While Cologne and Mainz are upside down, carnival in Berlin is almost completely ignored. The capital has a well-established club culture. Its members not only celebrate, they also struggle with internal problems and external resistance. Visiting an anti-stronghold.
Even in colorful Berlin, the costumed people seem like foreign bodies, a magician is among them and a woman in feathers. You walk up the stairs of the Lipschitzallee underground station, out into the deepest Neukölln, Gropiusstadt district. Surrounded by prefabricated buildings there is a brick building, a local contact point for exhibitions, concerts and senior citizens’ meetings. Some of the illuminated letters that identify the community center no longer glow. The group rushes in because the rain will otherwise smudge the make-up and the climax of the session is approaching. It’s just before 6 p.m. on Carnival Saturday, which for most of the city’s residents is just a Saturday.
What is part of the reason of state in parts of the Federal Republic has the difficult status of one subculture among many in Berlin. Collective intoxication experiences are always available here, even outside the “fifth season”, and hardly anyone can do anything with swaying sessions, Elferrat and Dreigestirn. And yet they exist, the jerks of the capital. Year after year they celebrate carnival, Mardi Gras, Shrovetide in secret – quibbles are irrelevant. After all, they keep a tradition alive. A tradition nobody else cares about.
Berlin has 17 carnival societies, and the trend is falling. Demographic change does not stop at fools either, with increasing age there is a lack of enthusiastic young people. Then came the corona pandemic and with it the elimination of routine pub meetings – the death knell for some clubs. The “Fidelen Rixdorfer”, the oldest active carnival club in the city, is holding up well. Founded in Neukölln in 1950, it was opened to women in 1972 and soon after it flourished with over a hundred members. Today there are still 45, not all of them show up.
“It used to be nicer, there were more events. Unfortunately, the regulars’ table has also fallen asleep,” says Axel Steinfels, mustache, left earring, professional driver. A native of Berlin, you can hear that when he speaks. The 61-year-old “slipped into the carnival like that” in the 90s. His daughter joined the club’s dance sport group, and he liked the community. For 15 years, Steinfels has led the “Fidelen Rixdorfer” as president, who organize the big carnival party in the Gropiusstadt community center on Carnival Saturday.
At 6:11 p.m., “Now it starts” by the Cologne feel-good group Höhner will be broadcast from the tape. The hall, which is hung with spotlights, is beefed up with tinsel and balloons, sweets distributed on the rows of wooden tables. Entry of the elected officials of the “Fidelen Rixdorfer”, behind them the dance groups of friendly companies from Lichtenberg and Reinickendorf. Everyone dances with everyone, that fills the calendar. The last in the audience arrive, everyone knows each other, the seats are numbered. There was a contingent of 250 tickets, and around 120 were sold, mainly to club members and their supporters. “Because of the crisis, people don’t have the money, which is why fewer people come,” says Steinfels in a pharaonic outfit. “But what counts in the end is the atmosphere.”
The evening is strictly timed so that the atmosphere is also created. Lots of dancing, some singing, costume awards and even handmade speeches, even if that’s not necessarily the norm in the Berlin carnival, as has been repeatedly assured. Nevertheless, Andreas Penski dares to imitate Martin Luther. Penski, also a pastor in real life, accuses. It’s a bit against Putin, against politicians in general, against New Year’s Eve riots and gender language. In rhyming form he explains that he intends to continue calling such meals “Mohrenkopf” and “Zigeunerschnitzel”. Scattered laughs.
It’s the only time things get political on stage. Away from her, frustration with politics is omnipresent. Until 2017, the Berlin clubs organized a carnival parade along the Kurfürstendamm, which was attended by hundreds of thousands of people. Since then it has failed due to unacceptable cleaning costs and a noise limit of 75 decibels. This roughly corresponds to the volume level of a standard vacuum cleaner.
“The Senate doesn’t want a carnival in Berlin,” says Klaus Heimann, a Rhinelander in exile in the capital and president of the umbrella organization “Berlin Carnival Festival Committee.” He tirelessly knocks on the door of the parliamentary groups in the House of Representatives, asking for funding or at least for an answer, but silence is usually the answer. “Only the AfD approached us and asked how they could support us. We politely declined,” says Heimann.
