An brook so low you barely got your feet wet divided a village for over four decades. Because of a chance of landscape, the 50 inhabitants of Mödlareuth, a hamlet encircled by evergreen groves, 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 Western Germany, and Thuringia in the Eastern part, a boundary that was established first by a barrier and then by a partition. United States military personnel called it Mini Berlin.
Months after their own wall was torn down, and before their nation had become one in 1990, a collection of local people began documenting their heritage. The effort is soon to be completed: on 9 November, the thirty-sixth remembrance of the fall of the German barrier, the German-German Museum Mödlareuth will open. It was formally inaugurated by the head of state, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the beginning of October, but the exhibition was not entirely finished. Speaking to the locals who lived through the old days, Steinmeier remarked: “You were bystanders of an brutal split, which ripped relatives apart and turned local residents into strangers.”
“You were bystanders of an inhuman split, which tore households asunder and turned neighbours into strangers.”
Even at its establishment in 1810, the hamlet cut across the Kingdom of Bavaria and the Princely State of Reuss, a noble lineage most famous for giving all its male members the title Heinrich and numbering them in order by birth. As Steinmeier told the crowd, the peculiarity was never an obstacle in the manner of the locals socializing in the very same inn, going to the same church and sending their children to the identical learning center.
Subsequently occurred the global conflict. The moment they appeared, the Russian troops installed timber poles by the stream. For a annual period they took over the complete hamlet, setting up their control center in a house on the western side, decorating it with a image of Stalin and a communist symbol. The US forces convinced them to retreat across the creek. For a while, villagers could still jump across, though as restrictions tightened they were forced to show identification, even though everyone was aware who they were, and to come back at night.
Subsequently, in 1952, came barbed wire and the official sealing of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin half a decade before, a barrier was constructed, with landmines, anti-tank obstacles and observation points. The locals could continue to see each other by scaling slopes, but on the east side waving and shouting were forbidden. One woman was added to a Stasi monitoring list for replying “same to you” to a West German local who said her “good new year”.
It was related to me narratives like these incidents by Robert Lebegern, the museum’s director, who has spent much of his working life creating it. Residents were polled in the initial phases about how much barrier they wanted to keep. They selected a section on the west perimeter, close to where a villager managed to get away in the middle of the night with a scaling tool, following which the boundary was significantly strengthened.
Two guard towers are preserved together with a set of exhibits illustrating the most significant dates in the community’s history. As we move, the director details the regulations: no one could approach 5km of the frontier. Agricultural workers needed specific authorization to tend to their produce; the spouse could work the agricultural equipment but under no circumstances the pair, for fear that they tried to escape. Armed guards kept guard.
The boundary between Western Germany and the East Germany ran 1,400km, from the northern sea in the northern part to the south in the southern region. Berlin is commemorated and honored the most, but in excess of two times more individuals (more than 300) died seeking to pass over it in countryside regions than in the metropolis. Lebegern informs me that 95 percent of attempts to flee were unsuccessful.
Most of Mödlareuth’s residents were rural laborers or artisans, who adjusted to dwelling in the uncertain territory between a pair of political systems by staying low-profile and looking after their fields. They nor did they supported the East German authorities nor fought it, Lebegern explains.
For tourists, however, the settlement became a kind of pilgrimage. About 15k came to visit annually, binoculars in their hands, to look – and then rapidly go away. In 1983, the American president, George Bush, was shown around by the German defense official.
Twenty five years after merger, the TV show, a broadcast production about a fictional hamlet like Mödlareuth, caused renewed interest.
The inauguration of the modern exhibition center – with a restaurant, shop, movie theater and sizable car park – is likely to
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