Social Youth

The Zinkhütte in Mülheim an der Ruhr is a project for street children unique in Germany. The institution aims to help runaways to put their lives in order without being strict – with uncertain success.

There are children who are moving swiftly and unstoppably towards an abyss. They cannot stand living with their parents, and they cannot stand school. They are put into foster homes, and they run away. They are put in a home, and they are thrown out because they fight or take drugs. Next, they land up in the street, and sometimes in a juvenile detention centre. The Zinkhütte offers such children a last chance. A last turn-off before the cliff and the abyss beyond.
Little of this drama is to be felt when you enter the building in Mülheim an der Ruhr’s industrial estate. The Zinkhütte looks just like a normal youth centre: Mike (15), Stefan (14) and Mirko (17) are lolling around on the greasy velour sofa waiting for the day to be over. Now and then, they play a round of table football, or Formula 1 on the donated computer. They are wearing baggy trousers, sweatshirts and caps. Mike, with his bright smile, still looks like a child, Stefan’s movements are clumsy, Mirko thinks he is cool. They look like perfectly ordinary teenagers. But Mike sells his body to men. Stefan’s parents locked him in a caravan with nothing to eat and no heating. Mirko had a fight with his father and had to leave home.

No drugs, no violence, no weapons

The Zinkhütte accepts any children who have been put out onto the street and are looking for a place to sleep: runaways, victims of violence and sexual abuse, under-age prostitutes and often also Muslim girls running away from forced marriages. Some stay for just a few days, others for weeks, even months, until they find a way of getting on with their lives.

The Offroad Kids initiative estimates that between 1,500 and 2,500 young people in Germany are living on the streets for some of the time. The Institute for Social Work in Münster believes that there are as many as 7,000 youngsters who seek a substitute family on the street because they are neglected, beaten or abused by their own family. Meanwhile, special contact points for young runaways have been set up throughout the country. Sociologists speak of “low-level provision” because the youngsters are largely left to their own devices. They can sleep and eat there, but no-one tries to lead them back to the straight and narrow. In the Zinkhütte, too, there are only three rules: no drugs, no violence, no weapons. Everyone comes and goes as he pleases. What distinguishes the Zinkhütte from similar institutions is its extravagant interior design. The children have a choice of a number of absurd places to sleep: a rubbish container, the rusty wreck of a car, an underground train tube, beer cases. But the beds are still soft. Even in the dustbin, there is a mattress and soft sheets – the dilapidation is not for real.

“Their world is in ruins”

It was Günther G. Stolz who came up with this idea. He heads the Gerhard Tersteegen Institute, which runs youth institutions throughout the whole of the western Ruhr district. “I don’t want to force our IKEA culture on the kids“, says Stolz. These youngsters are sick of “all the talk of harmony, the sham of pretending that everything is OK”. In contrast, the architecture here, which looks as if the building has been hit by an earthquake, corresponds to the way they feel about life: “Their world is in ruins.“
Many people thought Stolz’ idea was “mad” at first, but in the end, the regional government of North-Rhine/Westphalia supported the model project, providing it with a grant of approx. EUR 150,000. Since it opened in 1999, the social worker and architect has taken visitors from all over Europe to see the eight rooms with a theme, past the signs saying “diversion” and “dead end” and the big spider’s web. There is a child’s bike painted black hanging from the ceiling. “That has provoked a lot of youngsters”, says Stolz. Kids who tend to speak with their fists were shocked at how anyone dared to mess up a child’s bike like that.

Mike, Stefan and Mirko do not look as if they are that sensitive. Stefan says his room with the beer cases is “fine“, and there is no way of getting any more out of him. His predecessor’s father did not think the room was so great – he thought it would make his son “thirsty”. But the label on all the bottles says “Wirichs Light”. Mike, the call-boy, says it’s a shame he isn’t allowed to bring his dog along. It is a cross between a Staffordshire and a Labrador, he says with a devoted expression on his face. Mike weighs maybe 40 kilos, and he is wearing a very wide pair of white trousers on his spindly legs. “I am not afraid at night when I have my dog with me, and my weapon,” he says with a crooked grin. And what’s his name? “It’s a she. Pfötchen,“ Mike says. He turns suddenly, bangs his open hand on the football table and yells: “I’ll kill you, old man!“

Tarnished harmony

Inge Müller, a social worker, used to have problems keeping calm in such situations. She gulped when Mike disappeared through the window each night, although he could have gone out of the door. He was later brought back by the police from the station, where they had picked him up in the early hours. During the day, he slept or called “colleagues”, and probably clients as well, from the telephone in the corridor. Mike made no effort to give up his life as a call-boy. Nor did any of the home’s staff advise him to do so. The lad had to find out for himself that things could not go on like that.
There are no statistics about the success of the Zinkhütte in getting children off the street. Just experience. Inge Müller has observed that at some point, just sitting around gets on most peoples’ nerves. Long-term, a mattress in a dustbin is simply not that comfortable, at some point the adventure playground becomes boring. The superficial harmony among the residents, too, becomes tarnished. Although they play and cook together, the laws of the street apply. “When no-one is looking, they steal from each other,“ says Müller.

Three weeks later, there is news about Mike. He no longer disappears every night. He has admitted to his fellow residents that he has had enough of the job because he is always afraid. A week ago, he went back to school, to a “school for children with learning difficulties“ because he has missed such a lot. His 37-year-old “colleague”, the friend or client who is looking after “Pfötchen”, has offered him a reward if he keeps it up. Mike has also looked at a residential group – with a proper bed in a proper room.

(all names of the teenagers in the text are changed)