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In Berlin, a stone line runs across the city: a paved scar of the Soviet wall. Buildings bear bullet-dimpled facades, a constant reminder of the Battle of Berlin, and businesses hang Ukrainian flags, a gesture of solidarity. Germans have a fraught relationship with Russia.

Today, these longstanding tensions lead many Berliners to criticize the memorials and museums dedicated to the Soviet forces who conquered the city in 1945. Every day, thousands of residents pass the likeness of an unknown Soviet soldier that looms over the Tiergarten park, and ask: who, exactly, do these monuments honor—and do they deserve it? 

The first Soviet war memorial erected in Berlin, topped with the statue of an unknown soldier overlooking the Tiergarten and a major thoroughfare.

In Berlin, this dominating figure is colloquially known as “The Statue of an Unknown Rapist.”

The U.S. couldn’t be picky about its allies during World War II—if Hitler sent his troops into both France and Russia, then the enemy of their enemy was good enough. In the gloomy years of 1941 and 1942, in particular, the Soviets staged an important resistance to the German advance and turned the Eastern Front into an endless, bloody penance for the Wehrmacht that vacuumed up troops, equipment, and resources for the rest of the War. In the end, it was Soviet troops that kept German ground forces stretched thin so that Operation Overlord could be a success. It was Soviet troops that surrounded the German Sixth Army at Stalingrad. And in 1944, as they moved towards Berlin, it was Soviet troops that liberated countless concentration camps in Poland, including Auschwitz-Birkenau and its 7,000 survivors.

Soviet civilians and soldiers suffered unthinkable hardship and violence throughout the war, enduring famine, plague, mass slaughter, siege, theft, and rape at the hand of Nazi aggressors. The war and its consequences killed over 20 million Soviet citizens, including 80,000 soldiers in the Battle of Berlin. Thousands of unknown dead remain in the city, buried in mass graves beneath towering monuments—including the anonymous statue that overlooks the Tiergarten. 

The heart of the second Soviet war cemetery and memorial we visited. Marble flags frame a long path that leads from the statue of a weeping Mother Russia to a monument of a victorious Soviet soldier.

Communism further complicates the situation: Stalin ultimately had empiric aims, and the Soviet soldiers that died fighting Nazi Germany gave their lives serving a leader with the same expansionist, revolutionary vision that would later push the world to the brink of self-destruction in the nuclear age. But we can’t change the past, or erase their involvement—so how do we honor Soviet sacrifices? How do we reconcile the extent of their suffering, which enabled an Allied victory, with their absolute ideological incompatibility with the United States and the rest of the Western Allies?

Soviet fighters brought the brutality of the Eastern Front to the streets of Berlin, committing untold numbers of heinous sex crimes and other unthinkable acts, at the encouragement of Stalin himself. What does it mean to allow “the unknown rapist” to still stand tall over the Tiergarten? But of course, the Nazis started it. They started all of it—the war, the civilian massacres, the rapes, the pillaging, the maltreatment of POWs, the genocide. And still, for how many crimes can a man be absolved because he fought the Nazis? Was the rape of a German woman less criminal because she supported the Nazi regime? What behaviors are excusable because the victim’s husband may have been a monster, himself? How many times can a man violate humanity because he crossed the Oder River? 

A historian’s job is to withhold judgement and examine the facts—but it is the public’s prerogative to judge behavior and decide who to revere as a hero and who to hold in disgrace. So what of the Soviet soldiers? 

For now, at least, they remain. 

When looking at the various sites in Berlin there is a difference between the cultural ways that monuments are portrayed. Following the events of World War II, the city was split into East and West Berlin with the East being controlled by the Soviets while the West was controlled by the Allies. Accordingly, while walking through Berlin and touring the many sites, the ones that stood out were the memorial tombs of the Soviet soldiers from World War II.

