An creek so shallow you scarcely got your feet wet split a village for in excess of four decades. Due to a quirk of geography, the fifty residents of Mödlareuth, a small village surrounded by evergreen groves, fields and stunning views, found themselves at the core of the Cold War tensions. They had the unfortunate circumstance to cross Bavaria, in the Federal Republic of Germany, and the Thuringian region in the Eastern part, a frontier that was marked first by a enclosure and then by a wall. American soldiers nicknamed it Mini Berlin.
Several months after their own barrier was opened, and prior to their country had unified again in 1990, a assembly of residents set about documenting their heritage. The project is soon to reach completion: on 9 November, the thirty-sixth anniversary of the demolition of the German barrier, the Deutsch-Deutsches Museum Mödlareuth will open. It was formally launched by the federal president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the beginning of October, but the exhibition wasn’t quite ready. Telling the locals who lived through the former times, Steinmeier remarked: “You were witnesses of an cruel division, which tore relatives into pieces and turned neighbors into foreigners.”
“You were observers of an cruel split, which pulled households into pieces and turned neighbours into aliens.”
Starting at its creation in 1810, the village cut across the Kingdom of Bavaria and the Principality of Reuss, a princely house most renowned for assigning all its male members the name Heinrich and counting them sequentially by date of birth. As Steinmeier informed the gathering, the peculiarity never stood in the way of the inhabitants gathering in the very same tavern, attending the identical place of worship and placing their children to the very same school.
Then came the second world war. The moment they came, the Russian troops erected wooden posts by the stream. For a year they took over the complete community, setting up their headquarters in a dwelling on the Bavarian side, adorning it with a image of Stalin and a communist symbol. The US forces convinced them to pull back to the other side of the stream. For a time, villagers could continue to hop over, though as controls became stricter they were obliged to present identity papers, although each person knew who they were, and to go back at after dark.
After that, in 1952, came barbed wire and the official sealing of the border. In 1966, as in Berlin half a decade before, a concrete structure was built, with landmines, vehicle barriers and observation points. The residents could still see each other by scaling hills, but on the Soviet side gesturing and shouting were forbidden. A local woman was added to a GDR intelligence surveillance list for replying “back at you” to a Bavarian local who greeted her “happy new year”.
I heard narratives including these by Robert Lebegern, the museum’s director, who has devoted a significant portion of his professional career creating it. Villagers were polled at an early stage about how how long a section structure they wanted to keep. They selected a section on the western edge, near where a local resident was able to get away in the middle of the night with a scaling tool, subsequently the border was heavily reinforced.
2 observation towers are conserved alongside a set of displays illustrating the most dramatic moments in the community’s past. As we move, the director lists the restrictions: nobody could get closer than 5km of the frontier. Farmers needed specific authorization to look after their crops; the partner could operate the agricultural equipment but under no circumstances both, lest they tried to make a run for it. Armed guards were on duty.
The frontier between Western Germany and the GDR extended nearly 900 miles, from the Baltic coast in the north to here in the south. Berlin is remembered and documented the greatest, but more than two times more individuals (more than 300) died trying to cross it in rural areas than in the metropolis. Robert Lebegern informs me that 95% of escape attempts failed.
The greater part of Mödlareuth’s locals were farmers or craftsmen, who adjusted to living in the grey zone between a pair of political systems by keeping their heads down and looking after their farms. They nor did they endorsed the communist regime nor fought it, the director explains.
For sightseers, however, the settlement became a type of destination. About fifteen thousand visited each year, binoculars in hand, to look – and then rapidly go away. In 1983, the American president, George Bush, was shown around by the national security head.
Twenty-five years after unification, the TV show, a television program about a fictional hamlet similar to Mödlareuth, resulted in fresh attention.
The launch of the recently established museum – with a cafe, boutique, movie theater and big car park – is expected to
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