Ladies and gentlemen,
I am delighted that so many people attend our annual memorial service.

Today, I would like to extend a particularly warm welcome to the eyewitnesses of the terrible bombing and their families.
I welcome

• the members of the Bundestag and the Landtag,
• the City Executive Board and the City Council
• as well as representatives of the St. Christoph Initiative, the business community, and our professional fire department.

I welcome the representatives of the Catholic and Protestant churches, represented by Canon Thomas Winter and Dean Andreas Klodt, who will together lead a prayer for peace following the ceremony.

And I would also like to express my heartfelt thanks to the musicians of the Peter Cornelius Conservatory under the direction of Mr. Rézmüves.

Ladies and gentlemen,
February 27, 81 years ago, marks a profound turning point in the history of our city. On that winter day, the British Royal Air Force dropped 1,500 tons of bombs on our city. Historians speak of half a million high-explosive and incendiary bombs. In just 13 minutes, the proud, golden city, 2,000 years old, was reduced to rubble and ashes.

The accounts paint a picture of horror: the wailing of sirens, the roar of aircraft, the impact of bombs, the fear of death in the cellars; the countless fires in the houses, the bomb craters meters deep. And the many dead, burned in the open streets while trying to flee, buried by the falling rubble.

1,200 people died in this attack on our city.
This bombing of Mainz—and of many other German cities—was the Allies’ response to the cruel war that the Nazis had previously unleashed upon the world. And when the bells of our churches ring again at 4:30 p.m., they serve as a reminder to us—to cherish peace and to safeguard our democracy. Today more than ever.

They remind us never again to give space to that National Socialist and inhuman ideology that devastated Europe and brought immeasurable suffering upon our city as well.

And they remind us that peace, freedom, and solidarity cannot be taken for granted, but must be won anew and defended every day.

Ladies and gentlemen,
today we commemorate our lost city.
We commemorate those whom the war took from us: on this day and on all the days before and after; from our city—and from cities around the world.
We commemorate the families who lost their husbands, their beloved wives, their brothers, their sisters—or their children. War makes no distinctions.
Our thoughts are with those who were left behind, injured and traumatized.
Their suffering serves as a warning to us all.

Many eyewitnesses recorded their experiences in notes, letters, or diaries. The images, the noise, and the smells of destruction have never left the minds of many. Those who escaped with their lives desperately sought solace amid the ruins of their homeland.

Philipp Münch was one of them. Many of you know Mr. Münch. He attended our annual memorial event well into his old age. Mr. Münch passed away a few weeks ago.
He was a contemporary witness and, at the same time, one of the most important chroniclers of our city after 1945. The night of the bombing shaped him for the rest of his life—and he made it his mission to keep the memory alive.

For decades, he shared his experiences with students and citizens. With his camera, he documented the destroyed city of Mainz as well as the arduous reconstruction. His photographs are more than just images—they are a visual memory of our city.

As an employee of the French military administration and later as a dedicated cultural mediator, he became a bridge-builder for Franco-German friendship. He linked remembrance with reconciliation, history with the future. He was a valuable ambassador for the European ideal.

With his passing, Mainz has lost not only a cherished citizen but also a defining voice in the culture of remembrance. Today would have been his 96th birthday. Rest in peace, Philipp Münch.

Ladies and gentlemen,
“People build too many walls and too few bridges,” Isaac Newton is said to have remarked more than 300 years ago. It sounds surprisingly relevant today. After many decades in which Europeans have built bridges, after decades of peace and prosperity, after decades in which we tore down walls and even an Iron Curtain, it seems today as though quite a few people want to tear down those bridges again. And instead, prefer to build walls. We watch with bewilderment as new walls are erected in people’s minds, as nationalism, autocracy, and xenophobia regain popularity.

That is precisely why the European ideal is more important today than ever: it stands for understanding instead of hostility, for
cooperation instead of confrontation, for the promise to resolve conflicts not with weapons, but with words.