Heimann has to speak loudly, in the community center the DJ is firing on all cylinders, a potpourri of Cologne and High German hits. The program includes a 40-minute break, you can dance freely. Heimann wears a tartan skirt with a matching checked hat and white kilt stockings. In his hand he holds a Pils Berliner brew. He wants to go to court and is planning a lawsuit for equal rights. “The Love Parade and Carnival of Cultures are promoted, why should it be any different with us?”
Only Franziska Giffey has a comparatively good status. Back then, as Neukölln district mayor, she was the guest of honor at the carnival party and mingled with the fools in the community center. A warm-hearted woman, someone recalls, she was very happy about the medal that was bestowed on her. Giffey’s successor Martin Hikel canceled for today. In the hall, a polonaise meanders through the rows. Those who are still seated are strongly encouraged to line up.
President Steinfels remains seated, his presence fulfills a representative function this evening in the form of shaking hands and leaning back. He did the preparatory work, rented the community center for five years in advance, saying it was the “only affordable space in Berlin.” The catering is done by a friend’s company. There used to be private sponsors, says Steinfels, but they’re all dead.
It is also thanks to Marion Schwan that the “Fidelen Rixdorfer” stay afloat. The retired bank clerk manages, plans and organizes. Even with all-encompassing cheerfulness, she keeps a serious expression. While the swaying is going on, the little woman hurries around with all kinds of notes, behind the stage making sure that the dancers’ outfits are in place. She chairs the dance sport group that trains every Thursday for this time of year. There are two performances today. They are enthusiastically cheered.
Schwan also has to go on stage. For 50 years of commitment, the 61-year-old was awarded the “Order of Merit in Gold with Diamonds” by the Federal Association. The representative is the head of the regional association, Heimann, who is also her son-in-law. Brief acceptance speech, she still has a lot planned for the club, applause. If you ask Ms. Schwan what carnival means to her, she replies: “It’s my life.”
The program ends at 10 a.m. sharp. “Carnival in Berlin will be around for a long time with the ‘Fidelen Rixdorfer’!”, is called into the microphone with determination. A triple “Berlin Hejo”, then the older ones go, it’s most of them. Some youngsters are still partying. It must be swept through by one o’clock at the latest.
change of location. Ash Wednesday, 6 p.m., darkness falls over the Britzer Wiesen allotment garden colony, southern Neukölln. Hidden between dachas and German flags is an inn. A mourner arrives, men in black suits, the women wear veils. They want to go to the carnival funeral. For this, the “Fidelen Rixdorfer” have joined forces with two other Berlin clubs, so at least a few people come together, there are about 50. Mr. Steinfels is already sitting at the seat, Mrs. Schwan scurries around the room with a list and tries to break down who has Matjes and who ordered trout.
In Cologne they burn the Nubbel, in Berlin the carnival is buried. No one knows exactly where the custom came from. The main thing is that it exists. Skulls, torches and carnival medals adorn the shrine around which the men gather, sobbing caricaturally. Laying a wreath, a grave cross is raised, the inscription lists the dates of birth and death: 11.11. until Ash Wednesday. Pastor Penski will give the funeral speech. Once again he rhymes condolences to the carnival and pays tribute to every single club in Berlin. Then it goes on to the common sacred song, “God knows that I’m not an angel”, again the Höhner. The “Our Father”, reworded as “Our fun”, is prayed down. The waiters bring the fish.
Of course, Berlin also has a royal couple, presented in this session by the “Prinzengarde” association. For Detlef I. and Uli. I. An eventful reign is coming to an end, say the two, who are now wearing black instead of their jester’s cap, as per regulations. An appearance at the Green Week agricultural fair, a royal reception at the Cologne triumvirate, and most recently a marathon of appointments through the Berlin and Brandenburg meetings. For the first time, the princely couple was not cast in gender parity, out of necessity. Their own wives didn’t want it and neither did anyone else, so they just did it themselves, say their long-time club colleagues. The fact that they were sometimes mistaken for a real couple was only half as wild.
State President Heimann is already beating the drum for the next session among those present: “Maybe then there will be two princesses”. Somebody always ended up doing it. People toast each other with digestive schnapps across the tables, chairs are pushed together, children frolic, a group of senior citizens chatter in Berliners. The joyful mourners have buried the Berlin carnival, in November they will bring it back to life, that’s for sure.
