An creek so narrow you hardly got your ankles wet divided a village for over four decades. By an accident of geography, the half a hundred locals of Mödlareuth, a hamlet bordered by coniferous woods, fields and stunning vistas, found themselves at the core of the Cold War conflict. They had the unfortunate circumstance to cross the Bavarian region, in West Germany, and Thuringia in the Eastern part, a boundary that was demarcated first by a enclosure and then by a wall. United States military personnel called it Small Berlin.
Months after their own barrier was breached, and prior to their state had become one in 1990, a assembly of villagers set about commemorating their history. The project is soon to be completed: on 9 November, the 36th annual remembrance of the fall of the Wall in Berlin, the Museum of German Division Mödlareuth will inaugurate. It was formally opened by the head of state, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in early October, but the display wasn’t quite finished. Telling the locals who endured the former times, Steinmeier said: “You were observers of an brutal division, which ripped relatives apart and turned local residents into strangers.”
“You were observers of an inhuman split, which tore families asunder and turned local residents into strangers.”
Even at its establishment in 1810, the village straddled the Kingdom of Bavaria and the Reuss Principality, a noble lineage most famous for bestowing all its men the designation Heinrich and numbering them sequentially by birth. As Steinmeier informed the gathering, the quirk was never an obstacle in the way of the residents socializing in the identical tavern, visiting the very same religious building and sending their kids to the identical school.
Subsequently occurred the World War II. Immediately after they arrived, the Russians put up wooden posts by the creek. For a twelve months they occupied the entire village, creating their command in a dwelling on the western side, decorating it with a image of Stalin and a Soviet emblem. The US forces persuaded them to pull back across the stream. For a time, residents could continue to cross over, though as restrictions tightened they were forced to show ID, even though all was aware who they were, and to come back at night.
Subsequently, in 1952, came barbed wire and the formal shutting of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin previously in 1961, a barrier was built, with landmines, tank traps and watchtowers. The residents could still see each other by scaling hills, but on the eastern side signaling and yelling were banned. A female resident was placed on a Stasi watch list for answering “back at you” to a western villager who said her “happy new year”.
I heard stories such as these incidents by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has devoted a large part of his professional career creating it. Locals were asked in the initial phases about how how long a section barrier they wished to preserve. They opted for a portion on the western fringe, near where one of their own succeeded to escape in the dead of night with a ladder, subsequently the border was substantially fortified.
A pair of guard towers are preserved alongside a set of exhibits illustrating the most dramatic events in the hamlet’s chronicle. As we walk, Lebergen lists the rules: no one could approach 5km of the border. Rural residents had to obtain particular approval to care for their fields; the partner could work the combine harvester but under no circumstances the pair, for fear that they tried to escape. Military personnel were on duty.
The border between the Federal Republic and the GDR ran 1,400 kilometers, from the Baltic Sea in the north to here in the southern region. Berlin is recalled and honored the greatest, but over twice as many individuals (well over 300) died attempting to cross it in countryside regions than in the big city. Lebegern tells me that 95 percent of efforts to cross were unsuccessful.
Most of Mödlareuth’s villagers were farmers or craftsmen, who adjusted to residing in the ambiguous area between two belief systems by keeping their heads down and tending to their fields. They nor did they backed the communist regime nor fought it, Lebegern explains.
For tourists, however, the hamlet became a kind of pilgrimage. Roughly 15,000 came to see every year, viewing tools in possession, to look – and then swiftly leave. In 1983, the American president, George Bush, was given a tour by the national security head.
Twenty five years after reunification, Tannbach, a TV series about a made-up community like Mödlareuth, caused new curiosity.
The launch of the modern exhibition center – with a cafe, store, film screening area and large vehicle area – is expected to