A Wall Between Worlds

November 9, 1989.

The concrete cracked, and the world shifted.

The Berlin Wall—once the iron line splitting East and West—was falling. It had stood for 28 years, a symbol of ideological war between two visions of the future: capitalism in the West, promising freedom and prosperity, and socialism in the East, offering equality and solidarity.

As the guards stepped back and thousands surged forward, the Western media spun one image relentlessly: East Germans rushing to the West.

Smiling faces climbing the Wall. Champagne uncorked in West Berlin. Young people dancing atop a crumbling dictatorship.

What they didn’t show—at least, not often—were those who stayed behind. Or those who crossed back.

I was twelve years old when the Wall came down. My grandfather, Peter Kranz, was an East German electrician. He didn’t dance on the Wall. He didn’t cry for joy. He sat quietly at our dinner table that night, listening to the Western broadcast on a borrowed radio.

He sipped his tea and said, “Let’s see how long the joy lasts.”

I didn’t understand what he meant back then.

To me, the Wall’s fall meant new colors in the shops. American cartoons on TV. Bananas—so many bananas.

But over the years, I came to see what he meant. Especially when I learned about his past.

Peter had grown up under the promise of socialism. Not the cold, bureaucratic version that the Stasi turned it into, but the ideal—that everyone should have a home, a job, an education, and healthcare. No one should starve while billionaires race to space.

“It wasn’t perfect,” he once told me. “But no child went hungry. No elder died alone because they couldn’t afford a hospital.”

In the 1960s, when West Berlin was booming with neon signs and imported cars, East Berlin was repairing war-torn homes, planting community gardens, and building state-run schools. Workers were prioritized. Universities were free. Rent was controlled. People mattered more than profit.

“But what about freedom?” I asked.

Peter sighed. “Yes, we lacked certain freedoms. Freedom to speak out. Freedom to travel. That was wrong—deeply wrong. But ask yourself—how free is a man in the West when he can’t afford a dentist? When he dies homeless under a billboard advertising luxury watches?”

He never pretended the GDR was a utopia. He hated the surveillance. He hated the corruption. But he also saw the cracks in capitalism long before I ever did.

When the Wall fell, millions ran West. And who could blame them? The shelves were full. The wages were higher. The media told them they’d “made it.”

But within a few years, many returned—disillusioned.

The factories of East Germany were closed or sold off. Skilled workers were laid off. Pensioners’ incomes collapsed. Suddenly, everything had a price tag: healthcare, rent, education. The community-based economy was replaced by a free-for-all that rewarded competition over care.

A report by Germany’s own Federal Agency for Civic Education later admitted:

“The transition to capitalism brought widespread unemployment, economic insecurity, and a sense of alienation to many former East Germans.”

My grandfather would nod at that. “They told us we were free,” he’d say. “But they sold our freedom at the market.”

I grew up on both sides of that Wall—in the shadow of capitalism and the memory of socialism. And I saw what many didn’t want to admit:

In capitalism, profit decides.

In socialism, people decide—even if imperfectly.

Today, we’re told that socialism failed. But look around. Millions in capitalist countries live paycheck to paycheck. Public health systems are overwhelmed. Billionaires multiply while the poor sleep in tents. Climate change accelerates because profit demands it.

What if socialism didn’t fail—what if it was sabotaged?

The socialism of East Germany was suffocated by paranoia, Cold War pressure, and internal repression. But its principles—equality, universal care, cooperative ownership—remain sound.

In fact, the most prosperous societies today—like the Nordic countries—blend socialism and democracy to remarkable effect. Universal healthcare. Strong public education. Regulated markets. Workers’ rights. All “socialist” ideas.

When the Berlin Wall fell, many ran West, yes.

But not everyone.

Some stayed, to preserve what mattered. Some left, then came back. And now, more than 30 years later, a new generation is asking dangerous questions again:

Why does capitalism need to make us anxious to function?

Why are billionaires rewarded for cutting jobs and evading taxes?

Why can’t we guarantee housing and healthcare in the richest societies on Earth?

Peter passed away in 2015. Before he died, he gave me a folded piece of paper with a quote from Brecht:

“Why be a man when you can be a success?”

Under it, he’d scribbled:

“We need a system where you don’t have to choose.”