Berlin is circling the drain

Berlin used to shimmer in the cracks. You’d stumble down a graffiti-scrawled alley and find the kind of art that could gut you in all the best ways. It wasn’t polished or pretty - God knows there’s nothing pretty about Berlin. But it was raw, pulsing, alive. It was a city where the broken shards of history bloomed into something fierce and strange. Klaus Wowereit’s “poor but sexy” line wasn’t just some throwaway quip. It was the truth tattooed across the city’s spine. Berlin was a wild, unwashed playground for those who didn’t fit anywhere else. And now? That Berlin is being carved up, sold off, and shot full of anesthetic.

Here’s the cold truth you won’t find in a tourist brochure or on some bougie startup’s vision board - it wasn’t the pretty streets or spotless storefronts that made people flock here. They came because it was a bit ugly, a bit rough, a bit free and a lot special. The Daemon mothered by an iron curtain. Crumbling squats and dimly lit basements birthed movements, blew open minds, and whispered, "You belong, even if the world finds you useless." It didn’t matter if your wallet was empty. That was the point. But good luck finding that now.

Now they’re slashing the culture budget by €130 million like it’s dead weight, something to be trimmed off the edges to make way for the real players. But here’s the kicker - culture was never "extra" for this city. It was air, bread, blood. It was the one thing Berlin could lord over every other concrete kingdom. Opera tickets that didn’t cost a month’s rent. Experimental theater that didn’t need to justify its existence with a PowerPoint presentation. Indie cinemas were so intimate you could hear the seats breathing back at you. And all that free access to museums and inclusive programs that made you feel like art wasn’t a luxury but a right. That Berlin is circling the drain.

They say the market’s going to “decide” what survives. And isn’t that just the most capitalist cop-out you’ve heard this week? Meaning? Art now has to justify itself in euros and cents. If you’re not drawing in the same bland selfie-takers who’d rather queue for Berghain than feel something real, you’re done. It won’t be long before the rich kid artists flood the scene with their clinical, gutless work, the ones who don’t need to sell a damn thing. They’ll sew up Berlin’s soul with gold thread, so neat and tight you’ll barely hear it scream.

And what of the rest of us? The artists, the squatters, the dreamers, and oddballs who kept the spirit alive? D. Packed up or burned out, priced out of neighborhoods, they helped make magnetic. Finding an apartment you can afford now? Might as well try squeezing water from the Spree. Those of us who remember the ugly nights and jagged mornings look at this resigning city and wonder - is this what we wanted? To smooth out Berlin’s broken edges until it's just another bland capital with pretty but soulless bones?

And don’t even get me started on how they’ve managed to turn subsidized culture into some warped morality play. Some baroque rhetoric about how “cashiers shouldn’t have to fund opera tickets.” Like art - real art - doesn't serve the supermarket cashier as much as the guy in the tailored suit. Art doesn’t care what you earn. It just grabs you where it counts. But sure, Kai Wegner, strip away the things that make people feel something deep in their ribs and see how well that works for you.

Kai Wegner is a German politician and a member of the Christian Democratic Union (CDU). As of 2023, he serves as the Governing Mayor of Berlin, having assumed office in April 2023. Wegner has been active in politics for several years, holding various positions at both the state and federal levels.

This isn’t about efficiency. This isn’t about balancing the books. Something darker is at play here. Look at the cultural programs being gutted - antidiscrimination efforts, diversity projects, spaces designed to include voices the mainstream tries to silence. What Berlin’s leadership seems to be voting for is a sterilized version of culture, sanitized for your convenience. It’s nationalism by neglect. Don’t criticize, don’t provoke, don’t care. God forbid an artist pokes a hole big enough to let some light in.

Berlin made its name out of rebellion, out of resistance. But rebellion doesn’t keep the investors happy. Resistance doesn’t jack up the property values. And so bit by bit, the city flattens itself out, shuffling forward like it forgot where it came from. They keep telling us this is progress, but it tastes like ashes. The haunting thing is, we’ll never smell it burning till it’s gone. What happens to a city when it sells off its soul?