Mario Röllig

Born in 1967 in East Berlin. While he was on vacation in Hungary, he met his first boyfriend, a politician from Bonn, West Germany. The Stasi took notice of the gay 19-year-old East German and demanded that he become an informer. He refused. The Stasi subjected him to massive pressure. He saw no alternative but to flee the country. On June 25, 1987, he tried to cross the border from Hungary to Yugoslavia. He was captured by the Hungarian border police and handed over to the Ministry for State Security (the Stasi).

Why did your attempt to cross the border fail?

I knew that only soldiers patrolled the “green” border between Hungary and Yugoslavia; there were no mine fields and barbed wire like in the no-man’s land between East and West Germany. I thought, either I’ll make it over the border or I’ll get shot trying. I hadn’t even considered the third possibility, namely that I would be arrested. But then again, I didn’t know that local Hungarian farmers were helping to guard the border. One of these men saw me from a distance and followed me. When he was only about 30 meters away, he told me to freeze and fired shots into the air. Then he fired bullets right and left of where I was standing. It appeared that the farmer was an excellent shot. I slipped and I lost my footing and stayed flat on the ground out of fear.

How were you brought from Budapest to Hohenschönhausen?

A week later I was brought with other young people to the garage of the police prison in Budapest. Then we were driven to the airport in a tourist bus. We were taken directly to the gate, destination East Berlin. When we arrived, it was more of the same, only more terrifying. At the gate, there was a Stasi agent with a machine gun and he locked me and the others in a B1000 van. On the outside, this van was made to look like it belonged to the Centrum Warenhaus Berlin Alexanderplatz. The armed Stasi man got into the back with us. In front there were two drivers clad in overalls bearing the name of the well-known department store, and underneath that disguise they wore their Stasi uniforms.I was afraid and asked: “Where are you taking me, to the prison in Berlin-Rummelsburg, where they lock up the criminals?” The Stasi agent yelled at me and gave me one of their standard lines: “People like you are much worse. You’ll see soon enough where we’re taking you. We don’t have to be nice to you.” Then he handcuffed my wrists, chained my feet together, and locked me into one of the five tiny cages in the back of the van. The drive took about five hours.

What happened to you in Hohenschönhausen?

I stumbled directly out of the van and into glaring neon light. The sudden bright light frightened me. In the prison garage, Stasi agents stood in front of us in two rows, with just enough space for us to walk between them. They were wearing riding boots, riding pants and carried rubber clubs. They didn’t beat us, but they yelled at us and insulted us. We had to put our hands behind our backs and walk one meter behind a single guard through the prison corridors. That was an absolutely horrifying experience. It all looked like a scene from some kind of a Nazi film, but I was actually back home in the GDR. The first thing that I saw was wires attached to the walls at eye level. The guard saw that I had noticed this and informed me: “By the way, those are alarm wires. If you try and jump me, I’ll pull on a wire and seconds later the riot squad will be here to immobilize you. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?”

How were you treated and questioned?

During questioning, I had to sit for hours on an uncomfortable wooden stool. But that was different on “special” occasions, for example, when you signed a confession. Then you were given the “privilege” of sitting on an upholstered chair. I was questioned by three Stasi agents. One of them played the “good cop”, the other was the authoritarian father figure, and when these two couldn‘t make any progress, the third one went into action and yelled at the top of his voice. The “good cop” headed the interrogation and was actually the worst because, due to his looks and his manner, he would have been my ideal type for a relationship or a friendship. He looked like a fashion model: well tanned, brown curly hair, steel-blue eyes, and he was well dressed. The Stasi knew from their files that I was gay. From a psychological perspective, it was very clever of them to send the “right” man to question me. That was dreadful and, unfortunately, it succeeded. With his friendly manner, the Stasi officer was able to draw out more information than I ever wanted to reveal. For example, he would make a big show of turning off the tape recorder and saying: “Now we can speak freely. Tell me, who pulled the strings for your escape?” Actually, hidden tape recorders were running the whole time.

