An creek so narrow you barely got your ankles wet split a village for in excess of four decades of time. Because of a chance of topography, the half a hundred locals of Mödlareuth, a small village encircled by evergreen groves, fields and breathtaking scenery, found themselves at the core of the Cold War tensions. They had the unfortunate circumstance to span Bavaria, in the Federal Republic of Germany, and the Thuringian region in the Soviet sector, a frontier that was established first by a fence and then by a partition. United States military personnel called it Mini Berlin.
A few months after their own wall was breached, and before their country had reunified in 1990, a collection of residents began memorialising their heritage. The project is about to reach completion: on 9 November, the 36th anniversary of the demolition of the German barrier, the Museum of German Division Mödlareuth will open. It was officially inaugurated by the head of state, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the beginning of October, but the exhibition wasn’t quite finished. Speaking to the residents who endured the former times, Steinmeier stated: “You were bystanders of an cruel separation, which ripped relatives into pieces and turned neighbours into foreigners.”
“You were witnesses of an inhuman separation, which ripped households asunder and turned neighbors into strangers.”
Starting at its founding in 1810, the village straddled the Kingdom of Bavaria and the Reuss Principality, a royal family most famous for giving all its male members the name Heinrich and numbering them in order by birth order. As Steinmeier told the crowd, the quirk never stood in the path of the locals gathering in the same tavern, going to the very same religious building and placing their young ones to the very same school.
Then came the World War II. Immediately after they arrived, the Russian troops erected timber poles by the brook. For a twelve months they took over the whole community, setting up their control center in a building on the western side, adorning it with a portrait of Stalin and a Soviet emblem. The Americans urged them to retreat back over the stream. For a time, villagers could still hop over, though as limitations increased they were obliged to display identification, even though all understood who they were, and to return at after dark.
After that, in 1952, came wire fencing and the legal sealing of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin half a decade before, a concrete structure was built, with landmines, tank traps and observation points. The villagers could continue to observe each other by ascending hills, but on the Soviet side waving and calling out were banned. A female resident was placed on a East German secret police surveillance list for answering “likewise” to a Bavarian resident who said her “prosperous new year”.
It was related to me narratives including these tales by Robert Lebegern, the museum’s director, who has dedicated a significant portion of his working life developing it. Residents were asked at an early stage about how much structure they wanted to maintain. They opted for a stretch on the western edge, adjacent to where one of their own succeeded to flee in the darkest hours with a climbing device, following which the frontier was heavily reinforced.
2 watchtowers are conserved in addition to a series of tableaux illustrating the most impactful dates in the hamlet’s history. As we walk, the director details the regulations: not a single person could come within 5km of the frontier. Farmers needed specific authorization to tend to their fields; the spouse could operate the harvesting machine but under no circumstances both, for fear that they sought to flee. Soldiers were on duty.
The border between Western Germany and the GDR ran 1,400 kilometers, from the Baltic coast in the north to this location in the south. Berlin is commemorated and documented the greatest, but more than twice as many persons (more than 300) were killed seeking to cross it in provincial zones than in the urban center. Lebegern informs me that 95% of efforts to cross failed.
Most of Mödlareuth’s residents were farmers or skilled workers, who adapted to living in the grey zone between two political systems by keeping their heads down and caring for their farms. They did not supported the socialist government nor fought it, Lebegern states.
For visitors, however, the village became a sort of site of interest. Approximately 15,000 came to see annually, binoculars in hand, to gawp – and then swiftly leave. In 1983, the United States leader, George Bush, was given a tour by the German defense official.
Twenty-five years after merger, the TV show, a broadcast production about a fictional community resembling Mödlareuth, led to renewed attention.
The launch of the recently established museum – with a restaurant, shop, cinema room and sizable car park – is probable to
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