By Sebastian Bauer
There was a kiss with a hug for editor-in-chief Jan Schilde from a happy Bettina Wegner (75) at the award of the BZ Culture Prize. “It’s much nicer than the Cross of Merit I received recently,” says the singer-songwriter with a laugh.
This year, our newspaper is awarding the prize to a woman who represents Berlin like no other musician. Most recently, Lutz Pehnert’s film documentary “Bettina” (Salzgeber, 16.90 euros) described this rich, eventful life. The BZ spoke with Bettina Wegner about music, politics and her Berlin.
BZ: You were born in Lichterfelde in 1947 and grew up in Pankow from 1948 onwards. What world was this so soon after World War II?
Bettina Wegner: Luckily not too much was broken in Pankow. You always told us in kindergarten and at school not to play in the ruins because it’s dangerous. But we hardly had any. At most, I once saw a destroyed building in Mitte. But I wasn’t one of the children of the ruins. Instead, there was a large colony of arbors not far from us, next to the church on Elsa-Brandstrom-Strasse. We played there. My childhood was great.
And strongly linked to the Berlin dialect. Is it true that your parents wanted to prevent this with fines?
My parents wanted us to speak High German. They suggested giving us a penny of our two mark pocket money for every word we spoke in Berlin. We agreed. But very quickly I ran out of pocket money. I really tried my best. And I can turn off the dialect if I want. I also write my songs in Standard German. Nevertheless, I have the impression that this is not my language.
Despite writing songs at an early age, you initially wanted to be an actress. Why?
When I was five, I went to the cinema with my big sister, in the film “Budapest Spring”. It is about the murder of Hungarian Jews during the German occupation. After the film I wrote a letter to the actress Zsuzsa Gordon and asked her why she didn’t jump into the Danube and swim away before the fatal shots were fired. She texted me back: “My dear, dear Tina. Kind regards, your Zsuzsa.” The enclosed photos became my heart pictures. After that I knew I had to be an actress.
Moved by the speech by BZ editor-in-chief Jan Schilde, there was a kiss from songwriter Bettina Wegner at the award ceremony Photo: Charles Yunck
After your protest against the suppression of the Prague Spring, you had to give up your studies. So wasn’t that part of the punishment that harsh after all?
Yes, because I would still have liked to have finished my studies. The degree would have replaced the Abitur, which I was not allowed to do as a non-working class child. I then wanted to study theater studies or psychology. After I got over the prison and working hours in the factory as part of my sentence, I applied to Humboldt University as well. But there was nothing to be done. I was only offered accounting and statistics. With my four in math unthinkable.
Luckily you made a career in music. Joan Baez sang her song “Children” and made it known worldwide. Other famous musicians also sang your songs. What does that mean to you?
She has always been an icon for me. That’s why I was doubly excited before the concert with her. But she was very nice. And when she sang my song, my breasts visibly enlarged with pride. (laughs) I adore her to this day.
Have you come to terms with the song now? They didn’t want to sing it for a while.
Because I got the impression that a lot of people don’t know anything else about me. But now I’m reconciled to the song. Once in the supermarket I heard someone behind me, who certainly didn’t recognize me, hum “These are such small hands”. That’s when I knew the song had its place and I’m happy to sing it again.
Speaking of children. You are a mother of three and you had your first son when you were 20. After your partner, the author Thomas Brasch, left you, you were a single parent. Did you find that difficult?
It would have been difficult if I hadn’t had my parents. Because you have to think about it: I got my Benjamin in March 1968 and by August I had to be in prison. Without the support of my parents I would not have made it with the baby. It was only difficult because I had loved the man.
He had cheated on you several times during your relationship. How angry were you?
It was like a stab in the heart. I still remember walking down Mühlenstraße once and in an apartment on the mezzanine floor a family was sitting happily at the dining table. And I was standing on the street with my big baby bump and I knew that I wouldn’t have a family like that. I cried a lot then.
But the fact that you want to be a mother was never an issue?
Not at my place. But he would have wanted me to have the kid removed. One day he brought me a box of small bottles from a doctor friend that I should have drunk. Of course I threw it down the toilet right away. But despite everything, I would have liked to have kept Thomas Brasch. Even though he was so dishonest.
You became better known as a musician in the 1970s and 1980s, but you were hardly allowed to perform in the East, but in the West you were. As an uncomfortable artist, you should be urged to leave the country. But you didn’t want to. Why?
True, I never wanted that. In the east was my audience, my family, my world. I didn’t want to leave that to them. Only when things became more and more difficult and customs and foreign exchange proceedings were opened against me did I give in. I had to be interrogated four times a week. And I knew I couldn’t make it through prison a second time.
You once said that you never had the feeling of home after leaving the country. Even after reunification?
No, that never happened again. When I’m at my former places of residence on Leipziger Strasse or Elsa-Brandström-Strasse, that’s no longer my world. I don’t recognize many things. There are only other houses on Brunnenstrasse today.
And here in Frohnau, where you have lived since 1983?
It’s not home either. The roots are out, they don’t grow anywhere anymore. But at least I have a beautiful garden and many good friends.
At the end of the 1980s you were in a relationship with Oskar Lafontaine. How did that happen?
That was at an event against nuclear power. He was Prime Minister of Saarland and said that Saarbrücken’s sister city was Tbilisi. I replied arrogantly that he must know Stalin’s favorite song. And he not only knew it, he sang it to me in Georgian. Then I fell in love. Unfortunately, the relationship with my partner broke up because I couldn’t make up my mind. I would have liked to have grown old with my Micha, but I screwed it up.
How is love today?
Nothing is wrong with love. Of course, sometimes you feel lonely. I would like to lean my head back now and then. If I see two kissing on TV, I switch immediately. (laughs)