Compared to the other cemeteries that we visited, where each individual person had an individual grave marker, the Soviet memorials do not have individual gravestones but rather the whole site is dedicated to the Red Army. The Soviets have a culture of the collective and prioritize the state of Russia. The memorials did not have individual graves but a statue of an unknown Russian soldier that is meant to represent all of the solders of the Red Army as a collective, which makes the memorials different from those that are a part of Western culture.

When we think of Nazi Germany, resistance is rarely the first word that comes to mind. But visiting the German Resistance Memorial Center in Berlin challenged that instinct. Tucked within the Bendlerblock complex, the museum doesn’t dramatize resistance—it humanizes it. It tells the stories of ordinary people who made extraordinary decisions, often knowing it would cost them their lives.

The most sobering part of the exhibit is how diverse the resistance truly was. Students, clergy, laborers, aristocrats, and even officers within the Wehrmacht each played roles—sometimes small, sometimes symbolic, sometimes seismic. The museum pays particular tribute to Claus von Stauffenberg and the failed July 20 plot to assassinate Hitler, which took place in this very building. Seeing the courtyard where he and his co-conspirators were executed was haunting. It was a reminder that resisting a totalitarian regime didn’t require grand success to be morally significant. The attempt, the refusal to go along, mattered.

What struck me most was how resistance wasn’t always loud or overt. It could be a forged document, a whispered warning, or refusing to raise a hand in salute. The museum reframes heroism—not as victory, but as conscience. As Germany continues to reckon with its past, places like this ask visitors not just to remember the resistance, but to imagine what courage looks like today, in our own lives.

As our time on this trip ends, I find myself reflecting on all I have experienced and learned at each location we have visited, whether it was a museum, a physical war site, or even just the streets and restaurants we traveled through during our stays. Part of this reflection leads me to consider why Berlin is the perfect conclusion to this trip, besides it being both the center of the Nazi regime in 1939-1945 and the spot where the war in Europe ended. Regardless of these two key points, Berlin also has its own story to tell about resistance, regrowth, and remembrance.

In spaces like the Holocaust Memorial (Memorial to the Murdered Jews in Europe) and the Brandenburg Gate, it may seem like history has been whitewashed or forgotten, with the past remaining lost within the shadows. However, after considering the Holocaust Memorial, the Brandenburg Gate, and the other sites we have seen in Berlin, I recognize that there is a solemn and humble remembrance that the German people wish to represent, with the ghost of the past being cast in a new light for memorialization to take shape in a way that preserves the truth, the shame, the anger, and the guilt of Germany’s involvement in World War II. In the case of the Holocaust Memorial, we see that there are ways in which their efforts have not been perfect and could use some work (although individual opinions differ), but there are solid foundations in which representation has been attempted and/or achieved. The spot on which Hitler’s bunker stood, for example, is now a parking lot. Personally, I couldn’t find a parking lot to be more fitting, with nothing but a sign showing a layout of the former site, with no glorification and no ability to turn it into a shrine or a space of significance.

On the other hand, the Wannsee House specifically highlighted a way of remembering the past and protecting the future that I both appreciate and am conflicted about. While I am not personally fond of the way the inside museum is set up and conveys its information, I still appreciate the story it tells and how it shapes the narrative to point out the evil people that used the Wannsee House to devise atrocious plans to murder millions of Jews. Like many German museums discussing the Holocaust or war, Wannsee is not fully frozen in the time in which it was significant, but is rather modern and changing with the times to remain a captive learning environment. That is not to say that other locations on this trip aren’t like that, but there is a unique difference in the way German seem to approach their involvement in World War II, which reflects a solemn acknowledgement that the country was where the downfall and descent into war began. This strikes me as being different from London, Bayeux, Paris, and Krakow, as the experiences and perspectives in those locations felt more pointed, direct, and involved… whereas the German experiences feel more like they are told from a country that stepped back and tried their best to grow and humbly admit to their wrong-doings, while recognizing those who resisted from the beginning and deserve credit.

