‘Tourists fuck off,’ says a 4m long banner hanging outside a squat in Mitte. I’m in Berlin, looking for somewhere to stay. I’m not a tourist, I tell myself; I was born in Germany. So it’s hard to explain why this sign makes me feel mildly offended, unwelcome even.
Perhaps it’s because the day has been full of similar messages. While looking for a place to live, I meet a 37 year old woman in Prenzlauer Berg who has a bedroom to let in her large, stylish flat. We chat in English and I tell her I like Berlin. She shrugs. ‘It was a better place before so many foreigners came here,’ she says. Over breakfast, a friend tells me Berlin is ‘lucky not to have the same problems with immigration that London has’.
The attitude that foreigners are a problem perplexes me. Berlin has aspirations to be a global city; achieving that without welcoming citizens from around the world seems implausible.
Tourists are annoying, it’s true. They walk too slowly and stop suddenly causing human pileups on the pavements; they huddle in the middle of the U-bahn exit consulting maps and blocking everyone’s path; they can’t speak the language and, if they’re English speakers, probably assume you can speak theirs. They moan about how much things cost, they ask predictably stupid questions (‘is this the old East or the old West?’) and they love all that is naff and unfashionable (Checkpoint Charlie stamp in the passport anyone?).
But, they bring a host of benefits too. Tourists help fund Berlin’s museums and galleries, they keep a swathe of cafes, restaurants and hotels in business; they add verve and buzz to the bars and clubs and they help pay the rent on expensive Prenzlauer Berg apartments.
Immigrants bring even more. Look at any global city and you’ll see how immigrants have helped it prosper, from Jewish filmmakers in Los Angeles, to Melbourne’s Greek population, which transformed Australian eating habits within a generation. In London, where a curry is now the national dish, everything from Bangla music to literature, art and film are testament to Asian immigrants’ talents.
The way foreigners are encouraged to interact with and influence a city is a key differentiator between global capitals and their parochial cousins. New York is a vibrant melting pot of many nationalities. In contrast those places that cling too hard to traditions, places that are frightened of change, come to feel as though they have been dipped in aspic, forever looking back to a past that was more glorious than the future (places like Rome, like Vienna, like Zurich).
Berlin has a strong culture and a distinct identity and there is much that makes the city unique: the creativity, the spirit of rebellion and the straight talking nature of its people; the Brutalist beauty of the city’s buildings; the history that’s visible in public places and in private corners; the enormous Fruhstucks that you can eat till 5pm in the evening, the worship of the curry wurst to name just a few.
But these traits can live side by side with a multi-national population. I see that in evidence later the same day. I’m at the Mauerfall celebrations by Brandenburg Tor. As I listen to the conversations taking place around me it feels as though the whole world has turned out to help Berlin celebrate. Alongside Berliners are Spanish, Turkish, Italian, French, Japanese, Scottish, English, American and Australian visitors. Despite the rain that falls all evening there’s a sense of celebration, of joy and of excitement at being part of a city that is making its mark on the world. And I think that surely there are very few who would prefer that this party was exclusively German.
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