An stream so low you hardly got your ankles wet split a settlement for more than four decades worth of time. Due to a quirk of topography, the half a hundred locals of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement encircled by evergreen groves, pastures and stunning scenery, found themselves at the heart of the Cold War conflict. They had the misfortune to span Bavaria, in the Federal Republic of Germany, and Thuringia in the East, a boundary that was demarcated first by a fence and then by a partition. American soldiers nicknamed it Little Berlin.
Months after their own wall was torn down, and before their country had unified again in 1990, a assembly of residents set about commemorating their heritage. The work is soon to be completed: on 9 November, the thirty-sixth remembrance of the demolition of the Berlin Wall, the Museum of German Division Mödlareuth will begin operations. It was publicly launched by the national president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in early October, but the exhibition was not entirely finished. Addressing the residents who endured the past era, Steinmeier stated: “You were bystanders of an inhuman separation, which ripped families asunder and turned local residents into strangers.”
“You were witnesses of an cruel division, which ripped families into pieces and turned local residents into strangers.”
Starting at its founding in 1810, the community cut across the Bavarian Kingdom and the Principality of Reuss, a princely house most renowned for bestowing all its male members the name Heinrich and numbering them consecutively by birth. As Steinmeier told the gathering, the peculiarity was never an obstacle in the way of the locals drinking in the very same pub, going to the very same place of worship and sending their children to the very same school.
Then came the second world war. Immediately after they arrived, the Soviet forces erected timber poles by the stream. For a annual period they seized the complete hamlet, establishing their command in a dwelling on the Bavarian territory side, decorating it with a portrait of Stalin and a red star. The American soldiers convinced them to pull back back over the brook. For a period, locals could continue to hop over, though as restrictions increased they were obliged to display identification, even though all was aware who they were, and to come back at after dark.
Then, in 1952, came wire fencing and the official closing of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin previously in 1961, a concrete structure was built, with explosives, vehicle barriers and observation points. The villagers could continue to view each other by scaling slopes, but on the Soviet side waving and yelling were prohibited. One woman was placed on a Stasi watch list for replying “back at you” to a West German resident who said her “prosperous new year”.
It was related to me accounts such as these tales by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has dedicated a large part of his working life creating it. Locals were asked early on about how how long a section structure they wished to keep. They chose a section on the west fringe, near where one of their own was able to get away in the dead of night with a scaling tool, following which the boundary was heavily reinforced.
A pair of watchtowers are conserved alongside a set of tableaux showing the most significant moments in the village’s past. As we stroll, Robert Lebegern details the rules: not a single person could approach 5km of the boundary. Rural residents needed particular approval to tend to their fields; the husband or wife could operate the agricultural equipment but not both, in case they sought to make a run for it. Soldiers were on duty.
The border between West Germany and the GDR stretched nearly 900 miles, from the Baltic Sea in the north to this location in the southern region. Berlin is commemorated and honored the greatest, but over two times more individuals (exceeding 300) lost their lives seeking to cross it in provincial zones than in the big city. Lebegern tells me that almost all of escape attempts were unsuccessful.
The greater part of Mödlareuth’s villagers were farmers or artisans, who accommodated to dwelling in the ambiguous area between two ideological spheres by keeping their heads down and tending to their land. They neither backed the East German authorities nor fought it, the director clarifies.
For visitors, however, the settlement became a type of destination. Roughly 15,000 came to visit every year, optical devices in hand, to look – and then rapidly go away. In 1983, the American president, George Bush, was shown around by the national security head.
Twenty five years after reunification, the television series, a television program about a fictional community resembling Mödlareuth, resulted in fresh interest.
The inauguration of the modern exhibition center – with a cafe, shop, cinema room and sizable vehicle area – is likely to
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