Photo By Douglas Stutz | Silke Nied, a former certified medical assistant at Naval Hospital Bremerton for 12...... read more read more
Even 30 years after the fall of the Berlin Wall, the collapse of that barrier still induces strong memories for those who survived that time.
And poignant remembrance of those who did not.
Silke Nied, a former certified medical assistant at Naval Hospital Bremerton, who grew up in then East Germany, vividly recalls that era.
She was also one who made it from east to west before that date, risking her life leaving a country that no longer exists.
“Seeing the coverage brought back a lot of memories. I even emailed Fareed Zakaria from CNN thanking him for remembering,” said Nied.
On Nov. 9, 1989, then German Democratic Republic – simply known as communist East Germany in the West – lifted travel restrictions between the two sides. The wall was constructed in 1961, and for the next 28 years, the Berlin Wall became the world’s symbol of the ‘Cold War’ and the ‘Iron Curtain.’
Nied knows firsthand that wall formed more than just a simply obstacle. It divided a city, a nation, and its people.
“(The) 30 year anniversary definitely brought back memories, of my childhood, what it was like growing up in East Germany, having to attend monthly meetings with the Young Pioneers, almost like boy scouts, the travel restrictions, not being able to see my grandparents any time I wanted, feeling trapped. Then the wall came down. All of the sudden, there was freedom, for so many who were still trapped in the east. We were all in disbelief but happy as can be,” Nied said, adding with her family, they watched it all unfold on television, crying, hugging, cheering.
Nied and her family escaped 10 years earlier.
More than 1,100 people died trying to escape the heavily fortified and mined East-West German border between 1961 and 1989. In addition, according to the Potsdam Centre for Historical Research, an estimated 100,000 people were jailed in East Germany trying to flee to freedom.
“Nevertheless, many people tried to escape,” recalled Nied. “Some were successful. Some paid with their lives. Never in my wildest dreams did I think my parents would ever risk our lives. We had everything. Mom and Dad had good-paying jobs in Brandenburg, a nice apartment, and a cabin by a lake. Why would they want to start over at their age?”
The answer, she explained, was simple: freedom.
It was during a summer vacation in Bulgaria and Romania that the idea of committing to a family exodus to the west was solidified. At a campground one evening, Nied's Uncle Dietmar from West Germany made a surprise appearance.
Plans were discussed of trying to make a run for it, or in their case, a swim for it across the Danube River. But it was easier to talk about than actually carry out.
Any short span across the river wouldn't work — even at night — because a full moon would make it impossible to elude border guards. They next tried to find a suitable place in Hungary to swim across, but they found they couldn't even get close to shore without getting shot.
Discouraged, but not defeated, they drove back home and commenced to plan the next attempt.
“We knew we had to train to swim at least three kilometers (about 1.86 miles) across the river,” said Nied, 14 years old at that time.
Necessary precautions would have to be taken against the elements. They also needed to ensure that all the required personal credentials were protected and would make it across the border.
In a scene straight out of a Cold War spy movie, important family papers were passed between Nied's father, Ulrich, and her uncle at an autobahn rest stop, with her father placing them in one of the stalls and then the uncle going in to retrieve them.
But the hardest part of waiting was keeping the family intentions a secret.
“I couldn't tell anyone about our plans,” Nied said. “Not to my best friend, not even to my grandparents. One word overheard and my parents would have been arrested and sent to prison for at least 12 years. I would have been placed in an orphanage.”
On July 19, 1979, after several aborted attempts, numerous sleepless nights, and anxious days filled with trepidation, Nied and her family set out for the small Romanian town of Orsovo near the Danube. Their plan was to swim across the bay there to Yugoslavia and to Uncle Dietmar, who would then whisk them to freedom in West Germany.
A common practice of the border patrol was to shoot first and ask questions later. Bodies were commonly left where they fell, as a none-too-gentle reminder to all on the perils of trying to flee.
“Needless to say, I was scared to death,” Nied recalled. “I wasn't so sure anymore that I wanted to be free. But after a while I settled down.”
Their plan called for more subterfuge. Uncle Dietmar registered in the only hotel available to western tourists, and obtained a room overlooking the portion of the bay they planned to swim across. He was to stand outside his well-lit room on the balcony, and raise his arms to his side if the coast was clear. Darkness fell, their uncle sent the signal and the time came.
