A brook so narrow you scarcely got your feet wet divided a community for more than four decades of time. Due to a quirk of geography, the half a hundred residents of Mödlareuth, a hamlet encircled by pine forests, pastures and breathtaking views, found themselves at the center of the cold war. They had the unfortunate circumstance to cross Bavaria, in West Germany, and the Thuringian region in the Eastern part, a frontier that was marked first by a fence and then by a wall. United States military personnel dubbed it Mini Berlin.
A few months after their own barrier was breached, and prior to their country had become one in 1990, a assembly of villagers started memorialising their heritage. The work is soon to be completed: on 9 November, the 36th annual remembrance of the demolition of the Wall in Berlin, the Museum of German Division Mödlareuth will begin operations. It was publicly opened by the head of state, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the first part of October, but the show was not entirely prepared. Addressing the villagers who lived through the past era, Steinmeier remarked: “You were witnesses of an cruel division, which ripped relatives asunder and turned local residents into aliens.”
“You were observers of an inhuman split, which ripped households apart and turned neighbours into foreigners.”
Right from its founding in 1810, the village cut across the Kingdom of Bavaria and the Princely State of Reuss, a noble lineage most famous for giving all its male members the designation Heinrich and numbering them sequentially by date of birth. As Steinmeier related to the audience, the quirk never stood in the path of the inhabitants socializing in the same inn, going to the same church and enrolling their young ones to the identical educational institution.
Subsequently occurred the second world war. As soon as they appeared, the Soviet forces erected timber poles by the creek. For a annual period they seized the whole village, setting up their headquarters in a house on the Bavarian territory side, embellishing it with a portrait of Stalin and a red star. The American soldiers convinced them to retreat back over the creek. For a period, residents could continue to hop over, though as controls became stricter they were forced to display identity papers, although everyone was aware who they were, and to come back at evening.
Subsequently, in 1952, came barbed wire and the formal shutting of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin half a decade before, a barrier was built, with mines, tank traps and observation points. The locals could still observe each other by ascending hills, but on the Soviet side waving and calling out were banned. One woman was put on a GDR intelligence surveillance list for responding “same to you” to a West German resident who said her “prosperous new year”.
It was related to me stories including these tales by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has dedicated much of his professional career creating it. Villagers were asked in the initial phases about how how long a section barrier they desired to preserve. They opted for a section on the western perimeter, adjacent to where a local resident was able to get away in the middle of the night with a climbing device, subsequently the border was heavily reinforced.
A pair of guard towers are maintained in addition to a set of tableaux showing the most significant dates in the hamlet’s past. As we stroll, Lebergen lists the restrictions: not a single person could come within 5km of the boundary. Agricultural workers had to obtain specific authorization to tend to their produce; the spouse could operate the combine harvester but under no circumstances the two, for fear that they tried to escape. Military personnel stood watch.
The frontier between the Federal Republic and the East Germany ran nearly 900 miles, from the Baltic coast in the north to here in the south. Berlin is recalled and honored the most, but more than double the number persons (exceeding 300) died attempting to traverse it in rural areas than in the big city. Lebegern informs me that almost all of escape attempts failed.
The majority of Mödlareuth’s locals were agricultural workers or craftsmen, who accommodated to residing in the ambiguous area between two political systems by keeping their heads down and tending to their farms. They neither endorsed the East German authorities nor opposed it, Robert Lebegern explains.
For tourists, however, the settlement became a type of site of interest. Approximately 15k came to visit each year, binoculars in hand, to stare – and then swiftly depart. In 1983, the US president, George Bush, was guided by the German defense official.
Twenty five years after merger, the TV show, a television program about a imaginary village similar to Mödlareuth, led to fresh interest.
The launch of the modern exhibition center – with a coffee shop, shop, cinema room and sizable parking lot – is expected to
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