An creek so narrow you barely got your ankles wet split a settlement for in excess of four decades. By an accident of geography, the fifty residents of Mödlareuth, a small village surrounded by evergreen groves, pastures and spectacular vistas, found themselves at the heart of the Cold War tensions. They had the bad luck to straddle the Bavarian region, in the Federal Republic of Germany, and the Thuringian region in the Soviet sector, a frontier that was marked first by a barrier and then by a partition. American soldiers dubbed it Little Berlin.
Several months after their own barrier was breached, and even before their country had reunified in 1990, a group of villagers started memorialising their heritage. The work is close to reach completion: on 9 November, the 36th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, the German-German Museum Mödlareuth will begin operations. It was publicly launched by the head of state, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in early October, but the exhibition wasn’t quite finished. Telling the residents who endured the old days, Steinmeier said: “You were witnesses of an brutal division, which ripped relatives into pieces and turned neighbors into foreigners.”
“You were bystanders of an cruel separation, which pulled relatives asunder and turned neighbors into aliens.”
Starting at its establishment in 1810, the hamlet spanned the Kingdom of Bavaria and the Reuss Principality, a princely house best known for assigning all its male descendants the name Heinrich and labeling them sequentially by date of birth. As Steinmeier told the crowd, the quirk did not stand in the manner of the inhabitants gathering in the identical tavern, attending the very same church and enrolling their young ones to the same educational institution.
Then came the global conflict. Immediately after they came, the Soviet forces put up wood stakes by the creek. For a annual period they occupied the entire hamlet, creating their command in a dwelling on the western side, decorating it with a picture of Stalin and a communist symbol. The US forces urged them to withdraw across the brook. For a time, residents could still jump across, though as limitations increased they were forced to display identification, despite the fact that everyone knew who they were, and to go back at evening.
Subsequently, in 1952, came wire fencing and the official closing of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin half a decade before, a barrier was constructed, with mines, anti-tank obstacles and guard posts. The locals could still see each other by ascending slopes, but on the Soviet side signaling and shouting were prohibited. A local woman was put on a GDR intelligence watch list for answering “likewise” to a western local who wished her “happy new year”.
I was told stories like these by Robert Lebegern, the head of the institution, who has spent a large part of his working life creating it. Locals were consulted at an early stage about how how long a section barrier they desired to maintain. They opted for a stretch on the western edge, near where a local resident managed to get away in the dead of night with a climbing device, following which the border was substantially fortified.
Two watchtowers are conserved together with a series of displays depicting the most impactful dates in the community’s history. As we stroll, Lebergen enumerates the rules: nobody could approach 5km of the boundary. Rural residents had to obtain specific authorization to tend to their produce; the spouse could operate the harvesting machine but never the pair, lest they attempted to escape. Soldiers kept guard.
The boundary between West Germany and the East Germany stretched 1,400 kilometers, from the northern sea in the north to the south in the southern region. Berlin is recalled and memorialised the greatest, but over twice as many individuals (more than 300) died attempting to cross it in provincial zones than in the urban center. Robert Lebegern reminds me that almost all of efforts to cross failed.
The majority of Mödlareuth’s locals were rural laborers or craftsmen, who adapted to dwelling in the uncertain territory between 2 political systems by keeping their heads down and caring for their farms. They nor did they supported the socialist government nor resisted it, the director clarifies.
For visitors, however, the settlement became a kind of pilgrimage. Roughly fifteen thousand came to see each year, optical devices in possession, to look – and then rapidly go away. In 1983, the US president, George Bush, was given a tour by the national security head.
25 years after merger, the television series, a broadcast production about a made-up hamlet like Mödlareuth, led to fresh interest.
The launch of the modern exhibition center – with a coffee shop, store, cinema room and large car park – is expected to
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