How often were you questioned?

Almost every day. On the weekend, they took a break, but they made up for the lost time at the beginning of the next week. The interrogations lasted on average between five and eight hours, but sometimes just an hour. Once I was questioned for 22 hours non-stop. The officers worked in shifts so they could take a break. These guys were basically bureaucrats. They started their “work” at 8:00 am and they wanted to finish the workday on time in the evening.

Did they use your family to put pressure on you?

My mother had health problems. In the jail, the Stasi threatened me: “If you don’t start talking, we’ll arrest your parents. We know that your mother is not well. Who knows if she would survive the prison conditions here? Now, are you ready to start talking?” And then they resorted to extremely nasty methods. As they were leading me away from the interrogation room and back to my cell, the phone suddenly rang. I was standing at the door to the interrogation room. The officer picked up the phone and purposely said in a loud voice: “You’ve arrested the parents? Is that really necessary?” Today I know that under this desk there was a button that made the telephone ring. At that moment I turned around and said: “What, you’ve arrested my parents? They don’t know anything about my attempt to cross the border, you can’t do that.” Then the interrogator answered: “That’s none of your business, but perhaps tomorrow you’ll be a bit more cooperative and give us some information, for example, about your friends in the West?”

How did the Stasi put further pressure on you?

After I had been questioned for hours sitting on the wooden stool, the officer had my favorite dish brought in and he ate it for lunch in front of my eyes. Then he smoked a cigarette, the same brand that I smoked. I thought, “No way, I’m just going to look at the wall and count the leaves on the wallpaper. I’m not going to answer any questions.” Once they even threatened to lock me in one of the rubber cells in the basement. “If you don’t talk to us here, we have other types of accommodation.” That was the last straw for me, that’s when I lost my last bit of sentimental attachment to the GDR as my home.

During the day, I was not allowed to do any exercises in the cell, and I wasn’t allowed to sit on the bunk, only on the footstool that was placed in the middle of the cell. You were forced to sit up straight, facing the door. Everything depended on the whims of the guards. The peephole in the cell door also allowed them to see you on the toilet. If you sat there too long, you were gruffly told: “Get off!” Not having any privacy was also very embarrassing. When I slept, I had to lie on my back with my hands to the right and left of my body. From 10:00 pm to 6:00 am, a 70- to 100-Watt light bulb went on every 5 to 30 minutes, depending on which guard was on duty. That’s how the Stasi worked me over during the first few weeks. They eventually succeeded. I suffered a breakdown, my nerves were shot. “If you don’t talk now, we can wait. Nobody outside is trying to help you anymore. Nobody knows where you are. If you won’t talk, you’ll stay here for days, weeks, months. And if we want to, we can make sure that you never get out again!”

What was your worst experience?

For me, the worst part was that time just seemed to stand still. Every minute, every hour, every day seemed to last an eternity. The windows made of glass blocks were also horrible. The whole time I was there, I didn’t see a single flower, a single tree, a single meadow, just the same bare concrete walls of my cell. No visitors, no lawyer, nothing to take your mind off things – absolute isolation. In my cell, I listened to every noise in the prison corridor. Once I heard an inmate beat with his fists against his cell door and yell: “You promised to take me in for questioning, you promised!” This situation still chills me to the bone. I started to get more and more afraid.

What happened next?

During the first few weeks, I sat there like a basket case in the cell and in the interrogation room. I recited poems from my school days, over and over, or sang songs quietly to myself. In my yearning for freedom, I kept on singing a popular German tune: “I’ve never been to New York, I’ve never been to Hawaii...” That made the guards livid with rage. Although I felt unhappy, frustrated and furious, I saw that as a small personal victory. But after six weeks, my nerves were shot and I said during an interrogation: “I want to have literature in my cell right away or I’ll go stark raving mad.” Then the interrogation leader said: “We aren’t monsters. Of course we’ll supply literature for your cell.” And then I received books that I really had no desire to read. I wanted to get out of there and they of course brought me travel books. That was especially dreadful. Here I was, at the end of the world, in a place that doesn’t exist, and I was given books about animals in the Caribbean or a hiking trip in Switzerland. I threw myself in a rage against the door to my cell. After that they took me to the hospital and placed me under sedation.

