A stream so shallow you hardly got your ankles wet split a village for more than four decades worth of time. Because of a chance of topography, the half a hundred locals of Mödlareuth, a small village surrounded by pine forests, fields and spectacular views, found themselves at the heart of the Cold War tensions. They had the bad luck to cross Bavaria, in the Federal Republic of Germany, and Thuringia in the Soviet sector, a border that was marked first by a barrier and then by a partition. United States military personnel dubbed it Mini Berlin.
Several months after their own barrier was breached, and before their nation had become one in 1990, a collection of local people started memorialising their heritage. The effort is close to reach completion: on 9 November, the 36th annual remembrance of the demolition of the Wall in Berlin, the German-German Museum Mödlareuth will begin operations. It was officially inaugurated by the federal president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the first part of October, but the show was not completely finished. Speaking to the residents who endured the past era, Steinmeier stated: “You were bystanders of an inhuman division, which ripped families asunder and turned neighbors into aliens.”
“You were witnesses of an cruel separation, which tore relatives asunder and turned neighbors into strangers.”
Even at its founding in 1810, the village straddled the Bavarian Kingdom and the Principality of Reuss, a princely house most famous for assigning all its male descendants the designation Heinrich and labeling them in order by birth order. As Steinmeier told the crowd, the quirk never stood in the manner of the locals drinking in the very same tavern, visiting the very same place of worship and enrolling their kids to the identical educational institution.
Subsequently occurred the global conflict. Immediately after they appeared, the Russians erected wood stakes by the creek. For a annual period they occupied the entire village, establishing their control center in a house on the western side, embellishing it with a picture of Stalin and a red star. The American soldiers convinced them to pull back to the other side of the stream. For a while, residents could continue to jump across, though as restrictions became stricter they were obliged to display identification, although each person knew who they were, and to come back at night.
Subsequently, in 1952, came barbed wire and the formal shutting of the border. In 1966, as in Berlin five years earlier, a barrier was built, with explosives, anti-tank obstacles and guard posts. The villagers could still view each other by scaling slopes, but on the eastern side gesturing and calling out were banned. One woman was placed on a GDR intelligence monitoring list for answering “likewise” to a western villager who said her “prosperous new year”.
I heard narratives including these by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has dedicated a significant portion of his working life building it. Residents were asked at an early stage about how what length of barrier they desired to maintain. They selected a section on the west edge, adjacent to where a local resident managed to get away in the dead of night with a climbing device, subsequently the border was significantly fortified.
Two watchtowers are maintained in addition to a series of tableaux showing the most impactful events in the community’s history. As we walk, the director details the regulations: no one could get closer than 5km of the frontier. Agricultural workers had to obtain particular approval to care for their produce; the spouse could use the harvesting machine but under no circumstances the two, in case they tried to flee. Soldiers were on duty.
The frontier between the Federal Republic and the German Democratic Republic ran 1,400km, from the Baltic coast in the northern part to this location in the south. Berlin is commemorated and memorialised the greatest, but in excess of twice as many people (well over 300) were killed trying to traverse it in provincial zones than in the urban center. the director informs me that almost all of attempts to flee were unsuccessful.
Most of Mödlareuth’s locals were farmers or skilled workers, who accommodated to dwelling in the uncertain territory between 2 belief systems by staying low-profile and caring for their farms. They neither supported the socialist government nor fought it, the director explains.
For sightseers, however, the village became a sort of pilgrimage. About 15k visited each year, optical devices in their hands, to stare – and then quickly leave. In 1983, the American president, George Bush, was shown around by the German defense official.
Twenty five years after unification, the TV show, a broadcast production about a made-up village similar to Mödlareuth, led to fresh interest.
The launch of the modern exhibition center – with a coffee shop, store, film screening area and large car park – is probable to
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