A stream so narrow you hardly got your feet wet divided a community for in excess of four decades of time. Due to a quirk of landscape, the 50 inhabitants of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement surrounded by coniferous woods, fields and stunning views, found themselves at the heart of the Cold War tensions. They had the unfortunate circumstance to straddle the Bavarian region, in the Federal Republic of Germany, and the Thuringian region in the Soviet sector, a frontier that was demarcated first by a fence and then by a barricade. United States military personnel nicknamed it Little Berlin.
Several months after their own wall was breached, and prior to their country had reunified in 1990, a group of residents started memorialising their heritage. The effort is close to come to fruition: on 9 November, the 36th annual remembrance of the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Deutsch-Deutsches Museum Mödlareuth will begin operations. It was formally inaugurated by the federal president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the beginning of October, but the exhibition wasn’t quite finished. Telling the villagers who experienced the former times, Steinmeier stated: “You were bystanders of an cruel split, which ripped relatives asunder and turned neighbours into foreigners.”
“You were witnesses of an cruel division, which ripped families asunder and turned local residents into foreigners.”
Right from its establishment in 1810, the hamlet cut across the Royal Bavaria and the Principality of Reuss, a princely house most famous for assigning all its male members the designation Heinrich and labeling them in order by birth order. As Steinmeier informed the audience, the quirk never stood in the path of the locals drinking in the same inn, going to the identical place of worship and sending their young ones to the identical learning center.
Then came the second world war. The moment they came, the Russians installed timber poles by the creek. For a year they occupied the entire hamlet, establishing their command in a dwelling on the Bavarian territory side, decorating it with a portrait of Stalin and a communist symbol. The US forces persuaded them to withdraw back over the brook. For a while, locals could continue to cross over, though as limitations became stricter they were required to display identity papers, despite the fact that all knew who they were, and to go back at after dark.
Then, in 1952, came wire fencing and the legal shutting of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin previously in 1961, a barrier was erected, with landmines, tank traps and guard posts. The residents could still observe each other by ascending slopes, but on the Soviet side waving and yelling were banned. A local woman was added to a GDR intelligence surveillance list for responding “back at you” to a western resident who greeted her “happy new year”.
I heard narratives like these tales by Robert Lebegern, the head of the institution, who has spent a significant portion of his professional career developing it. Locals were polled early on about how much structure they desired to preserve. They opted for a stretch on the Bavarian edge, near where a local resident managed to get away in the dead of night with a climbing device, subsequently the frontier was substantially strengthened.
2 guard towers are conserved alongside a series of exhibits illustrating the most impactful moments in the hamlet’s past. As we move, the director lists the restrictions: nobody could approach 5km of the boundary. Agricultural workers required special permission to tend to their produce; the husband or wife could use the agricultural equipment but not both, in case they attempted to escape. Soldiers were on duty.
The boundary between West Germany and the East Germany ran 1,400km, from the Baltic Sea in the northern part to the south in the south. Berlin is recalled and documented the greatest, but over double the number people (exceeding 300) died attempting to pass over it in countryside regions than in the big city. Robert Lebegern tells me that 95 percent of efforts to cross did not succeed.
Most of Mödlareuth’s locals were farmers or craftsmen, who adapted to dwelling in the ambiguous area between 2 ideological spheres by staying low-profile and looking after their farms. They nor did they endorsed the socialist government nor opposed it, the director explains.
For visitors, however, the village became a type of site of interest. Roughly fifteen thousand came to see each year, binoculars in possession, to gawp – and then rapidly go away. In 1983, the American president, George Bush, was shown around by the German defense official.
Twenty five years after unification, Tannbach, a broadcast production about a made-up village resembling Mödlareuth, caused new attention.
The launch of the recently established museum – with a cafe, shop, movie theater and large car park – is expected to