Through Berghain in a wheelchair: How inclusive are the clubs?

When Felize walks through the entrance hall of Berghain , she doesn't feel like an outsider. Even though she's in a wheelchair, she simply belongs here. She's a regular at Germany's most famous techno club . She knows the bass, the endless nights, the strict door —but also the feeling of being seen and accepted among strangers.

Clubs like Berghain increasingly see themselves as "safe spaces" for queer people or people with disabilities. Inclusive spaces where people can party in peace and safety. Many clubs work with awareness teams, ensure diverse lineups and guest lists, and take a stand against discrimination. But how accessible are these spaces really – physically and socially ?

"I want to be visible - even in the club"

Felize is 20 years old, comes from a small town in Saxony , and recently moved to Berlin . She uses a wheelchair due to a genetic disorder diagnosed as a toddler. But that doesn't stop her from going out partying regularly. Her favorite club: Berghain.

"I'm not just a person in a wheelchair—I'm part of this scene. I don't want to languish at home just because going to a club requires more effort," Felize told DW. And effort there is. The planning begins even before the night out: "I always have to be accompanied—for assistance, but also because trust is important." Then come practical questions: Is there a working elevator? Can I get through the entrance? Are there stairs? Is there an accessible restroom? Most of the time, she says, it's surprisingly difficult to even find this information. Clubbing in a wheelchair isn't a particularly prominent topic.

For Felize, even the strictest door is open

Nevertheless, she still goes out partying – often at Berghain, sometimes at other clubs. "At first, I was really nervous about whether I'd even get in," she says of her first visit to Berlin's famous techno temple. "The strict door is familiar, and I didn't know if they'd say, 'Sorry, wheelchair access isn't allowed.' But it was straightforward – I was just allowed in." Compared to other clubs, Berghain is actually the most accessible for her.

But barriers don't end with steps and narrow restrooms. They're also people. "Many don't know how to interact with me. Some put their empty glass bottles under my wheelchair. Or put their jackets on top, as if I were a coat rack," she says. "But I'm not an obstacle or anything. My wheelchair is a part of me." She wishes for more empathy – and at the same time, more normality. "I don't always want to be seen as something special. I'm just a person who likes to dance and party."

"Show who I am"

Her clothing style reflects this: "Sure, black is part of the club look. But I like to spice it up with eye-catching accessories. I want to feel comfortable, and I want to show who I am." For a long time, she said, she thought a lot about how others see her. "But I'm working on accepting my body and not constantly adapting. It's a process."

Her dream of a perfect night out is "partying with friends in an accessible club with a working elevator, a proper restroom, and a relaxed crowd that just wants to dance together, without prejudice." Partying until sunrise, then getting something to eat somewhere, and rolling home—just a typical summer club night.

Why does she still sometimes feel alone? "There are few people in wheelchairs who go to clubs. I think that's partly due to the lack of accessibility – but also to a lack of self-confidence. People stare at you; it's unavoidable. But I think we need to be more present to change that. I don't want to be invisible. I want to be part of the whole." And Felize is becoming more and more that. She's arrived at Berghain – she says nothing more. Because she, too, knows: What happens in Berghain stays in Berghain.