The minister of the interior feels as if he’s in an old newsreel. Rommel inspecting the Siegfried Line. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to go for the federal police uniform. The minister is wearing a bulletproof vest, and this time he looks astonishingly good in it, determined even, as he greets the journalists. N.D.R., W.D.R., B.R., Z.D.F., R.T.L., MyTV, N24 – they’re all here. They have almost unlimited access; the minister is keen to show how impassable the wall is they’ve constructed. Gödeke is taking him to the ramparts. He’s in uniform too, but with boots and a pistol. The minister has made it clear that he wants to see people with firearms.
“Pistol, sub-machine gun, ideally both. I don’t want camera shots on any of the news bulletins where there aren’t at least three firearms visible. We mean this seriously! Snipers too!”
He’s talked through this press conference with Gödeke several times. No affability, no friendly remarks – the message must be unequivocal. They’ve assembled the press in a room where they’ll be easily heard, and rather than have Gödeke turn to the journalists and say, “Shall we start?”, the minister introduces him, then Gödeke says, “Ladies and gentlemen, we don’t have much time so please follow me.”
It’s all about demonstrating their resolve. He wanted the elite police unit here too – assault rifles and pump shotguns on display. He’s commandeered all available special vehicles with mounted snowploughs, as if these could push the refugees away. They’re chiefly for show too. More serious are the Mowags he’s had unofficially retrofitted. Those who know their Mowags would be surprised. Never before have these vehicles had machine guns, let alone heavy machine guns. And anyone registering surprise might also question the legal basis for these. But the minister isn’t particularly worried. In his experience journalists who are keen on weaponry are less interested in questions of legality. And journalists who are interested in questions of legality generally don’t know the difference between a machine gun and a sub-machine gun. They’ll assume the police must have the whole lot stored away somewhere.
They accompany the journalists to the transporters. They will have to take a detour to be able to view the border installations from outside, from the Austrian side; it hasn’t been possible to drive straight for some days now. You have to go via Switzerland or Italy or, as the transporters are about to do, take one of the secret government tracks. To ensure that these remain secret, the vehicles have no windows. Mobiles must be surrendered so that no smart Alecs can follow the route via G.P.S.
He and Gödeke arrive first because for security reasons, the press have to take a few extra twists and turns. The minister gets out and looks around. The border zone, which until a week ago was permanently full of parked lorries, has been evacuated and now looks like a field ready for battle. The service stations and petrol pumps are sealed off with fences that are unlikely to hold. Some of the windows on the second floor of Walserberg service station have been boarded up. On the ground floor they’re just bricked up. The large building sits tranquilly in the sunshine like a stranded ship.
As there was every likelihood of plundering, the fuel pumps were emptied to the last drop. The minister heard that the leaseholder has already sued Austria for loss of earnings. But that hasn’t changed anything; even the Austrians would rather solve the problem first and then untangle the legal issues afterwards. At any rate the Austrian police and army are both here. The army can be deployed for the protection of internal security. They’re allowed to use real tanks. Not that these would be particularly useful in close combat, but they give the impression of greater resolve. Or they could. In truth, the minister thinks, Austria just looks like Sound of Music country.
The transporters carrying the press arrive. The minister waits for the reporters to get out and lets them take in the bizarre set-up. “It’s like during the oil crisis,” says one cameraman who can only know the oil crisis from television. Gödeke and the minister lead the way. Together with the reporters they climb a press platform that has been constructed especially for the occasion, and which affords a good overview. They look out over the newly erected installations towards Germany.
“It’s like the Berlin Wall,” Mr Oil Crisis says.
“What you can see here,” Gödeke begins, “are high-security fences built to the highest standard. Underpinned several times, impossible to push over. Few horizontal struts make them very difficult to climb. Protected at the top by razor wire. Each pillar is set in concrete at least one metre below the ground. The fence rises to six metres above ground level with an overhang at the top.”
“Degree of difficulty?” a young woman asks cheekily.
The minister looks at Gödeke.
“We got the Alpine Association to give us their assessment. They say between eight plus and nine minus.”
The cheeky woman whistles through her teeth.
“Which means you’d have to train for a few years first. Nobody’s going to just climb over it. But in any case our objective is that they don’t even begin climbing.”
“It could look a lot more daunting,” a young reporter says. “The exclaves in north Africa are better secured.”
With his silence, the minister implicitly agrees.
