A brook so shallow you scarcely got your ankles wet split a village for over four decades. Because of a chance of landscape, the fifty inhabitants of Mödlareuth, a hamlet bordered by coniferous woods, pastures and breathtaking views, found themselves at the core of the cold war. They had the bad luck to cross Bavaria, in the Federal Republic of Germany, and the Thuringian region in the Soviet sector, a frontier that was demarcated first by a enclosure and then by a barricade. American soldiers nicknamed it Mini Berlin.
Months after their own division was opened, and before their country had reunified in 1990, a group of local people began commemorating their history. The work is close to reach completion: on 9 November, the 36th annual commemoration of the collapse of the German barrier, the German-German Museum Mödlareuth will begin operations. It was formally inaugurated by the federal president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the beginning of October, but the exhibition was not completely prepared. Telling the locals who endured the old days, Steinmeier stated: “You were bystanders of an brutal separation, which tore families apart and turned local residents into foreigners.”
“You were bystanders of an cruel division, which ripped relatives into pieces and turned neighbours into foreigners.”
Starting at its establishment in 1810, the village cut across the Royal Bavaria and the Reuss Principality, a royal family most renowned for giving all its male members the designation Heinrich and labeling 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 very same tavern, attending the identical place of worship and enrolling their children to the identical school.
Next arrived the global conflict. The moment they arrived, the Russians installed timber poles by the creek. For a annual period they seized the entire community, setting up their headquarters in a building on the Bavarian side, embellishing it with a picture of Stalin and a red star. The American soldiers urged them to pull back across the stream. For a while, villagers could still cross over, though as controls tightened they were required to show identification, even though all was aware who they were, and to go back at evening.
After that, in 1952, came barbed wire and the legal sealing of the border. In 1966, as in Berlin previously in 1961, a concrete structure was erected, with explosives, vehicle barriers and observation points. The locals could continue to observe each other by climbing elevations, but on the Soviet side gesturing and shouting were prohibited. One woman was put on a GDR intelligence surveillance list for replying “likewise” to a Bavarian local who greeted her “happy new year”.
I heard stories such as these incidents by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has devoted much of his working life developing it. Locals were asked at an early stage about how what length of structure they wished to preserve. They chose a portion on the Bavarian perimeter, adjacent to where a local resident managed to escape in the middle of the night with a climbing device, after which the frontier was substantially fortified.
2 watchtowers are maintained together with a series of exhibits depicting the most impactful events in the community’s past. As we stroll, Lebergen details the rules: nobody could come within 5km of the frontier. Farmers required special permission to tend to their crops; the partner could work the combine harvester but not both, in case they tried to make a run for it. Soldiers kept guard.
The boundary between the Federal Republic and the GDR ran 1,400km, from the Baltic Sea in the northern part to this location in the south. Berlin is recalled and documented the most frequently, but in excess of twice as many people (exceeding 300) were killed trying to traverse it in provincial zones than in the big city. Robert Lebegern informs me that 95 percent of efforts to cross did not succeed.
The majority of Mödlareuth’s villagers were agricultural workers or artisans, who adjusted to dwelling in the uncertain territory between a pair of ideological spheres by avoiding attention and looking after their fields. They neither supported the East German authorities nor fought it, Robert Lebegern clarifies.
For sightseers, however, the settlement became a kind of destination. Approximately 15,000 visited each year, binoculars in their hands, to gawp – and then rapidly leave. In 1983, the American president, George Bush, was guided by the German defence minister.
25 years after reunification, the TV show, a broadcast production about a made-up hamlet like Mödlareuth, led to new attention.
The inauguration of the recently established museum – with a coffee shop, boutique, movie theater and sizable car park – is expected to
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