Curtains and Walls by Amy Angus

“Goodbye UK – and Thank You for the Music”

A storm was brewing; the oppressive heat and menacing, leaden clouds cast a dark shadow over Berlin. This, however, was not what weighed down on me that day. As our river cruiser rounded a bend, the above words of fond farewell were boldly emblazoned across a billowing banner, promoting a series of riverside concerts. I was taken aback. Until this point, I had not dwelled upon the enormity of what lay ahead and was shocked by the squall of emotions whipped up by these few words. The UK would shortly leave the European Union. I found myself plunging, unexpectedly, into a vortex of despondency and helplessness. It appeared that my connection with Europe ran deeper than I ever fully appreciated. I began to ponder how this deep affinity had developed? I knew the impending storm would be transient, however, the simple banner ignited something deep within me.

So why does a 16-year-old Scot, living in a semi-rural community, identify so strongly as European? This was a question I was compelled to further consider. Reflecting on my early childhood offered some answers. As my parents are linguists and have lived abroad, it was only natural for them to imbue me with a sense of curiosity for language and culture.  Some of my earliest recollections are of my mum teaching me French nursery rhymes or Russian folk songs. It amused me trying to mimic these strange sounds, and proved an entertaining introduction to language learning, undoubtedly contributing to my sense of identity. Many of my early birthdays were spent in France; I have fond memories of five-year-old-me ordering croissants in the village boulangerie, and my immense satisfaction when the shopkeeper smiled appreciatively at me, as she handed over breakfast. The first connection with Europe and its people had been established. Subconsciously, I had signed up to my European identity.

Subsequent visits to Germany have forged new friendships. Europe is not ‘foreign’ to me and I embrace our cultural idiosyncrasies. Though sitting at a table of jabbering Germans for a traditional Christmas meal was overwhelming, it allowed me to truly connect with my friends, and made me realise that although culture and traditions are unique, we have more in common than we appreciate. It afforded me the opportunity to hear them express their dismay at the UK’s departure; the genuine sense of loss saddened me.  I have come to the conclusion that the core of this relationship is a basic human connection. To me, Europe is where my friends live, not an unfamiliar cluster of countries, and no one likes to be parted from their friends.

The riverside farewell banner was not the only poignant moment during my visit to Berlin. Once a divided city partially cloaked behind the Iron Curtain, the graphitised remnants of the Wall serve as a reminder of the horrors that took place there. I imagined what it would have been like to find myself on the ‘wrong’ side of the Wall and could not help but note the irony – this is how I feel about leaving the EU. Clearly, it would be irrational to draw direct analogies with something that is synonymous with terror and loss of life, however, metaphorically speaking, there will be a new ‘wall’ between the UK and the rest of Europe, which has the capacity to impact my future. Standing in front of the brightly-coloured slabs of reinforced concrete, I could not help but feel that leaving the EU would be detrimental – I felt let down and moreover, powerless to influence the outcome. Had history taught us nothing?

It was clear to me that the UK’s departure would not impact daily life in Berlin. Sitting in the sun, beside the river, the delightful waft of currywurst drifting through the air, I expected to feel relaxed, yet the experience was tainted by an inexplicable envy of the groups of animated young Europeans passing by. I felt a tremendous sense of loss. It seems to me that in general, people have an innate yearning to be part of something bigger; this fuelled my frustration of being torn away from those with whom I identify. I feared a return to the ‘them and us’ mentality, but for now, I was already an outsider looking in. When quizzed by perplexed locals in restaurants and cafes, I became an apologist for the decision to leave the EU and expressed dismay and concern for the future. This was not a situation I had the opportunity to influence, so why did I feel guilty? I felt shame and embarrassment that I lived on, in my view, an inward-looking island, which sought to create an ever-greater chasm with its European neighbours than the Channel had ever achieved. On my final evening in Berlin, as clouds of bats – silhouetted against the Fernsehturm – swooped down ominously over the Marienkirche, I observed the irony in their flight. They remained free to go as they pleased, unconstrained, just as they had when the Berlin Wall divided the city. Nature has no boundaries and knows no divisions; it cannot be contained by curtains or walls, so why must people?                                               

Further reflection caused me to question my identity more intensely – so, who am I? Scottish? Of course. European? Most definitely.  I have, however, concluded that I am much more than that. Ultimately, I am a young person with a global outlook. I have been very fortunate to travel beyond Europe with my family and have enjoyed many experiences, which have shaped my sense of identity. I have sampled yak in Moscow, sailed in a dilapidated sampan in Hong Kong and explored the Great Barrier Reef in a submarine. Yet in all my encounters, the connection with people has been the most fulfilling. In spite of our differences, the human connection is powerful and overrides everything; it is this connection I constantly crave. Travel itself, is a privilege, and I do often wonder if I would feel as strongly about my identity, had I not been afforded such invaluable opportunities. I am certainly a more tolerant, understanding person as a consequence of my experiences. In today’s society, such an outlook is crucial in a world that is becoming increasingly divided. I see the bigger picture and know where I would like to fit, which makes leaving the EU even more upsetting.

Why would I want to be excluded from the opportunity to be part of such a diverse, culturally rich and exciting community? Why revisit the past by creating division with our closest neighbours? It is, of course, nothing like the enforced separation of families and friends during the Berlin Wall era, but my visit to the city provided food for thought. Perhaps it has always been more difficult for Brits to share a common bond with those who are geographically separate from us? The very thought of the UK drifting off in an undetermined direction fills me with a profound sense of being left out…left behind. Some may say this is overdramatic, but my sense of loss is genuine – I am already mourning what might have been. That is not to say that my future is bleak, it will just be different from the one I had envisaged as a European citizen.

On my flight home, the flight attendant pulled the flimsy, faded curtain across, separating business class from economy, a simple act, but one that resonated with me. The curtain was symbolic; it created division. This was potentially my final flight as a European citizen. The finality of our departure served to reinforce the feelings evoked during my trip. Whilst Berlin played host to a series of summer concerts celebrating British music, it felt very much like the final curtain, where there would be no encore.

Goodbye Europe – and thank you for the memories.