“The appearance of the fence is chiefly down to the need for a swift response from the authorities,” Gödeke explains. “It’s pointless if you build a super wall right by the motorway here, but it’s only two hundred metres wide and you’ve got a garden fence beside it. Everyone would just go to where it’s easiest to get across. So rather than plumping for the most secure option, we had to go for the most secure option that we could erect across the greatest distance.”
“How long is your fence, then?”
“That is confidential. But we do have the advantage that such a large procession of people cannot simply wander two hundred kilometres unnoticed. If they change their location, so can we, and more quickly.”
“Where are we here?” a reporter says. “In Germany already?”
“We’re still in Austria,” Gödeke says. “Officially we’ve just driven into Austria by the terms of the Schengen Agreement. To prevent the refugees from exploiting the opportunity that being on German soil would offer, the fence has been built right on the border.”
“This is the difference from installations like those in Palestine or Mexico,” the minister explains. “There people want to slip into the country unnoticed. Under Israeli or U.S. law they can’t invoke their rights in the same way. So you can relocate your fence fifty metres into your country. We, however, are working on the assumption that these refugees are intending to apply for asylum en masse, for which in theory they merely need to be on German soil. This is what we’re trying to prevent.”
“There’s never been a border installation like this.”
“Sure there has!” the oil-crisis Berliner says.
“Certainly not,” Gödeke says. “There are installations designed to prevent the covert intrusion of individuals and groups – for example in Israel and the U.S.A. There have been and still are installations designed to prevent the covert escape of individuals and groups – like the wall you’ve referred to. And there are installations designed to defend against armed attack – which include every castle fortification and the Great Wall of China. But to date there hasn’t been a single border installation designed to withstand storming by unarmed intruders who in addition plan to claim asylum.”
“Are you saying that this fence follows the exact course of the border?” the climbing woman says.
“That’s correct. The electrical construction even hangs slightly over it.”
“So you actually did that?” an older reporter asks.
“The state mustn’t allow itself to be blackmailed,” the minister says, giving his routine answer. “These people are also perfectly safe in Austria. They don’t have to come to us.”
“How secure is the construction?” the older reporter asks. “What we see now . . . is that everything, or is there more to come? What is the strength of the current, for how many people is it life-threatening?”
“The specifications are confidential,” Gödeke says. “But I can state that we weren’t able to use normal industrial protective fences because of their inadequate current. And here I’m talking about fences built to protect power plants.”
“Let me assure you that any refugee who tries to tamper with this fence will face the most unpleasant consequences German manufacturing can offer,” the minister weighs in.
“Lethal? Or not?” the older reporter mutters. “That’s the key.”
“It’s a one-off experience that the person concerned will never repeat,” the minister replies.
“Because they won’t want to, or won’t be able to?”
“Able to. In all likelihood.”
“Lethal, then,” the reporter notes, as satisfied as if he’d found a perfect mushroom in the woods.
“At this point I ought to clarify something. Most people think a fence should be so secure that nobody can climb over it. But that’s impossible. There is no fence in existence that’s impossible to surmount.”
“So why bother build one in the first place?” the climbing woman says.
“A fence,” the minister pontificates, “is a statement. It says that where the fence is, the path stops.”
“You could do the same with red string,” the mushroom collector says.
“True. The key thing about this fence is not what it’s made of, but what you’re going to do when somebody decides to disregard it. Whether you can defend your fence, or your string. Let me assure you that the Federal Republic of Germany has all the means and units necessary to defend her borders, and we intend to make use of these. The federal police have been in intensive training for weeks. We are prepared for any crisis situation.”
“If you are so resolute,” the oil-crisis Berliner says, “how many deaths are you braced for?”
“I can’t give you any figures.” The minister puffs out his chest. “But I was there when the refugees crossed the Turkish border. And in a similar situation the German police will not stand by and watch. If unauthorised persons try to cross the border, we will stop them.”
“And if they keep trying?”
“We will keep stopping them,” the minister says, and then pauses deliberately. “Until nobody tries anymore.”
“You won’t follow through with that,” the climbing woman says, giving the minister a stern look. “When it comes to the crunch you’ll have to give in. You’ll have to open the border.”
“And where would we do that?”
The climbing woman turns to look at the fence. And only now does it dawn on her.
“We’re not playing games here, we’re serious,” the minister says determinedly. “We’re haven’t got secret accommodation ready. And we’re not going to open the border at any point. Because, as you can see, there aren’t any openings here.”