One man remembers how, as a child, he fled to the West via Friedrichstrasse station with his parents before the Wall was built. Despite the summer heat, he wore three layers of clothes and all he could take with him was his favorite book “Emil and the Detectives.” Another witness who had been politically active in his church congregation talks of his deep feeling of dejection after he was finally able to leave the country. A third cheerfully describes how he managed to attract so much attention pretending to be drunk that the inspectors tried to get rid of him as quickly as possible and forgot to check his bag, which was full of contraband.

Such testimony that is at times exciting, at times moving, helps to bring the exhibition in the Tränenpalast to life. The everyday routine at the checkpoint comes across as an absurd, never-ending game of cat-and-mouse. From a distance of more than 20 years there is an inclination to laugh about the absurdity of it all. But step back into the passport control booth for one moment – and the awfulness of what it really felt like comes flooding back.

For Berlin, the Tränenpalast is yet another important reminder of the era of the Wall and the divided city. Even though the oppressive atmosphere can only be partially recreated, younger people in particular can gain an authentic impression of the German-German contrast that shaped post-war history for almost half a century. Documents, photos and eyewitness accounts about the Tränenpalast are embedded in a brief historical overview of the division of Germany up to reunification. The Tränenpalast exhibition seems certain to become an important attraction for school classes.

That travelers to and from East Berlin were systematically harassed at the Friedrichstrasse checkpoint is illustrated by a small, rather inconspicuous exhibit right at the beginning that seems to indicate that swift passport clearance was never the aim. The black-and-white sign dryly announces: “Change of shift – closed for about 25 minutes.”