The Lives of Others (2006)

dir. Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

Survival is a noble, necessary goal—and it’s true, we should all tread carefully now—but unfortunately, survival is insufficient. I make records of my crimes knowing that a uniformed man might read them back to me in a dimly lit room after thirty-six hours of uninterrupted interrogation. The innocent ones get angry, but the guilty ones always cry, he tells his colleagues over lunch. (Are you taking notes?) And because I am guilty, I will cry onto my cold, tight handcuffs. I will beg for sleep as I repeat my alibi for the hundredth time. That doesn’t mean I accept it—some realities are impossible to accept—some horrors cannot ever be tolerated—and that doesn’t mean I will forgive them—no, I will never forgive them—forgiveness would not be in my power. It means that the Stasi will take root in your attic even if you invent yourself as the ideal Berliner. They will suspect you, because it is their job to suspect. They will listen to your dinner parties because they don’t know how not to listen. The lamp is bugged, of course; your association with the outspoken playwright is cause for concern. Your neighbor was acting strangely this morning, was she not? Without guilt, without subversion, this system would starve. It needs your crimes the way a dog needs meat. I write my crimes down as a favor to the system. I record them in exact detail because I hate to see any creature go hungry. I want the agent to tuck himself in bed tonight knowing he did a good job. The Party will remember this. You’ve come a long way from stamping papers in the basement, mon gendarme. I am so happy for you. I hope you see my face in your coffee. I hope you smile when you think of the bars on my cell. I hope you think about me when you touch yourself. Oh, that we should all have such purpose. Your contribution to the state will be remembered for eternity—now rest. Now close your eyes and embrace dreams. I love you.