Germany - once the proud nation of high-tech industry and global-exporting factories - now finds itself fringed by tales of what might have been: abandoned innovation parks, ruined industrial halls, and ambitious visions lost to decay.
It was once a fortress where the rulers of the world revolution concealed themselves from their own people. Deep in the forest near Berlin, the communist leaders of East Germany constructed a city for themselves in the 1950s, sealed off by walls and barbed wire, guarded by hundreds of elite soldiers from the notorious Ministry for State Security.
Everything was disguised as a “wildlife research area.” Anyone who ventured too close was arrested immediately.
It was not until late autumn, 35 years ago, when the communist regime fell, that the citizens finally caught a glimpse of the strictly secluded Politburo settlement of Wandlitz. Today, the traces left by the leading comrades in the forest near Bernau have largely disappeared.
Nobody lives in the Honeckers’ house anymore. Occasionally, a few curious visitors gather in front of the brick pillars at the former garden gate of house number 11 in the forest settlement near Bernau, listening to a local guide’s explanations. The guide tries hard to stoke his audience’s imagination. That tree over there, he says, wasn’t here back then.
The windows and doors of the building, which the Honeckers moved into in 1960 and occupied until their downfall at the end of 1989, are all new. But this is still the original mailbox of the GDR’s most powerful couple: a rusty piece of mass-produced sheet metal, no nameplate, peeling paint.
At the end of November 32 years ago, GDR citizens were granted a first look behind the walls of the strictly secret Politburo fortress, officially called “Waldsiedlung” (Forest Settlement) but known to all simply as “Wandlitz.” A team from East German television toured the GDR’s secret capital by permission of Honecker’s successor, Egon Krenz.
The public saw 1.5 square kilometers of fenced-in forest marked by signs reading “Wildlife Research Area.” Inside were houses furnished with built-in furniture from the 1960s, alongside Western dishwashers and bathroom fixtures from Neckermann.
The new East German leadership aimed to show how modestly they lived: 23 rather practical than pretty houses in 1950s style, each carefully fenced off. There was a small swimming pool for everyone, an officials’ club with a restaurant, and a “shopping complex” that provided Stasi officers with Western goods—but on a modest scale. Scattered along the shaded paths were numerous artworks.
Little splendor for so much power—and reasons for double indignation. On one hand, it became clear that the top comrades—required since 1960 to live under the constant watch of the Ministry for State Security—enjoyed a bubble free from shortages and daily hardships. On the other, many were shocked at how dreary the “luxury” was that the highest-ranking officials indulged in at the population’s expense.
Anyone who visits the forest settlement more than three decades after Erich Honecker’s departure—the East German citizen with identity card number 000,000,001—will find hardly any traces of the original enclave. Behind the main gate, designed by Berlin metal artist Fritz Kühn, stands the guardhouse with its clock from RFT in Staßfurt—not stopped at five past twelve, but at eight minutes to one.
A hole in the wall, hidden by ivy, reveals where a camera once sat. Through it, the MfS guard could see which comrade was arriving. The early-warning system built for the guards has entirely vanished; from the alarm line that once alerted soldiers to approaching visitors, only a patched section of wall remains.
By 1990, the East German Ministry of Health had taken over the empty compound, which had been denied historical monument status for fear it would become a “pilgrimage site” for former comrades. All the houses were emptied, except for Walter Ulbricht’s. Furniture, books, and paintings were discarded. Sculptures by Gerhard Geyer and Fritz Cremer from Halle vanished. Mushrooms were cultivated in the bunker complexes.
After the Michels Group acquired the site, a program of renovation and new construction began—even the house numbers were changed. Honecker’s house, number 11, became Habichtsweg 5. Today, numerous clinics and rehabilitation facilities are clustered here. Since 2017, the former Olympus of the SED (Socialist Unity Party of Germany) finally enjoys protected monument status, but the actual historical artifacts are gone. If you wish, you can even vacation here today.
