A brook so low you hardly got your ankles wet separated a village for more than four decades. Because of a chance of topography, the 50 inhabitants of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement encircled by coniferous woods, pastures and breathtaking vistas, found themselves at the center of the Cold War tensions. They had the bad luck to span the Bavarian region, in West Germany, and Thuringia in the Soviet sector, a frontier that was established first by a enclosure and then by a wall. United States military personnel dubbed it Mini Berlin.
A few months after their own wall was opened, and even before their nation had become one in 1990, a group of local people set about memorialising their history. The project is close to be completed: on 9 November, the thirty-sixth commemoration of the collapse of the Berlin Wall, the Museum of German Division Mödlareuth will open. It was officially launched by the national president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the beginning of October, but the display was not entirely prepared. Telling the locals who lived through the old days, Steinmeier said: “You were bystanders of an brutal separation, which pulled households apart and turned neighbours into foreigners.”
“You were observers of an brutal split, which ripped households into pieces and turned neighbours into aliens.”
Starting at its creation in 1810, the hamlet spanned the Royal Bavaria and the Princely State of Reuss, a noble lineage most famous for giving all its male members the name Heinrich and numbering them sequentially by date of birth. As Steinmeier related to the crowd, the peculiarity did not stand in the manner of the inhabitants socializing in the identical pub, going to the same religious building and placing their young ones to the identical learning center.
Next arrived the second world war. The moment they appeared, the Russian troops installed wooden posts by the brook. For a annual period they took over the entire village, setting up their headquarters in a dwelling on the western side, embellishing it with a portrait of Stalin and a red star. The American soldiers persuaded them to pull back back over the stream. For a period, residents could still jump across, though as restrictions became stricter they were obliged to present identification, although everyone understood who they were, and to come back at after dark.
Subsequently, in 1952, came barbed wire and the legal sealing of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin previously in 1961, a barrier was built, with mines, anti-tank obstacles and watchtowers. The villagers could continue to view each other by climbing elevations, but on the Soviet side signaling and shouting were banned. One woman was placed on a Stasi surveillance list for responding “likewise” to a western resident who said her “happy new year”.
I was told accounts like these tales by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has spent a significant portion of his working life developing it. Locals were consulted early on about how much structure they desired to keep. They selected a portion on the Bavarian fringe, near where one of their own managed to flee in the darkest hours with a climbing device, subsequently the frontier was heavily reinforced.
2 guard towers are preserved in addition to a set of tableaux showing the most dramatic moments in the hamlet’s history. As we move, Robert Lebegern details the restrictions: not a single person could come within 5km of the border. Agricultural workers had to obtain particular approval to care for their fields; the husband or wife could use the combine harvester but never the pair, lest they attempted to flee. Armed guards kept guard.
The frontier between West Germany and the GDR ran 1,400 kilometers, from the northern sea in the north to this location in the southern region. Berlin is remembered and documented the most frequently, but more than double the number individuals (more than 300) died seeking to traverse it in countryside regions than in the big city. Robert Lebegern reminds me that 95 percent of efforts to cross were unsuccessful.
The majority of Mödlareuth’s locals were farmers or artisans, who adjusted to dwelling in the ambiguous area between 2 belief systems by staying low-profile and looking after their farms. They did not supported the socialist government nor opposed it, Lebegern clarifies.
For tourists, however, the settlement became a type of site of interest. About 15,000 visited annually, viewing tools in their hands, to look – and then swiftly depart. In 1983, the US president, George Bush, was shown around by the national security head.
Twenty five years after reunification, Tannbach, a television program about a made-up community similar to Mödlareuth, led to new curiosity.
The opening of the new museum – with a coffee shop, shop, movie theater and sizable parking lot – is likely to
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