In difficult times, when old security guarantees are being called into question and the transatlantic alliance is under pressure, European solidarity is more important than ever. Recently, a group of students from France visited Mainz, and I spoke with them about friendship and understanding between nations. Their interest and commitment show that the European idea is not an abstract concept, but one that can be lived out and passed on in everyday life. They remind us that we must continually rebuild the bridges of understanding—just as Philipp Münch exemplified through his commitment to Franco-German friendship.

This desire for peaceful coexistence and understanding connects us with people who are suffering from war and violence.

Our thoughts are with the people in our Ukrainian sister city, Odessa.

There, too, sirens wail. There, too, people seek shelter in basements. There, too, homes are destroyed and families torn apart. Russia’s war of aggression has brought endless suffering, fear, and destruction to our sister city—and has done so for four years now.

When we remember Mainz in 1945 today, we know this: War is not a distant past. It is a grim present. Our solidarity goes out to the people of Odessa—and to all who suffer from war and violence.

Ladies and gentlemen,
Last year, an encounter here moved me deeply: After the memorial service, an eyewitness approached me—a woman from Weisenau—dressed in carnival attire, as “Altweiber” (the day before Shrove Tuesday) and the memorial service fell on the exact same day. And that’s when it became clear to me once again what an important role Carnival must have played, especially in the postwar years. It offered comfort and hope—amidst the rubble.

And fittingly, I’d like to quote a verse today from the song “Heile heile Gänsje,” which we all know yet rarely take to heart:
I quote:
“If I were God today, I’d know only one thing: I’d take my poor, shattered Mainz into my arms wide and stroke it gently and tenderly and say: ‘Just be patient. I’ll rebuild you quickly,
You weren’t to blame at all. I’ll make you beautiful again, You cannot, you must not perish.’

Mainz was rebuilt after 1945—with unimaginable effort, with solidarity, with courage. The many women in particular who cleared the rubble and dared to make a new beginning have made history.

This reconstruction was not merely an architectural feat, but was linked to a new beginning for democracy, human rights, and international understanding.

The ruins of St. Christoph still stand today as a memorial in our city. They symbolize the force of destruction—but have also come to symbolize how, through careful restoration and modernization, a place can acquire a completely new, dignified character, almost an “aura.”

Since then, more and more residents of Mainz, as well as an increasing number of visitors from around the world, have come to experience this aura. In doing so, they learn about old Mainz and the times of dictatorship and war. And at the same time, they pause to reflect even beyond our annual collective commemoration.
Thanks to the commitment of many citizens, a space has been created here that combines remembrance and responsibility. My thanks go above all to the St. Christoph Initiative.

When we commemorate the history of the bombing campaign in our city today, ladies and gentlemen, we remember both: the suffering of the people of Mainz and the suffering that Germans inflicted on others. We do not forget.

It was Germans who started this cruel war, and it was ultimately millions of Germans who waged it—not all of them, but many out of conviction. It was the National Socialists who committed the mass murder of the Jews in our city, our state, and throughout Europe.

Remembrance is impossible without truth. And remembrance carries a responsibility.

We see political forces in our country that forget history or deliberately reinterpret it and manipulate voters. As democrats, we must stand up to those who distort historical facts against their better judgment; we must oppose them loudly and decisively!

That is what we are doing in Mainz. We are creating memorial sites and fostering a culture of remembrance: with our new Jewish Cemetery Visitor Center, with nearly 344 Stolpersteine now in our city, and with the Deportation Ramp memorial site—to name just a few examples.

Our democracy needs people who stand up for it. That is why I want to call on all citizens of Mainz to take a stand—at rallies and demonstrations in the city, but also in many conversations with friends, in clubs, and at work.

You can all help strengthen democracy on March 22. That is why I call on all residents of Mainz: Go vote. Take a stand. Do not let indifference become stronger than responsibility. Every vote for democracy is a vote against hate, against exclusion, and against forgetting.

Ladies and gentlemen, let us stand together and stand up for peace and unity.

In memory of those who died in the bombing of Mainz on February 27, 1945, as well as in the preceding air raids, we now lay a wreath here, at the ruins of St. Christoph and at the Memorial Against War.
In doing so, we keep our grief alive and preserve the memory of the dead in our hearts.