An stream so shallow you scarcely got your ankles wet separated a community for over four decades worth of time. Because of a chance of topography, the half a hundred locals of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement surrounded by pine forests, meadows and breathtaking vistas, found themselves at the center of the Cold War tensions. They had the misfortune to cross the Bavarian region, in West Germany, and the Thuringian region in the Eastern part, a boundary that was demarcated first by a fence and then by a barricade. United States military personnel dubbed it Small Berlin.
A few months after their own wall was breached, and before their country had reunified in 1990, a assembly of residents started memorialising their heritage. The effort is close to reach completion: on 9 November, the 36th annual anniversary of the collapse of the Berlin Wall, the Museum of German Division Mödlareuth will inaugurate. It was publicly launched by the national president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in early October, but the display was not completely ready. Speaking to the villagers who lived through the past era, Steinmeier stated: “You were observers of an inhuman division, which tore relatives asunder and turned neighbours into strangers.”
“You were observers of an cruel split, which tore families apart and turned neighbours into aliens.”
Even at its establishment in 1810, the hamlet straddled the Royal Bavaria and the Principality of Reuss, a noble lineage most renowned for bestowing all its men the designation Heinrich and numbering them consecutively by date of birth. As Steinmeier told the gathering, the oddity never stood in the manner of the locals socializing in the identical pub, attending the same religious building and sending their kids to the identical school.
Then came the World War II. As soon as they arrived, the Soviet forces installed wood stakes by the brook. For a annual period they occupied the entire hamlet, establishing their command in a building on the Bavarian side, decorating it with a image of Stalin and a communist symbol. The US forces urged them to pull back back over the stream. For a time, villagers could still cross over, though as limitations increased they were required to show identification, even though everyone knew who they were, and to come back at night.
Then, in 1952, came wire fencing and the official shutting of the border. In 1966, as in Berlin previously in 1961, a barrier was erected, with mines, tank traps and guard posts. The residents could continue to see each other by ascending slopes, but on the Soviet side waving and calling out were banned. One woman was placed on a Stasi monitoring list for responding “likewise” to a western local who wished her “good new year”.
I heard accounts like these tales by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has dedicated a large part of his professional career developing it. Villagers were consulted at an early stage about how how long a section structure they wanted to maintain. They opted for a portion on the west perimeter, near where a villager managed to get away in the dead of night with a ladder, following which the frontier was substantially strengthened.
A pair of watchtowers are maintained in addition to a collection of tableaux depicting the most impactful events in the community’s past. As we walk, the director details the regulations: no one could come within 5km of the frontier. Farmers had to obtain particular approval to look after their crops; the husband or wife could operate the agricultural equipment but under no circumstances both, in case they attempted to flee. Military personnel kept guard.
The border between Western Germany and the GDR extended 1,400km, from the Baltic coast in the north to the south in the south. Berlin is recalled and memorialised the greatest, but more than two times more individuals (more than 300) were killed trying to pass over it in rural areas than in the metropolis. Lebegern tells me that 95 percent of efforts to cross failed.
The majority of Mödlareuth’s residents were agricultural workers or craftsmen, who adjusted to residing in the grey zone between 2 ideological spheres by staying low-profile and caring for their fields. They neither endorsed the communist regime nor resisted it, Robert Lebegern explains.
For tourists, however, the settlement became a sort of pilgrimage. About 15,000 came to visit each year, binoculars in their hands, to gawp – and then swiftly leave. In 1983, the American president, George Bush, was given a tour by the German defence minister.
25 years after reunification, the television series, a television program about a made-up village similar to Mödlareuth, resulted in renewed attention.
The opening of the new museum – with a cafe, store, film screening area and large vehicle area – is expected to
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