As I stood by the lake at Wannsee House, I watched two ducks nap, a group of swans swim around and bob for food, heard the birds chirping, and I felt at peace for a moment. Nature tends to heal in many ways, and reminds us of our humanity and humility, and as I looked back to the looming villa just a short walk away, I was captivated by the complexity of what I was feeling. I began to think that the looming villa residing amidst a gorgeous scene is a perfect analogy for how Germany tells their stories – they try to move forward but continue to remember and recognize the history of their country, both the good and bad: Not sugarcoating (or at least not much), not hiding the truth, and not shying away from responsibility as time moves on, which is something I respect and appreciate getting to experience in Berlin.

A German icon – Ampelmann!

The Neue Wache – a memorial to those lost to war and tyranny in Germany.

Jesse Owens Allee by the Berlin Olympic Stadium.

The Wannsee House. 

One of the most conflicting sites that I saw while in Berlin was the Holocaust Memorial. I didn’t see the various concrete blocks until I was right across the street. The young children of Berlin ran around the monotone concrete blocks while the elders of the community sat and watched. While in the maze of tall, gray blocks each blended together, and I constantly worried whether a stranger was around the corner. I wandered over the uneven cobblestone pathways as I made my way toward the other side of the maze.

I didn’t see the mass of concrete blocks as a memorial, but more as a piece of contemporary art. Many of my peers found the children and elderly as disrespectful, but I found them important. The Holocaust killed the vitality of children and the serene lives of the elderly population. Now, I was welcomed to the site of children of all different ages and ethnicities running around the square as the elderly people leisurely enjoy their retirement. The vitality that children bring to the community is priceless. Of course, a memorial needs to be revered and treated as such instead of a public playground. Perhaps an addition to the current memorial will further emphasize the points the original creator was trying to make.

Berlin was the last spot on our trip but also in my opinion the country with the best memorials with one exception. But there is one memorial and cemetery that really stood out to me and that was the Soviet cemetery in Treptower Park. This memorial left a huge impact on me, as it was a mass grave of about seven thousand unknown soldiers, and they were all honored in the cemetery not by individual gravestones but instead by 16 sarcophagi depicting the journey of a Red Army soldier to his death. The centerpiece of the cemetery is a statue that signifies the end of the war and the saving of Germany with a soldier holding a German child crushing a swastika under his boot.

The Treptower memorial is very similar in a way to the Soviet war memorial near the Brandenburg Gate, as that is also a memorial to the fallen soldiers and recipients of the Hero of the Soviet Union medal. That memorial also acts as another mass grave for two thousand fallen unidentified Soviet soldiers. It is interesting that the Soviet memorials seem to act as both a monument to the Soviet victory in the war and as a mourning site for fallen soldiers. I feel this is the perfect end to this trip as the memorials both celebrate the victory of the Allied forces over the Axis as well as mourn the losses required to earn the ultimate triumph.

When visiting Berlin, we went to the Holocaust Memorial in the middle of the city. I have mixed feelings about this memorial because it did not evoke the kind of emotions that other memorials have. The monument was poorly marked, and I had no idea that we had even come across it until our professors pointed it out. It was a huge concrete jungle gym with no markings or expectations for this memorial. There were people sitting on the pillars, tying their shoes and even kids running around. Our professors instructed us to either walk about the perimeter or venture into the concrete maze to meet on the other side. As I walked further into the maze, the concrete pillars became taller and taller, and the ground below me was uneven. I would weave in and out of the concrete walls, not knowing who would be around the corner. When I finally made my way through the maze and onto the other side of the memorial, there was still no indication that what I had just gone through was a memorial for 6 million murdered people. I did find a small white plaque with restrictions on the monument, but it was a flat tile that blended into the concrete. 

