Stepping into the universe of interiors catalogued in Daniel and Geo Fuchs’ photographs, STASI — Secret Rooms, we find ourselves privy to secret moments of human suffering that have fallen into the oblivion of unrecorded history. In their capacity as Artists in Residence of the Starke Foundation — a non-profit-making German art foundation designed to help new, talented artists realise their ideas — the couple decided to turn their cameras to the architectural legacy left by the former East German secret police, the Ministerium für Staatssicherheit (Ministry of State Security), or Stasi for short. Set up in 1950, the Stasi operated as both the country’s intelligence agency and the state prosecutor’s office for political crimes. Above all, however, it was the governing party’s tool for the oppression and surveillance of the opponents of the regime.

The Stasi disappeared along with many other relics of Communist rule after the knocking down of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the reunification of Germany in 1990. Almost two decades later Daniel and Geo Fuchs rediscovered many of the sites occupied by the Stasi, some of which remained virtually as they were at the time the Cold War ended. The signs and symbols of persecution and repression have been conserved more or less intact, and we are offered a glance at a time capsule from that era. The resulting images are disquieting and uneasy allusions to the criminals who once inhabited these sinister settings and to the experiences of their invisible victims. We have the impression that their abandonment is a guilty attempt to wipe out any traces of human participation. As informed as we are today regarding the Stasi oppression, we have seldom seen the inner workings of the regime.

Throughout this impressive project, the artists have followed a strict aesthetic routine, photographing all the rooms from the same frontal angle using a high-definition, full-colour format. The photograph on the cover of the exhibition catalogue shows a long corridor at a penitentiary with its interrogation cells laid out on either side. This rhythmically-patterned composition is every bit as cold and desolate as the political system. The image has an ominous atmosphere, one that pervades the entire collection. In another image that is less subtle in its accusations, we are shown inside an actual cell which the Stasi used to interrogate their suspects. The stillness in this image is hypnotic. We are offered only emptiness as testament to the crimes committed in this squalid space. As in every image in the collection, the absence of the people who occupied this room is palpable: they are ineffable, ghostly presences, guaranteed immortality by their very invisibility.

In another photograph, this time of a storeroom, shelf upon shelf of dusty files containing millions of secrets and betrayals soar to the ceiling. This image illustrates the extent of the state’s paranoia at the time: in a country with a population of just 16 million, the state employed nearly 90,000 official workers and had 170,000 unofficial collaborators. It has often been said that ten percent of the population was spying on the other ninety percent. In fact, the Stasi records comprise the world’s largest publicly-accessible archive from a Communist regime’s secret police. Furthermore, much of the Stasi headquarters has now been converted into a memorial site, reminding the world of the dangers of totalitarianism. Geo and Daniel Fuchs’ STASI — Secret Rooms is a recent example of how Germany is using the media of photography, film and literature to evaluate its history with an eye which is critical but also somewhat nostalgic.