An creek so low you barely got your ankles wet separated a settlement for more than four decades of time. By an accident of geography, the fifty residents of Mödlareuth, a hamlet bordered by evergreen groves, meadows and stunning views, found themselves at the heart of the cold war. They had the bad luck to straddle the Bavarian region, in West Germany, and Thuringia in the East, a border that was established first by a fence and then by a partition. American soldiers nicknamed it Little Berlin.
Several months after their own division was breached, and prior to their nation had reunified in 1990, a collection of villagers started documenting their past. The project is close to be completed: on 9 November, the 36th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Deutsch-Deutsches Museum Mödlareuth will inaugurate. It was officially launched by the federal president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in early October, but the show was not completely ready. Addressing the residents who endured the past era, Steinmeier said: “You were bystanders of an brutal division, which pulled families apart and turned neighbours into aliens.”
“You were bystanders of an inhuman separation, which ripped households into pieces and turned local residents into foreigners.”
Even at its founding in 1810, the community cut across the Royal Bavaria and the Reuss Principality, a princely house most renowned for giving all its male members the title Heinrich and counting them consecutively by birth. As Steinmeier related to the crowd, the oddity did not stand in the way of the locals socializing in the identical tavern, going to the very same church and sending their young ones to the identical learning center.
Next arrived the World War II. Immediately after they arrived, the Russian troops erected wooden posts by the stream. For a annual period they occupied the complete community, setting up their headquarters in a building on the western side, adorning it with a image of Stalin and a communist symbol. The Americans urged them to pull back to the other side of the stream. For a while, residents could still jump across, though as controls tightened they were required to display identity papers, even though everyone knew who they were, and to return at after dark.
Subsequently, in 1952, came metal barriers and the official closing of the border. In 1966, as in Berlin five years earlier, a barrier was constructed, with landmines, anti-tank obstacles and watchtowers. The locals could continue to observe each other by scaling elevations, but on the Soviet side waving and yelling were banned. One woman was placed on a GDR intelligence watch list for replying “back at you” to a Bavarian local who wished her “good new year”.
I was told stories including these by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has devoted a significant portion of his working life developing it. Locals were asked in the initial phases about how how long a section wall they desired to maintain. They selected a section on the western fringe, close to where one of their own was able to get away in the middle of the night with a climbing device, following which the frontier was substantially strengthened.
2 watchtowers are maintained together with a collection of tableaux depicting the most significant events in the village’s past. As we move, Lebergen lists the rules: nobody could come within 5km of the border. Farmers had to obtain specific authorization to tend to their crops; the partner could work the agricultural equipment but never both, lest they tried to escape. Military personnel kept guard.
The boundary between the Federal Republic and the East Germany ran 1,400 kilometers, from the Baltic Sea in the northern part to this location in the southern region. Berlin is recalled and honored the most frequently, but more than two times more individuals (well over 300) lost their lives seeking to cross it in provincial zones than in the urban center. the director tells me that 95% of escape attempts did not succeed.
The greater part of Mödlareuth’s villagers were agricultural workers or skilled workers, who adjusted to living in the uncertain territory between a pair of ideological spheres by staying low-profile and looking after their fields. They nor did they endorsed the socialist government nor opposed it, the director explains.
For visitors, however, the village became a sort of pilgrimage. Roughly fifteen thousand came to see annually, viewing tools in their hands, to stare – and then swiftly leave. In 1983, the United States leader, George Bush, was shown around by the national security head.
Twenty five years after unification, the television series, a broadcast production about a made-up hamlet similar to Mödlareuth, resulted in fresh interest.
The opening of the new museum – with a coffee shop, boutique, movie theater and sizable parking lot – is probable to
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