Björn Kuhligk: “Berlin insult”: Organized lack of responsibility

There are certainly enough reasons to insult Berlin and to be just as nasty to the city as it is to its residents. Or can anyone think of another metropolis whose administration seems to downright despise those it governs, or at least puts obstacles in their way wherever it can? That throws statements at the feet of its long-time residents like that there is no right to live in the city center? Well, the natives of Paris, London, Madrid and elsewhere probably heard the last sentence a long time ago. When it comes to the rent explosion, Berlin is actually a laggard in the group of major European cities; The city was considered a paradise for tenants for longer than others, but Vienna is now the last bastion against the encroaching financial capital. Berlin, on the other hand, has done wrong what could only be done wrong over the last twenty years, at least from a tenant’s perspective. A feeling of alienation arises when someone born here has to realize that they are only tolerated in their city and that their own existence hangs by the thread of the old rental agreement.

It’s really no longer easy to love Berlin these days. Someone who feels the same way is the Berlin author Björn Kuhligk. He processed his quarrel with the ruin of this city in an essay, which he gave the wonderfully simple and direct title “Berlin Insult.” It seems appropriate to point out that Kuhligk was born in Berlin. What, are only original natives allowed to insult their city? That’s certainly not the case, but it does increase your credibility enormously if you can prove that you have suffered lifelong suffering from your hometown, in contrast to all those for whom Berlin is just a temporary booster for their career before they return to the provinces after a few years , where you can register or change your residence effortlessly and without long waiting times.

In Berlin it’s not quite as uncomplicated as every citizen, exceptionally regardless of status and income, has to experience. Kuhligk: »You can of course pass the time on the city of Berlin’s… online portal and keep thinking, it’s crazy that all, really all, appointments for this and the next season have already been taken. You can try to make contact using your phone. If one of these paths leads to a result, you will now have an appointment in Lichtenberg in five months if you live in Schöneberg, or in Britz if you live in Pankow. From this the author concludes that this may all be part of a kind of city marketing , which aims to get to know the districts that you don’t yet know.

In this tone, Kuhligk takes a satirical all-round attack and hardly leaves out any of the sore points that are burning on the residents of the city of “organized incompetence”. The exaggeration is a concept here, and in general: “You can say anything about this city and it’s all true. Berlin is projection screen, trash can, laissez-faire and party heaven. Berlin is promise, moment of shock, normality, habit, surprise.« Kuhligk’s text fits into a long line of tradition, because writers at all times have indulged in taunts against the pompousness and self-aggrandizement of the would-be cosmopolitan city. A representative example is Tucholsky, who complained about the sluggishness of the Berlin administration as early as 1919: “Berlin used to be a well-functioning apparatus. An excellently made wax doll that automatically moved its arms and legs when ten pfennigs were thrown into the top. Today you can throw in a lot of tenpenny pieces, the doll hardly moves – the device is rusty and only works sluggishly and slowly.

Despite all the cheerful Berlin-bashing and the lustful talk of the “failed state,” the real Berliner still has a laugh stuck in his throat because he has to somehow deal with the rather concrete and extremely difficult dysfunctionality of everyday life in Berlin. The provisional, unfinished or already broken has become the trademark of the growing city that is constantly failing in itself and its administration, although even improvisation is carried out with sometimes ridiculously bureaucratic thoroughness. The city is no longer ashamed of its neglected appearance and seems to have given up on itself. The promise of urbanity, which still has its appeal, has become a curse for many, especially those on average incomes. The great (population) exchange that the New Right always talks about – in Berlin it is actually a reality, but differently than the right-wing populists think. Self-reliance is the current horror word, and anyone who loses their apartment is out of the game. The demarcation of the new urban bourgeoisie from the rabble is done in the simplest way possible, namely through the price per square meter of city apartments, which have become unaffordable for most people.

Kuhligk does not penetrate such analytical depths, nor does he have to; that is not the aim of the text. His job is rather the pointed description of what is, and he does it very skillfully. For him, the urban redevelopment of the last thirty years is another sad chapter on Berlin’s path to becoming a metropolis. Instead of lively city quarters, drafty wastelands have all too often emerged: “Fuck cells with district heating: by which the playwright Heiner Müller meant the prefabricated buildings of the GDR … does not seem to have lost its validity when you look at the ‘Europa City’ that was built north of the main train station,” polemicized Kuhligk, and further: »A building as similar and as ugly as the other. It takes a certain amount of effort to build so many apartments and make the entire area look empty, and it certainly looks similar in the minds of the people who came up with it.” Who would want to contradict that, the reader immediately thinks also to Mercedes-Platz (or is it now also called “Uber-Platz” like the neighboring multi-purpose hall?) in the new Mediaspree district, where the wind whistles coldly around the corners and which, despite the brand new buildings, exudes (prosperous) neglect, that makes passers-by shudder. It’s not just there that Berlin shines greasy and is no longer ashamed of its own shabbiness. On the contrary, the city tries to sell its forlornness and shapelessness as advantages of the metropolis. However, the visions seem to have been used up, a changing group of helpless and/or incompetent politicians claim a power to shape things, which, however, has long since vested in anonymous investors who don’t care one bit about the quality of life in the city as long as the returns are right. What remains are even more of the deserted (permanent) construction sites on Berlin’s streets.

Even if the author of these lines – himself a native – has now become a bit angry and this text has acquired a certain pessimistic superstructure, Kuhligk’s insult to Berlin is a fun-to-read diatribe that invites you to constantly nod your head as you read it – yes, exactly, that’s it. In the end, the book is – how could it be otherwise – basically a declaration of love for Berlin, even if this love is never reciprocated in everyday life. But where else should the true Berliner endure it than in Berlin? Kuhligk ultimately sees it this way: “Sure, Hamburg is snobby, in Munich they speak dialect, in Cologne people dress up, Frankfurt is ugly, in Leipzig they speak dialect, in Dresden first the Eierschecke and then Pegida were invented. And in Berlin all of this is somehow present in potency.

The book would only be half as successful without the great graphics by Jakob Hinrichs that accompany the text. With almost Dadaistic word-text collages, the Berlin artist is based on role models such as George Grosz and/or the New Objectivity. Its elaborate and humorous graphics and excellent design make the book a visual feast for the eyes, which is why it ended up on the Buchkunst Foundation’s longlist for “The Most Beautiful German Books” immediately after its publication. So if you soon find yourself suffering from the ignorance of the Berlin authorities’ madness or despairing of finding an affordable apartment, this handy little book is a useful therapy offer.

Björn Kuhligk: Berlin insults. Illustrations by Jakob Hinrichs. Favorite press, 64 pages, hardcover, €16.