Like a monstrous guillotine, the wall has slashed the arteries and nerves of Ber lin. It cuts through sewers and subways, severs bridges and thoroughfares. It bisects a cemetery, shears off churches and dwellings. Beside a green canal it becomes an ugly spaghetti-swarm of barbed wire. Along a quiet suburban street, its spine glints with jagged glass. The wall has separated sons from mothers, wives from husbands, friends from friends.
East and West have begun to live with the monstrosity of the wall. Berliners on both sides are permitted in spots to approach...
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