A brook so narrow you hardly got your feet wet separated a settlement for more than four decades worth of time. By an accident of landscape, the 50 inhabitants of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement surrounded by coniferous woods, meadows and stunning vistas, found themselves at the core of the Cold War tensions. They had the unfortunate circumstance to straddle the Bavarian region, in the Federal Republic of Germany, and Thuringia in the Eastern part, a frontier that was established first by a enclosure and then by a partition. United States military personnel dubbed it Small Berlin.
Several months after their own wall was opened, and before their nation had unified again in 1990, a assembly of residents began commemorating their history. The work is soon to reach completion: on 9 November, the 36th annual remembrance of the demolition of the Berlin Wall, the German-German Museum Mödlareuth will begin operations. It was publicly inaugurated by the national president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in early October, but the display was not entirely prepared. Telling the residents who lived through the past era, Steinmeier remarked: “You were witnesses of an cruel separation, which tore families asunder and turned neighbors into strangers.”
“You were witnesses of an brutal separation, which ripped families apart and turned neighbours into foreigners.”
Even at its establishment in 1810, the hamlet straddled the Royal Bavaria and the Reuss Principality, a noble lineage most famous for bestowing all its male members the designation Heinrich and counting them in order by date of birth. As Steinmeier told the gathering, the oddity did not stand in the path of the inhabitants drinking in the same inn, going to the same church and sending their children to the identical educational institution.
Next arrived the global conflict. Immediately after they appeared, the Russian troops installed timber poles by the stream. For a year they occupied the whole village, setting up their command in a building on the Bavarian territory side, embellishing it with a image of Stalin and a red star. The US forces convinced them to withdraw back over the creek. For a while, villagers could continue to hop over, though as limitations became stricter they were obliged to present identification, although everyone understood who they were, and to go back at night.
Subsequently, in 1952, came wire fencing and the official shutting of the border. In 1966, as in Berlin previously in 1961, a concrete structure was erected, with explosives, vehicle barriers and watchtowers. The villagers could still see each other by scaling hills, but on the eastern side gesturing and shouting were banned. A female resident was put on a East German secret police watch list for answering “likewise” to a Bavarian local who greeted her “happy new year”.
I heard accounts such as these by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has devoted a significant portion of his professional career developing it. Locals were asked in the initial phases about how how long a section wall they desired to keep. They opted for a section on the western fringe, near where a local resident succeeded to escape in the darkest hours with a climbing device, following which the frontier was heavily reinforced.
A pair of observation towers are maintained alongside a set of exhibits depicting the most impactful events in the village’s history. As we walk, Lebergen lists the restrictions: not a single person could get closer than 5km of the boundary. Agricultural workers needed particular approval to care for their fields; the husband or wife could work the harvesting machine but never both, lest they sought to flee. Military personnel stood watch.
The border between Western Germany and the German Democratic Republic ran nearly 900 miles, from the northern sea in the north to this location in the southern region. Berlin is recalled and memorialised the most, but over two times more persons (exceeding 300) were killed attempting to traverse it in provincial zones than in the big city. the director tells me that 95 percent of escape attempts were unsuccessful.
The majority of Mödlareuth’s villagers were agricultural workers or artisans, who adapted to residing in the grey zone between a pair of belief systems by staying low-profile and tending to their land. They neither endorsed the East German authorities nor opposed it, Robert Lebegern states.
For tourists, however, the settlement became a sort of destination. About 15k came to see each year, binoculars in hand, to gawp – and then swiftly leave. In 1983, the United States leader, George Bush, was shown around by the German defence minister.
Twenty five years after unification, Tannbach, a broadcast production about a fictional hamlet similar to Mödlareuth, resulted in fresh curiosity.
The launch of the recently established museum – with a coffee shop, shop, movie theater and large car park – is expected to
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