An creek so low you barely got your ankles wet separated a community for in excess of four decades worth of time. Due to a quirk of topography, the 50 residents of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement bordered by pine forests, meadows and spectacular views, found themselves at the heart of the Cold War conflict. They had the unfortunate circumstance to cross Bavaria, in Western Germany, and Thuringia in the Soviet sector, a border that was established first by a barrier and then by a wall. US troops called it Mini Berlin.
A few months after their own wall was torn down, and prior to their state had reunified in 1990, a assembly of villagers set about memorialising their past. The work is close to be completed: on 9 November, the thirty-sixth commemoration of the collapse of the German barrier, the German-German Museum Mödlareuth will open. It was officially launched by the national president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the first part of October, but the exhibition wasn’t quite prepared. Speaking to the villagers who lived through the past era, Steinmeier said: “You were observers of an inhuman division, which tore households asunder and turned local residents into aliens.”
“You were bystanders of an inhuman division, which pulled households apart and turned neighbors into strangers.”
Right from its establishment in 1810, the village spanned the Kingdom of Bavaria and the Princely State of Reuss, a royal family most famous for giving all its male members the title Heinrich and counting them in order by birth order. As Steinmeier informed the crowd, the quirk never stood in the way of the inhabitants drinking in the identical pub, going to the identical church and sending their young ones to the same learning center.
Then came the World War II. Immediately after they appeared, the Russian troops erected timber poles by the creek. For a twelve months they seized the whole hamlet, creating their headquarters in a building on the Bavarian side, embellishing it with a picture of Stalin and a red star. The Americans convinced them to retreat to the other side of the stream. For a time, villagers could still hop over, though as restrictions increased they were obliged to display ID, despite the fact that everyone understood who they were, and to come back at evening.
After that, in 1952, came metal barriers and the legal sealing of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin half a decade before, a barrier was built, with landmines, vehicle barriers and observation points. The residents could still observe each other by scaling hills, but on the east side gesturing and shouting were forbidden. A female resident was added to a East German secret police surveillance list for replying “likewise” to a West German local who wished her “good new year”.
I heard stories like these incidents by Robert Lebegern, the museum’s director, who has spent a large part of his occupational time creating it. Residents were polled in the initial phases about how what length of barrier they wished to maintain. They selected a portion on the west edge, near where a local resident managed to flee in the middle of the night with a scaling tool, after which the frontier was substantially strengthened.
Two guard towers are maintained together with a set of displays depicting the most impactful moments in the hamlet’s chronicle. As we walk, Robert Lebegern details the restrictions: not a single person could approach 5km of the frontier. Agricultural workers had to obtain special permission to tend to their produce; the spouse could work the harvesting machine but never the two, for fear that they sought to escape. Military personnel were on duty.
The border between West Germany and the GDR ran 1,400km, from the Baltic coast in the north to this location in the southern region. Berlin is commemorated and documented the most frequently, but in excess of double the number people (exceeding 300) were killed seeking to traverse it in countryside regions than in the metropolis. Robert Lebegern reminds me that almost all of attempts to flee were unsuccessful.
The majority of Mödlareuth’s residents were agricultural workers or craftsmen, who adjusted to dwelling in the uncertain territory between a pair of ideological spheres by staying low-profile and caring for their land. They did not backed the socialist government nor resisted it, Lebegern explains.
For visitors, however, the hamlet became a type of site of interest. About 15k came to visit every year, viewing tools in hand, to gawp – and then swiftly depart. In 1983, the American president, George Bush, was guided by the national security head.
25 years after unification, Tannbach, a television program about a fictional village like Mödlareuth, resulted in fresh curiosity.
The launch of the recently established museum – with a cafe, store, cinema room and big car park – is expected to
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