Compared to the other memorials that we have visited on this trip, this memorial was lackluster. The Holocaust Memorial in Berlin is on a huge plot of land right in the middle of Berlin, yet anyone could be visiting the city and not know what they stumbled upon because of the lack of markings. Another thing to add is that Germany was the main perpetrator of the Holocaust. Therefore, with prime real estate and the role that Germany played in the Holocaust, a memorial for the 6 million that died in the Holocaust should not be a poorly marked, concrete jungle gym where kids play in the maze and bystanders take a seat on the concrete pillars. 

Even though I do not agree with the design of the Holocaust Memorial in Berlin, I can still understand the artists’ vision behind it. The feeling I felt when I was deep in the maze, confused and unsure of which direction I was going, can be interpreted as a similar feeling that victims of the Holocaust felt. I had no idea who would be around the corner or if I was alone or not. I can understand why the artist made the memorial into a maze. However, I do not think that a memorial should be up for interpretation of especially something as horrific as the Holocaust. A few changes such as adding more signs or markings to indicate that this space is a memorial and adding rules so it is treated as such could help. I am glad that we were able to to see this memorial so we could compare it to the other sites and memorials that we have seen on the trip.

Berlin is very conscious of its history in several fascinating ways. Berlin’s memorializations of its past can be broadly divided into the overt and the subtle forms. These are not strict categories, as they can sometimes overlap. For example, while there are easily notable remnants of the Berlin Wall that are deliberately kept in place as a form of commemoration, a small white line runs through the areas where the wall once stood as a more subtle form of remembrance. Another way you can tell which part of Berlin you’re in is by looking at the pedestrian traffic lights. The former West Berlin will usually feature a generic humanoid figure on their traffic lights in a similar fashion to most of the world, while East German traffic lights typically feature the iconic Ampelmännchen, an expressive male figure sporting a straw hat. On another level, division can still be seen in little things like the street names, with one such street being simultaneously known by the monarchist name of Königstraße (King’s Street) and the communist-given name of Rathausstraße (Town Hall Street.)  

The little traffic light man in the flesh.

While these little differences may be taken as an indication of reluctance to let go of the legacy of East Germany, it’s worth noting that the far-right historical revisionist AfD party has a strong presence in this part of Germany. It’s not hard to find graffiti promoting the party in Berlin, particularly in suburban areas. As our tour guide at the German Resistance Memorial Center explained, the ideological charge of the Cold War affected the memory of Nazi Germany. East German historiography tended to focus on communists who resisted Nazism and ignore non-communist resistors in an effort to conflate anti-Nazism with communism. Conversely, this appears to have drawn some anti-communist dissidents toward Nazism as opposed to liberal or conservative democratic ideals. Additionally, information at the Wannsee House museum explained that within West Germany, a powerful lobbying group of WWII veterans secured the early releases of several of those convicted for crimes during the Nazi era. For example, only three of the fifteen officials present at the Wannsee Conference, which formalized the Holocaust, were punished for their crimes. Six were released without incident, six were killed (two assassinated, one killed in battle, and three executed), one disappeared, and one committed suicide to avoid capture. The potent combination of inadequate prosecution for crimes and dishonest memorialization has created the ideological conditions for a far-right reaction. 

A section of the Berlin Wall that remains in place, with the wall line visible beneath it. The graffiti on this segment of the wall shows how pro-EU activists have interpreted the pro-democracy movements in Ukraine, Georgia and Belarus as being intrinsically linked to the former East German dissident movement.

However, another interesting trend has emerged in the form of a counter-reaction. The counter-reaction on the whole is anti-fascist, and tends to be of a broadly left-wing nature. Within the counter-reaction are those who have subscribed to the East German version of history and adopted communism as a form of antifascism. Graffiti of the hammer and sickle alongside antifascist slogans marks their presence in the political culture of Germany. Observing this counter-reaction has convinced me on a personal level that Berlin is the most interesting of all the cities we’ve visited on our tour. 

An advertisement for a concert celebrating VE day. The caption says:
“May 8th [1945]
[was] liberation – what else?!” The event is sponsored by several antifascist groups.