Daylight temperatures in the 90s gave way to an evening chill that added to the cold of the Danube. As they glided into the water, Adrenalin provided fuel for their freedom.
“Everything was so quiet, almost eerie, and so unreal,” Nied said.
The lights behind them on the Romanian side grew smaller as they made their way to the shore of Yugoslavia, looking for one red light and one green light, the standard maritime signal markers for ships plying up and down the river.
“We could feel our wet clothes getting heavier and heavier.”
Halfway across, a Romanian patrol boat flashed on its searchlights. Nied and her parents dove several times to avoid being caught in the glare. Just as that problem was handled, another appeared. Instead of one red light and one green, there was two of each, with one set of lights moving.
“It was a ship, something no one had thought of,” said Nied. “It could have been our death if we swam toward it and got caught in the propeller or ran over.”
Just as Nied felt she had no strength left to make it, her mother, Ingrid, dragged her the final few meters to the other side. They had made it across.
Right into handcuffs by patrolling Yugoslavian border guards.
For almost two weeks, they were kept under watch by the local police and constantly questioned as their uncle frantically searched the area for them, fearing the worst had happened. They were then transferred to the Yugoslavian capital of Belgrade, where diplomatic intervention had them finally at the West German embassy, but not before ensuring it wasn't an East German ruse. The emotions of the moment took over.
“Mom and Dad started crying and I couldn't understand why,” she said. “But I then realized that we were free. We were on West German soil.”
In the meantime, Uncle Dietmar was still driving up and down the Danube trying to find any clue as to their whereabouts.
“He spent two weeks trying to find us before he returned home empty-handed,” Nied said.
Eventually he told family that they were lost, presumably forever. Three more Cold War casualties. But when Nied and her parents reached Frankfurt on Aug. 3, 1979, her mother phoned ahead to let their family know they were coming.
“My aunt was somewhat shocked, confused, and ecstatic at the same time,” Nied recalled. “She then called my uncle and told him we were okay. He couldn't believe it at first. Then he helped bring out champagne to celebrate.”
Nied and her family were required to register at a government refugee camp late on a Friday afternoon. They were told nothing generally happened over the weekend, so they were free to go. After calling their family with an update, Nied's uncle again came to their aid, and made a usual four-hour drive in about two-and-a-half hours.
“We waited at the train station. Traffic was everywhere. Then all of a sudden we saw my uncle's car come around the corner. He couldn't wait to get out of the car and hug and kiss all of us. The funny thing was we had a big audience at our reunion and when I looked down at my uncle's feet, I burst out laughing. In his haste and excitement he forgot to put on shoes and was standing there in his socks. We still laugh about that to this day,” remembered Nied.
Fast forward to 2014. Nied and another NHB staff member at the time, Willie Taft, shared their personal stories of overcoming odds and weathering hardships in the best-selling inspirational book ‘Unwavering Strength.’ The two were featured with 30 other authors, each focusing on how they dealt with adversity by finding inner strength
“I shared my story with many. Whenever I told my story, it was, ‘who is this 14 year old swimming for her life, to freedom?’ Speaking in front of 14 year old students from a book club was very interesting. You could hear a pin drop. They were in awe, because their life as a 14 year old and my life as a 14 year old...two different worlds. I believe telling my story also made people realize that freedom can be taken away in an instant, to not ever take it for granted,” Nied said.
Nied, who worked at NHB from November 2003 to March 2015, is currently at the Pentagon medical clinic, helping provide care for approximately 10,000 active duty personnel.
“I love what I do. Of all the places in the world, who would have ever thought that I would be working here? It's an honor and a privilege,” Nied stated.
| Date Taken: | 11.11.2019 |
| Date Posted: | 11.11.2019 12:51 |
| Story ID: | 351304 |
| Location: | BREMERTON , WA, US |
| Web Views: | 136 |
| Downloads: | 1 |
This work, Berlin Wall Fall – recollecting former Naval Hospital Bremerton staff member’s harrowing plight to freedom, by Douglas Stutz, identified by DVIDS, must comply with the restrictions shown on https://www.dvidshub.net/about/copyright.
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