For hundreds of millions of people, the fall of the Berlin Wall

“For hundreds of millions of people, the fall of the Berlin Wall was a great triumph: The moment marked the end of hated dictatorships and the beginning of a better era. But for the KGB officers stationed in Dresden, the political revolutions of 1989 marked the end of their empire and the beginning of an era of humiliation.” — Anne Applebaum

In these words, Anne Applebaum, the historian of tyranny and chronicler of freedom, speaks with the insight of one who has gazed deeply into the dual nature of history—the way every triumph casts a shadow, and every victory bears a cost. Her reflection on the fall of the Berlin Wall—that magnificent symbol of liberation—reminds us that no moment in human destiny is pure light or pure darkness. For the peoples of Eastern Europe, it was the breaking of chains, the breath of long-denied liberty, and the end of decades of oppression beneath the iron hand of communism. Yet, for others—the servants of the fallen empire, the watchers of the East, the KGB men in Dresden—it was not victory but ruin, not dawn but dusk. It was the shattering of a world they had been taught to believe eternal.

The origin of this quote lies in Applebaum’s lifelong exploration of the Cold War and its aftermath. As a historian and journalist, she has sought to uncover the human experience beneath the movements of power—the souls caught between systems, revolutions, and ruins. Here, she evokes the night of November 9, 1989, when the wall that had divided Berlin—and symbolically, all humanity—crumbled beneath the weight of freedom’s longing. For millions across Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and East Germany, it was the triumph of courage over fear, of truth over lies. Yet even as crowds rejoiced in the streets, there were men watching from dimly lit offices in Dresden—Soviet officers, guardians of an ideology that had defined their very purpose—who saw in that joyous collapse the disintegration of the world they served.

One of those men was Vladimir Putin, then a young KGB officer. In the ruins of that winter, he saw not liberation, but betrayal—the empire to which he had sworn loyalty dissolving before his eyes, abandoned by its leaders, despised by its subjects. As crowds stormed KGB buildings, seizing files and shouting for freedom, Putin and his comrades felt the sting of humiliation, the cold awareness that the old power was gone. What the free world celebrated as the end of tyranny, they experienced as the death of empire—and with it, the death of their identity. This is the paradox Applebaum unveils: that the same event, seen through different eyes, can be both salvation and catastrophe.

Thus, her words become not merely historical, but profoundly human. They remind us that every revolution leaves behind the wreckage of belief, and that those who lose their cause do not vanish—they retreat, they brood, they dream of restoration. From such humiliation can rise either wisdom or vengeance. The fall of the Berlin Wall marked the end of one era, but in its shadow, new storms were already gathering. The pain felt in Dresden in 1989 would one day echo through history again, reshaping nations and reviving the specter of empire. For the wounded pride of a fallen power, if left unhealed, becomes the seed of future strife.

Applebaum’s insight, therefore, is not only about the Cold War but about the nature of human triumph itself. Victory is never absolute, nor is defeat final. The jubilant must learn compassion, for even the vanquished carry stories worth understanding. And the defeated must learn humility, lest their wounded honor curdle into hate. The fall of the wall was rightly hailed as a miracle, but history teaches that the work of freedom does not end when the walls fall—it begins there. To preserve liberty, one must tend to the hearts of the disillusioned as much as the dreams of the liberated.

We see this lesson echoed across the ages. When Rome fell, her conquerors rejoiced—but from the ruins rose the long shadow of vengeance that haunted Europe for centuries. When Napoleon’s empire crumbled, millions celebrated, yet the humiliation of France would one day ignite new wars. So too, the men of Dresden nursed their wounds until, decades later, one of their number would return to power, determined to restore the pride that had been lost in that winter of 1989. History, it seems, is never finished—it circles back, teaching the same lessons to those who refuse to learn them.

The lesson, then, is clear and grave: Rejoice when freedom triumphs, but beware the bitterness of those it defeats. The wise victor is one who heals as well as conquers, who understands that the fall of a wall must be followed by the building of bridges. And for those who find themselves on the losing side of history, let Applebaum’s words serve as both mirror and warning: do not let humiliation harden into resentment, nor the end of empire blind you to the new beginnings that rise from its ashes.

So, O seeker of truth, remember that history is not written only by victors, but also by those who remember loss. The fall of the Berlin Wall was both the end of bondage and the birth of a wound that still shapes our world. Let us honor the triumph without forgetting the sorrow, and let us build a future where neither victory breeds arrogance nor defeat breeds hate. For only when compassion walks beside freedom will humanity truly rise beyond the ruins of its past.