An brook so low you scarcely got your feet wet split a settlement for over four decades worth of time. Because of a chance of geography, the half a hundred locals of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement bordered by pine forests, fields and stunning vistas, found themselves at the center of the Cold War tensions. They had the unfortunate circumstance to cross the Bavarian region, in the Federal Republic of Germany, and Thuringia in the East, a boundary that was marked first by a fence and then by a partition. United States military personnel nicknamed it Small Berlin.
A few months after their own wall was breached, and even before their country had reunified in 1990, a group of villagers began documenting their past. The work is close to reach completion: on 9 November, the 36th annual anniversary of the collapse of the German barrier, the Museum of German Division Mödlareuth will inaugurate. It was publicly inaugurated by the federal president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in early October, but the show was not completely ready. Speaking to the villagers who endured the former times, Steinmeier said: “You were bystanders of an inhuman division, which ripped families asunder and turned neighbors into foreigners.”
“You were witnesses of an brutal split, which pulled relatives apart and turned local residents into aliens.”
Right from its establishment in 1810, the hamlet cut across the Kingdom of Bavaria and the Reuss Principality, a noble lineage most famous for giving all its male descendants the title Heinrich and labeling them in order by birth. As Steinmeier told the gathering, the quirk did not stand in the manner of the residents gathering in the very same tavern, visiting the identical religious building and enrolling their young ones to the same learning center.
Subsequently occurred the World War II. Immediately after they arrived, the Russians erected timber poles by the brook. For a annual period they seized the complete community, establishing their command in a dwelling on the Bavarian territory side, adorning it with a picture of Stalin and a communist symbol. The Americans urged them to pull back across the creek. For a period, residents could continue to hop over, though as restrictions increased they were forced to show ID, even though all knew who they were, and to come back at evening.
After that, in 1952, came metal barriers and the formal closing of the frontier. In 1966, as in Berlin five years earlier, a barrier was erected, with explosives, tank traps and watchtowers. The residents could still view each other by climbing hills, but on the Soviet side waving and calling out were forbidden. One woman was put on a GDR intelligence watch list for responding “back at you” to a Bavarian villager who greeted her “good new year”.
I heard accounts such as these tales by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has dedicated a significant portion of his professional career building it. Residents were asked early on about how how long a section structure they wanted to keep. They opted for a section on the west perimeter, adjacent to where a villager managed to get away in the middle of the night with a climbing device, after which the boundary was heavily reinforced.
2 observation towers are conserved alongside a collection of exhibits depicting the most impactful events in the hamlet’s chronicle. As we stroll, Lebergen enumerates the regulations: not a single person could come within 5km of the boundary. Agricultural workers needed special permission to tend to their produce; the husband or wife could operate the harvesting machine but never the two, in case they sought to make a run for it. Soldiers kept guard.
The boundary between West Germany and the GDR ran nearly 900 miles, from the northern sea in the north to this location in the south. Berlin is commemorated and documented the most frequently, but over twice as many people (well over 300) lost their lives trying to pass over it in provincial zones than in the metropolis. Robert Lebegern tells me that 95 percent of attempts to flee did not succeed.
Most of Mödlareuth’s residents were agricultural workers or skilled workers, who adapted to dwelling in the uncertain territory between a pair of ideological spheres by avoiding attention and caring for their land. They did not backed the socialist government nor fought it, Robert Lebegern states.
For tourists, however, the settlement became a sort of destination. Approximately 15,000 came to visit each year, optical devices in their hands, to stare – and then quickly leave. In 1983, the US president, George Bush, was given a tour by the national security head.
25 years after unification, Tannbach, a television program about a made-up village similar to Mödlareuth, resulted in renewed curiosity.
The inauguration of the recently established museum – with a restaurant, boutique, movie theater and large vehicle area – is probable to
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