22/02/2025 - BERLINALE 2025: The German documentarian spoke about her work, which revisits many painful memories from German history and the tragic events of 1992

(© Shai Levy)

The Moelln Letters [+see also:
film review
trailer
interview: Martina Priessner
film profile] premiered in the Panorama strand of this year’s Berlinale. The documentary revisits painful memories of Germany’s history of racism, focusing on an event that occurred not long after the fall of the Berlin Wall, in 1992, in Mölln, a small town in Schleswig-Holstein. One November night, an arson attack shattered the lives of people living in two apartments that caught fire. We asked director Martina Priessner about her work, which focuses on the aftermath of the event, the surviving members of the Arslan family and the letters written to them, which remained undisclosed for over 30 years.

Cineuropa: This isn’t the first time you’ve explored Turkey in your films, and you’re also partly based in Istanbul. How did the idea for this documentary come about?
Martina Priessner: I was 23 when the racist attacks in Mölln happened. It was a turning point in my life. That was when I began to examine racism, anti-Semitism and right-wing terror in Germany, as well as how the state and society treat the victims. So, for many years, this has been part of my life, and I became an anti-racist activist. Later, I moved into filmmaking, and now my focus is more on that, rather than on activism in the streets. But I’m still active there, too.

When I met İbrahim five years ago, it was at a screening where he was featured. The film was The Second Attack. After the screening, we talked for the entire evening, and he told me about the letters. I was just shocked. Then we said goodbye and agreed to stay in touch. Two weeks later, I called him and asked if he was open to embarking on this journey with me. I had Inselfilm Produktion by my side from the start, and we applied for development funding. It all worked out – and five years later, here we are! It’s incredible.

What was the reaction of those involved when you told them you would be addressing such a deeply personal and painful topic?
It was a complex process, but trust was built up relatively easily. I visited the family, introduced the project and spoke Turkish with them, which I think was a door-opener. They all speak German, but for the mother, for example, expressing herself in her native language was important.

Initially, İbrahim was going to be the protagonist, but then his brother Namik stepped forward, and after speaking with him, he became another key figure in the process. They’re so different, and they’re at very different stages in their lives, which made for an interesting angle [to explore]. And then there’s Yeliz – I would have loved for her to have more space, but she got pregnant, and so, of course, her focus was elsewhere.

Then Hava, the mother, came in, although her involvement wasn’t planned at all. Originally, the father was supposed to play a bigger role, but after so many years as an activist, he was exhausted and told me he didn’t want to participate. The people from Ratzeburger Straße in Mölln were also really important to us. The city of Mölln ignored them for 30 years.

Excerpts from the Moelln letters are interspersed throughout the documentary. What was your process for selecting which ones to include?
I went through these letters and postcards so many times, trying to identify recurring patterns and ways to categorise them. The children’s drawings were numerous, and selecting them was relatively easy. I really enjoyed the process because working with these historical documents felt so special.

Although I didn’t have the originals, I worked with scans. Every time I went through them, I discovered new things – even during the editing process. One of the strongest recurring themes was shame, which was incredibly powerful in some of the letters. These letters testify to a solidarity that existed, but which could never become a tangible social force... And that’s very tragic.

You just mentioned the word “shame”. What other keywords would you use to describe your film?
I’d start with “comfort”. Many of the letters are long, written by people who took the time to sit down and truly express themselves. Some are outstanding examples of poetry and deeply heartfelt words – many were written by women and schoolteachers, which makes sense to me, since schools bear a certain responsibility. I found it impactful that teachers had their students pause everything, sit down, and either draw something or write a message to the family.

Then there’s “continuity”, which stood out because some letters were written by Holocaust survivors. They’re all gone now, so we can no longer speak to them. After reunification in 1990, Germany found itself in a nationalist frenzy. As a result, the constitutional state recoiled from the growing racist mob on the streets. Right-wing arson attacks and murders are leaving a trail of blood across the country. Looking at the present day, you realise just how much continuity matters, especially when examining right-wing terror in Germany.

Moreover, “shame” is also significant as a psychological concept. I believe that if you ignore something for long enough, you can forget it, and if you express your shame, you might feel absolved or relieved. Finally, “suppression” and “rejection” are also key themes, which, to me, point to the structural racism that allowed these letters to sit untouched for 30 years, with no one willing to engage with them. As long as you focus on the perpetrators, you don't have to confront your own responsibility. Instead of reproducing the perpetrators’ narratives, the film focuses on the voices of the survivors. Those affected are the main witnesses to their own story, and we need to listen to them. They are the experts.

The aim is to raise awareness of the responsibility our institutions have when it comes to dealing with victims. But it’s also about the responsibility of every single person who has privileges in this society. Because if you don’t question these structures, you support them - whether consciously or unconsciously.