COOP Anti War Cafe

Among the Berlin oddities described in Atlas Obscura, the COOP Anti-War Café likely takes first place for sheer quirkiness and eccentricity. Rochstrasse is a prime location—Hackescher Markt and Alexanderplatz are just around the corner, parking is monitored 24/7, and the streets are lined with chic shops and restaurants. Then, sandwiched between two high-priced boutiques, "Wood Wood Men" and "Wood Wood Women," you encounter a sort of gateway filled with a jarring amount of clutter.

A large "Peace" rainbow flag hangs nearby, along with a pinboard featuring the faces of Marx, Engels, Hugo Chavez, Che Guevara, and other leftist icons. There are T-shirts with protest slogans, shaky stools, worn-out speakers, and a wallpapering table serving as a beer counter. It feels like a romantic throwback to a plenary room in a 1980s-era squat; the fog of alternative subculture lingers in the air.

Entering the open area and climbing a few steps, you find the bar and a sea of posters, banners, and pennants—as if an Antifa march had swept through and nailed every protest sign to the walls and ceiling. Vladimir Putin appears repeatedly, portrayed as a wise ruler, a political luminary, and even as a "Peace Indian" on beer coasters. US Presidents Bush, Obama, Trump, and Biden fare significantly worse.

The main theme here is peace—peace on earth and peace with the Soviet people. However, it is specifically the brand of peace envisioned by the owner and operator, Heinrich Bücker. He has run his "bastion of the true faith" since the early 2000s. He has watched the neighborhood gentrify and become overgrown by capital; only his little gem defies the superior force, like the legendary Gallic village in Armorica—a sort of leftist Asterix and Obelix rolled into one.

Tourists are lured in by very cheap beer; an orange sticker on the Sternburger bottles reads "Anti-War Beer"—drinking for peace. Photography is explicitly encouraged to help spread "the truth"—Bücker’s truth, which aligns closely with the perspective of the current Russian regime. Now in his seventies, Bücker seems to have absorbed the socialist education of the GDR with his mother’s milk, internalizing it forever.

The whole establishment feels strained, dusty, and carries an aura of the unintentionally comic. In the basement, an "Anti-War Museum" features black-and-white internet printouts from the end of WWII. The iconic image of the Red Army raising their flag over the Reichstag appears multiple times, alongside text claiming the "friendly Russian people" brought peace to the Germans.

I chuckle at the thought of someone opening a café in Moscow today dedicated to brotherhood with Trump’s or Biden’s USA; its half-life would be short. Yet, Bücker’s institution remains a colorful splash of free speech in Berlin. However, this freedom has its limits: Bücker found himself in court again after a June 2022 speech marking the 81st anniversary of Hitler’s invasion of the Soviet Union, in which he appeared to endorse Putin’s current actions. His views clearly clash with the modern zeitgeist, though he ultimately avoided punishment after the case moved through several instances of the court system.

As of July 1, 2025, Bücker officially handed over the management of the COOP Anti-War Café to an association called "Deutschland im Dialog mit den Staaten des Globalen Südens e.V." (Germany in Dialogue with the States of the Global South). The cited reasons were his age and struggling finances. Curiously, the chairman of this new association is none other than Heinrich Bücker himself.

The world revolution continues to be planned over "Anti-War Beer" by graying radicals and "best-agers" with dreadlocks, all to the rhythmic sounds of roots reggae.