BERLIN — Editors ask the toughest questions. Like, "Why do you want to go to Berlin?"

The simple query hung in the air for a moment as I fumbled to explain myself. The city was about to mark the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. A major celebration was planned. World leaders, including Mikhail Gorbachev, Lech Walesa and Hillary Clinton, were going to be there.

But there was more to it than that.

I was 11 when the wall fell in November 1989. I have no German ancestors and, at that time, probably hadn't even met someone from Germany.

I did, however, have a television and recall seeing footage of people dancing on the Brandenburg Gate. Other kids had watched the same footage and it soon became a topic of classroom discussion. Such is the power of a televised revolution.

A few years later, I found myself posing for a photo underneath that historic gate. A typical tourist moment. Berlin, the tour guide had told me earlier that day, was considered the world's largest construction site. New buildings rose from the ground, casting shadows on fragments of the city's past. I touched the wall for the first time on that trip and began wondering about life on both sides.

In university, a German history professor answered some of those questions, but he presented other, more complex ones: How do families separated for decades pick up where they left off? How do people who have been spied on by their friends and neighbours get over it? How do two countries become one again?

It takes time and a certain willingness to confront and honour the ugliest of truths. I admire how well Berlin does this with its vast array of museums and memorials. A double line of cobblestones throughout the city marks where the wall stood, while a remaining section of the wall framed by giant slabs of steel commemorates the 192 people who died trying to get over or under the wall.

There is a pink granite triangle for homosexuals tortured and killed by the Nazis. And in the shadow of Brandenburg Gate, row upon row of grey cement blocks placed at odd angles and varying heights honour the victims of the Holocaust.

The German government also opened to the public files kept by the East German secret police and has committed millions of dollars to restoring and preserving damaged records.

Since arriving here 10 days ago, it has also been inspiring to learn more about the human power that propelled the Friendly Revolution back in 1989. After 40 years of the German Democratic Republic, the people wanted change.

They pushed for it peacefully, first in the churches and, later, in the streets. They demanded things many Canadians today take for granted: freedom of speech, freedom to travel, freedom to choose. They had many chants, but one rang out the loudest: "Wir sind das volk" (we are the people), which later morphed into "Wir sind ein volk" (we are one people).

They didn't give up until they could cross the border to the West without fear of death.

And that's when they got out the champagne and sledgehammers.

Walking around the city, I get the feeling this anniversary means as much to the outside world as it does to Berliners. Reporters from around the globe have converged on the city, while the sounds of English, French, Polish, Italian, Japanese and many languages fill the air.

When U2 played a free concert here last week, the band opened the show with its hit, One. The song, which was recorded in Berlin soon after the wall fell, speaks of love and redemption, of brothers and sisters carrying each other. It seemed fitting, poignant.

But perhaps it wasn't an ode to Berlin 20 years after the wall fell, so much as a reminder to the rest of the world of what is possible.

Wie sind ein volk.

We are one people.

Read Matthew Pearson's blog Berlin Diary at timescolonist.com.

mpearson@tc.canwest.com