The Olympic Stadium: the Folly of a Few

On a wet and windy day at the cusp of the long darkness of Berlin’s winter, I went to Berlin’s Olympiastadion (Olympic Stadium). I went here because it’s on the other side of the city from my home. I went because I needed an escape from the day-to-day humdrum that was also conveniently well within the realms of Berlin’s AB zone! But I also went because I wanted to inspect the folly of men. The folly of the few who were able to manipulate the many and weave a path that destroyed so much. I went there because I wanted to feel the darkness of what could happen if humanity is driven from the sensible to the insane. I went to inspect the ruin of a fallen regime that drove fear and hate into the hearts of millions.

Leslie Hossack, East Gate, 1936 Berlin Olympic Stadium

But instead, standing at the entrance, as if at the helm of a huge ship, I felt awe.

The stadium is huge: a magnificent oval that stretches out before the eyes and engulfs the plane of vision like the Colosseum in Rome. The style is one of classical brutalism: a convergence of Greco-Doric architecture and concrete. It is a benchmark of the Nazi regime, which paid homage to Imperial Rome whist creating a cultural and spiritual rebirth of an ancient German civilisation. The Doric shaped concrete is an emblem of this style, combining ancient-type pillars with brutalist materials to create a terrifying vista of bleak grandeur.

The original stadium was built by Nazi architects for the 1936 Berlin Olympics, and was meant to symbolise the power and strength of the 1,000 year Third Reich - just 3 years in. It was built to promote national pride and instil a sense of grandeur to Berlin after years of economic struggle.

Information boards line the stadium containing huge swathes of facts concerning the building’s history, the opening ceremony, the construction of the stadium, the watch tower, the statues’ mythical inspiration and the great feats of engineering that went into the stadium's erection in the 1930s. But, perhaps surprisingly, there is nothing on those boards about the controversial regime that built it. 

There is nothing there that would tell someone who didn’t already know that this was built as a monument to a terrifying ideology of fear and hatred; a part from perhaps the road leading away from the stadium, appropriately named Jesse Owens Allee – as if the 3 gold medal winning African American runner is still running from Fascism nearly a century later. This stadium, in all its grandeur, is the physical manifestation of how wrong humanity can get it; but one could forget that in the peace and quiet of the awe-inspiring interior. Ultimately, for me the place embodies the tragic contradiction of men – that though they can be great and create wondrous things, they can also synonymously commit insurmountable destruction and pain.

On the other hand, the Olympic Stadium’s fraught past also contains a great moment for Germans, who sought to participate and watch the games at a time when national pride was difficult and economic conditions were rough for the majority of people. Since then, the stadium has also seen many international games including the FIFA Football World Cup in 1974: these occasions are clearly why it has been kept in such good shape over the years.

The stadium has been given a new roof to protect it from the elements: from rain and wind, and sun during the summer. In 2002, whilst completing a huge extension of the seating area, an unexploded WWII bomb was found underneath a section of existing seating; a weapon of destruction to remind us that the stadium was not always so glossy.

As I sat gazing at the bright green grass of the pitch kept lush even on a cold day in October and the glittering rails leading to the shiny seats, I wondered, who made that decision? Who made the decision to remember the stadium as a memorial to a great sporting past rather than a monument to a fascist regime?

The stadium for me gives us a small glimpse of a the conflict in Berlin’s history: on the one hand monumental feats of architecture has been achieved here that pay homage to ingenuity and strength; but one the other hand these feats can be dragged down in an instant into the mire of confused loathing for a time when a brutal ideology became normal and diversity was eradicated. Perhaps though, the most important aspect of this conflict is how present Berlin has chosen to remember the stadium – as a symbol of national sporting pride. Perhaps the alternative history should be left to rest at last.