A Beginner’s Guide to Berlin’s Squat Scene: Anarchy, Art, and the Fight to Exist
- Filip
- May 1
- 4 min read
You’ve probably passed one without realizing it—painted shutters, banners hanging like middle fingers from the balconies, a courtyard that echoes with drum circles and defiance. Welcome to Berlin’s squat scene: part punk, part politics, part party, and 100% Berlin.
If Berghain is the city's velvet rope fantasy, squats are its raw, anti-capitalist reality check. They’re more than abandoned buildings occupied by anarchists with questionable hygiene (though, yes, you’ll meet those too). They’re spaces that scream resistance, creativity, and community louder than any Funktion-One system ever could.
"Squats aren’t relics—they’re living, breathing acts of resistance."
So whether you’re squat-curious or just want to go beyond overpriced espresso and TikTok-friendly street art, here's your no-bullshit intro to Berlin’s squatted soul.
The History (AKA: How Berlin Became Europe’s Squatter Capital)
It all starts in the late ‘70s and explodes in the ‘80s and ‘90s. After the Berlin Wall fell, the city was left with thousands of empty buildings, especially in East Berlin. A generation of misfits, punks, artists, and radicals did what any city-weary youth would do: they moved in, painted the walls, and declared them liberated zones.
In Berlin, the walls don’t just have ears—they have politics, paint, and purpose.
These weren’t just crash pads—they were community centers, art galleries, anti-fascist headquarters. At its peak in the ‘90s, Berlin had over 160 squats. Some were legalised over time, others were violently evicted. But the spirit? It never left.
Still Standing: The Squats You Can Actually Visit (Without Being a Total Nuisance)
1. Køpi – The granddaddy of Berlin squats. Covered in graffiti and wrapped in razor wire like a punk fortress, Køpi has been squatted since 1990. It’s got a legendary reputation for hosting hardcore shows, anti-fascist raves, and a general vibe of “F*ck the system.” Go for a concert or a political discussion—but don’t treat it like a zoo.
2. Rigaer94 – This one’s still very much in the resistance trenches. Expect barricades, banner-draped balconies, and ongoing fights with the police. It’s less “wander in with your film camera” and more “read the room.” Respect is key.
3. Hausprojekt Liebig34 – Technically evicted in 2020, but worth mentioning as part of the history. The all-female, queer, feminist squat fought tooth and nail to exist. Its forced removal was met with protests, police violence, and a lot of anger. The building may be gone, but the movement isn’t.
These houses weren’t just squatted. They were claimed, defended, loved
What Squats Actually Do
Most active squats serve as community spaces—hosting free meals, radical bookshops, workshops on everything from bike repair to abolition, and parties that double as political actions. They often run on collective decision-making, DIY ethics, and a general distrust of the landlord class.
They’re also spaces for the marginalized: queer folks, punks, sex workers, refugees. In a city where rent is climbing and gentrification eats neighborhoods for breakfast, squats remain one of the last free zones.
Gentrification tried to evict the soul of Berlin. The squats told it to f* off
But Like… Can I Go?
Yes, but don’t be a tourist about it.
If you want to visit a squat, check if it’s hosting a public event—like a concert, open kitchen (VoKü), or film night. Don’t just rock up with your Airbnb tote and ask for a tour. These are people’s homes, not theme parks for alt-culture.
You don’t find squats on TripAdvisor. You find them when you stop looking
Do:
Check event calendars or their Telegram channels
Pay for your drinks, even if it’s donation-based
Ask before taking photos
Listen more than you talk
Don’t:
Treat it like a party safari
Ask invasive questions
Assume everyone speaks English
Brag about your startup
The Fight Isn’t Over
Berlin’s squats are constantly under threat—from the police, from developers, from a city increasingly obsessed with “urban renewal.” But the resistance is alive.
Some cities build culture. Berlin's was often built illegally, overnight, under threat
In 2021, evictions at Rigaer94 and other squats sparked mass protests. The cops came in riot gear. Activists responded with fireworks, barricades, and furious op-eds.
It’s easy to romanticize it all, but the squat scene is messy, political, and exhausting. People living in these spaces often face daily harassment, precarious housing, and legal battles. Supporting them means more than showing up to a party—it means standing up for the right to exist outside capitalism.
From punk gigs to people’s kitchens, squat life is protest turned into architecture
Squats vs. Gentrification: The Final Boss Fight
Every hip café in Neukölln used to be something else—an artist’s studio, a punk bar, a squat. Now it’s oat milk lattes and tote bags. The squat scene isn’t just about nostalgia—it’s the last stand against Berlin’s slow descent into a gentrified theme park.
Support your local squat. Show up, donate, amplify. Because once they’re gone, the city loses a chunk of its radical, chaotic heart.
What began as trespassing turned into community, care, and counterculture
Why It Matters
Berlin’s squats aren’t just relics of a past rebellion. They’re living, breathing acts of resistance. They ask hard questions: Who gets to own space? Who gets to live freely? And what does community look like when you burn the rulebook?
So yeah, go to Berghain. But also go to a basement punk show in a squat where the beer is warm, the ideology is hot, and the revolution might just be DJing.
