Marion Kummerow - From the Ashes

“Oh my God,” Marlene whispered, bracing herself for the worst.

But it took only a few seconds until Gregori, who still followed them at a few steps distance, approached the two men and barked something in Russian at them. They looked dumbfounded and then turned on their heels.

“See how having a protector is beneficial?” Bruni said. “If you change your mind, I can certainly introduce you to a powerful and decent officer.”

On trembling legs, Marlene said goodbye and retreated into her building.

Werner was on his way to have a first look at the Berlin University. Both General Sokolov and Norbert Gentner impressed upon him the importance of getting the education system up and running before the start of the new school year in September. And, just like that, he’d become the head of the department for culture and education.

An elite university akin to the one in Moscow – and naturally following the same political philosophies – was Stalin’s explicit wish. And who would be brazen enough to deny the Great Old Man his dearest wish? Not Werner.

So, he set out to begin his Herculean task with the help of only two other men, both of them devoted communists who’d been liberated from a concentration camp mere weeks before.

Expecting a building similar to the SMAD headquarters, he gasped for air when he first set his sights on the university located on the prestigious boulevard Unter den Linden in the city center. His initial reaction was to refuse to set foot into the ruin that looked as if it would crumble at any moment.

“You sure this is where we are supposed to have the lectures?” he asked Friedrich Effner, an emaciated gray-haired man in his early fifties who had survived the camps only thanks to his privileged position as a gifted accountant.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. It doesn’t look all that bad, either,” Effner answered.

“Well then, let’s have a look inside.” On their way in, they saw several Germans scurrying about searching for whatever suitable things to pillage. But the lecture halls and classrooms had already been cleared of all movable furniture. Only the bolted rows of benches with attached seats were left.

“Get everyone out of here, no more pilfering,” Werner shouted at one of the soldiers accompanying his scouting group.

By sheer miracle they found a back building with little structural damage and Werner chose the two best-preserved offices for himself and Effner.

“Herewith I make you the Dean of the new Berlin University,” he said with a grin and motioned for Effner to take position in his new office. “I’ll get the technical company to commandeer furniture for us and we’ll start tomorrow with the interviews.”

“Yes, Comrade Böhm,” Effner said.

Werner handed him a list of prospective professors the Soviet cultural ministry had given him. It was vital to start the anti-fascist education of Berliners only with the most reliable people. That ruled out most of the professors who’d still been working until recently.

After a lengthy discussion in the Gentner group it had been decided that the first faculty to open up, even before the official inauguration in January next year, would be medicine. Doctors were urgently needed, and Werner hoped that he’d find enough professors and students who weren’t tainted by National Socialism.

“Are you considering screening the students for political reliability as well?” Effner asked.

In Moscow students were rarely chosen for their merits, but usually because of political rectitude. Of course, nobody ever admitted to this custom, but children of high-ranking party officials could get into any subject of studies, independent of their grades or personal achievements.

But this was Berlin. And Stalin had tasked them to build a demilitarized, democratic, anti-fascist society.

Werner had often thought about how to best complete the civilian-democratic revolution that had started in 1848. A land reform to abolish the remnants of feudalism was one thing, but erecting a democratic state with rights and freedom for the people, was a much more important, yet tricky, step.

He had seen the mistakes the Soviets had made during their implementation of communism and in this instance he shared Anton Ackermann’s opinion that in Germany, socialism could be reached without the prior dictatorship of the proletariat. Like the founder of the National Committee for a Free Germany, Werner believed in a “unique German way” to socialism and strongly objected to a Sovietization of the country.

But not politically screening the students could prove to be dangerous, too. What if one of them was swayed by imperialistic ideas and incited riots, geared toward destabilizing the young republic?

“Well, I think, we need to screen them for fascist tendencies. We have to prevent dangerous Nazi elements from entering the university.”

“That is an excellent idea, Comrade Böhm,” Effner said. He was probably as afraid to fail at his new job, as Werner was since the party didn’t forgive mistakes. “We could have the prospective students fill out an application form that asks not only for medical credentials, but also for former affiliations with Nazi organizations.”

“We’ll allow the first batch of students based on medical merit. Anyone who has studied before, or has served as a medic will be given preference, except for those clearly involved with Nazi ideology. Draw up a form and show it to me tomorrow,” Werner said, glad that he could delegate the tedious part of this process.

He left the office and made his way through the long hallways of the main building. He had office furniture to commandeer. On his way, he came upon a group of soldiers from the technical company carrying sinks to the exit.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Werner asked their leader.

“Dismantling bathrooms for reparations,” the engineer answered.

“No. You can’t do this. This is the university building and we need the bathrooms when we’re going to begin classes in the fall.”

The engineer simply shrugged. “I have a task to do, now please get out of my way.”

But Werner wasn’t going to accept that his own people endangered the re-opening of the university and stepped in front of the man, who was at least twice his size. In a gruff voice he clarified, “Comrade, I am Werner Böhm, head of the culture and education taskforce under Norbert Gentner.”

The engineer perked up his ears at the mention of Gentner, but then shrugged again, “I have my orders. If you don’t like them, get General Sokolov to issue new ones. And now will you please step out of my way, because I have work to do.”

Werner looked at the sturdy, muscled man and decided he didn’t want to start a brawl with him. Instead he rushed to the nearest military administration office and demanded to use the phone. Frenetically dialing Norbert’s office number, he prayed that his boss was in.

”Gentner.”

Thank God. “Norbert, this is Werner. I just left the university building and here’s a group of Russian engineers dismantling the building.”

“What do you mean by dismantling?” Norbert asked.

“They are removing the wash basins and even the toilet bowls and taking them away. Supposedly because this is part of the agreed reparations to the Soviet Union.” Werner almost laughed at the hilarity of the situation. Dismantling toilet seats and shipping them to Moscow.

“Did you talk to their commanding officer?” Norbert didn’t seem overly interested in the topic.

“Yes. He says he’s under orders from General Sokolov.” Werner saw another group of soldiers leaving the university building and throwing the porcelain pieces on top of a waiting truck. Judging by the noise, not many of the toilet seats and wash basins would even make it out of Berlin in one piece. His desperation grew. If only the party allowed people to think for themselves.