How do you deal with the after effects of your confinement?

I still sometimes think of the hopelessness that I felt during the interrogations and in the cell. Today I still wake up from nightmares and check to see if I’m lying “according to regulations” on my back. At times like this, I get furious and ask myself why I can’t get over it. I’m also learning to recognize this horrible time behind bars as part of my life. Repressing it only helps for a while, but it all eventually comes back to haunt you. I was betrayed by a very good friend of mine who tipped off the Stasi, so I tend to be wary and afraid of other people. This is also true when it comes to friends and acquaintances. As a result, I have difficulty maintaining relationships and friendships. I feel ill at ease in large groups of people. I also suffer from claustrophobia stemming from the experience of being driven in that cramped Stasi van.

How did you obtain your release?

My parents informed a very good friend in West Berlin of my arrest. She did everything she could, from making financial arrangements to hiring lawyers in West Germany. I was extremely fortunate to be released on March 7^th, 1988 after they bought my freedom.

Have you seen your Stasi interrogator since then?

In 1999, I was working at the KaDeWe department store when a customer came in and bought Cuban cigars for 1,500 marks. The man standing in front of me was roughly 40 years old, very chic, dressed very fashionably. I recognized him as one of the Stasi agents from Hohenschönhausen, the model guy, the “good cop” who on one occasion said: “They’re going to put you away for five years for attempting to cross the border and for your anti-social behavior.” I felt edgy and nervous, and I started to shake. What should I do now? I grabbed the man’s sleeve and said: “We know each other.” He asked: “Oh, how’s that?” “You were a Stasi agent 12 years ago at the jail in Berlin-Hohenschönhausen and you questioned me. I was a young man, I only wanted to leave the GDR so I could enjoy my basic human rights and live in freedom in a free society. Don’t you think that you violated people’s human rights for the SED regime in the GDR?” He looked at me and said: “What’s this about, what do you want from me?” I answered: “Well, do you have a different view today of what happened back then? Have you thought things over? Maybe you want to apologize to me?” And then I noticed that his face suddenly went rigid and cold, like a mask. He looked at me full of hate and yelled: “Regret is for little children! Why should I apologize to you? You’re a criminal!” Suddenly, all the interrogations, the sleepless nights in the cell, the whole ordeal in the prison came rushing back to me. I thought I had come to terms with my experience behind bars, but I was wrong. I collapsed and was taken to the psychiatric ward by ambulance. After months in the hospital, with the help of my parents, friends and good doctors, I slowly found the courage to face life again. They told me: “If you give up now and don’t have the strength to move on, then the Stasi has achieved everything that they wanted.”

How do you come to terms today with your ordeal?

For me, it’s very important that I can enter the Berlin-Hohenschönhausen Memorial today as a free man. As one of the guides, I make it clear to visitors that the old Stasi network is still intact. Especially in Berlin. Wrapped in the cloak of democracy. Today we have the jail keys in our hands and I can walk through the gates any time I want. At the memorial I can get involved in heated debates with visitors without having to worry about being locked up in a cell. That’s a great feeling.

What are your hopes for the future?

I don’t want hate, revenge or retribution. Hate only destroys me. If I only look bitterly at the past, I can’t be free to gaze to the future, which I want to help shape. For me it’s really about exposing the truth. It has to be clear that the GDR was a dictatorship that trampled on people’s rights. As a former political prisoner, the memorial is the best place for me to get this message across. I hope that the victims of persecution under the communist dictatorship in East Germany will one day be given the recognition that they deserve, and that a main memorial will be built in their honor, like the one in the center of Berlin that commemorates the Jews who were murdered by the Nazis.