Berlin offers many sites dedicated to the memory of World War II, but none left me with more mixed feelings than the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. In contrast, Treptower Park, dedicated to the Soviet soldiers who died liberating Berlin, felt far more prideful and sacred.

At first glance, the Holocaust Memorial seems artistic and abstract, as it is a field of gray concrete blocks of different heights. But as I walked through it, I found myself wondering, if I had no prior knowledge of what this site was, would I know what exactly it was? Unlike other Holocaust sites we’ve visited, this one lacked clarity and intention. There were no names, no context, no information outside a small plaque that was solely dedicated to the artist. That ambiguity might work in a museum of modern art, but for a Holocaust memorial, it felt very wrong. A memorial should not be open to interpretation. The Holocaust is not an abstract concept. It is a historical event with real victims, stories, and tragedies that deserve clear remembrance. Furthermore, the location, placed in the center of a high-traffic area of downtown Berlin, makes it hard to reflect. I witnessed children climbing on the blocks, people eating lunch on them, and a couple of dozen people using them as benches while waiting for a bus. It didn’t feel sacred, it felt neglected.

Treptower Park, on the other hand, felt entirely the opposite. Everything about it, the size, the symmetry, the sculptures, the inscriptions, was built to instill a sense of importance and respect. The central statue of the Soviet soldier holding a lost German child while crushing a swastika was very powerful. The symmetrical rows of the sixteen memorial walls, representing the sixteen Soviet republics that helped liberate Berlin, gave the site an extra sense of respect and beauty. While the history and politics of the Soviet Union remain complex, the park itself succeeds as a memorial. It tells you who is being honored, what they did, and why it matters, all while maintaining beauty and excellence.

While these sites both reflect on the horrors of the Nazi regime, in my opinion, only one successfully commemorates the lives of their respective victims.

Stones, Stories, and Street: Contemporary Blog of Berlin

  This week we arrived at our final destination. Berlin. I was very excited to visit Berlin because not only is it a city that was ravaged by World War II, but it also still very much bears the marks of the postwar era and the Cold War. When we first arrived, my roommate, Kennedy, and I walked around a bit to get a feel for the neighborhood. We saw Checkpoint Charlie and the last Soviet flag in Berlin. It was fascinating to observe the lingering differences between East and West Berlin. Although not as pronounced as they once were, the distinctions are still visible in the architecture, graffiti, and even people in the area. Berlin’s various historical sites were all unique in the powerful emotions they evoked.

The most debated site among our group was the Holocaust Memorial. While I felt that the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe was well-intentioned, I also found it somewhat lacking. The concept was strong; I appreciated the experience of walking through the stelae and feeling disoriented and overwhelmed, which effectively evoked the emotional and psychological trauma faced by Holocaust victims. In that regard, the design worked very well at conveying the message that these people went through a horrible experience.

However, I felt that the memorial was missing key elements of contextualization and respect. For an average passerby, there are few (if any) clear signs explaining the purpose of the memorial. Additionally, I noticed a lack of reverence among visitors, people were sitting on the stones, using them to tie their shoes, and letting children run freely through the site. I don’t blame the individuals as much as I do the design itself, which fails to clearly convey the gravity of the site. While there was a table with audio dedicated to the artist, there was very little information about the victims. I believe the memorial would benefit greatly from additional plaques, clearer signage, and more educational materials. A thought that one way to make the piece more powerful would be to simply include a statue depicting a Jewish family or a star of David. I felt these were easy enough additions that could greatly add more emotion and respect to the site. As it stands, the memorial feels like an unfinished piece, almost powerful, but not quite complete.

Overall, this trip has been an enlightening and empowering experience. I have broadened my worldview and learned more than I ever thought possible in just one month. I’ve deepened both my cultural and academic understanding, and I’ve grown personally as well. I’ve made new friends, honed my observational and analytical skills, and truly enjoyed myself. This trip was truly everything I could have hoped for and more.

Auf Wiedersehen,

Julia Kuss