An brook so low you hardly got your feet wet divided a settlement for in excess of four decades. Because of a chance of landscape, the fifty residents of Mödlareuth, a hamlet bordered by evergreen groves, meadows and stunning views, found themselves at the core of the cold war. They had the bad luck to span Bavaria, in the Federal Republic of Germany, and Thuringia in the East, a frontier that was demarcated first by a barrier and then by a partition. American soldiers nicknamed it Mini Berlin.
Several months after their own barrier was breached, and even before their country had become one in 1990, a assembly of villagers started documenting their history. The effort is about to reach completion: on 9 November, the thirty-sixth commemoration of the demolition of the German barrier, the German-German Museum Mödlareuth will inaugurate. It was publicly opened by the federal president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the beginning of October, but the show was not entirely ready. Speaking to the residents who lived through the former times, Steinmeier said: “You were observers of an inhuman split, which pulled relatives asunder and turned local residents into strangers.”
“You were observers of an inhuman separation, which pulled families apart and turned neighbours into strangers.”
Right from its establishment in 1810, the community straddled the Royal Bavaria and the Princely State of Reuss, a royal family most renowned for giving all its male descendants the title Heinrich and numbering them consecutively by birth order. As Steinmeier related to the crowd, the oddity was never an obstacle in the path of the inhabitants drinking in the identical inn, attending the same place of worship and enrolling their young ones to the identical educational institution.
Subsequently occurred the World War II. Immediately after they appeared, the Soviet forces erected timber poles by the creek. For a twelve months they took over the whole village, establishing their command in a house on the Bavarian territory side, adorning it with a portrait of Stalin and a red star. The Americans persuaded them to pull back across the creek. For a while, locals could still cross over, though as limitations tightened they were required to present ID, despite the fact that each person knew who they were, and to return at after dark.
Then, in 1952, came metal barriers and the official sealing of the border. In 1966, as in Berlin previously in 1961, a wall was built, with explosives, vehicle barriers and guard posts. The residents could still see each other by climbing elevations, but on the eastern side gesturing and shouting were banned. One woman was added to a Stasi monitoring list for answering “same to you” to a Bavarian villager who wished her “prosperous new year”.
I heard accounts including these by Robert Lebegern, the head of the institution, who has spent a large part of his professional career creating it. Residents were polled early on about how what length of wall they desired to keep. They selected a stretch on the western perimeter, adjacent to where a villager was able to escape in the dead of night with a scaling tool, subsequently the boundary was heavily reinforced.
A pair of watchtowers are conserved alongside a set of tableaux showing the most significant events in the hamlet’s past. As we move, the director enumerates the regulations: not a single person could come within 5km of the border. Rural residents required particular approval to care for their fields; the husband or wife could use the harvesting machine but under no circumstances both, lest they tried to make a run for it. Armed guards kept guard.
The border between West Germany and the GDR ran nearly 900 miles, from the Baltic coast in the northern part to here in the south. Berlin is recalled and honored the most, but over double the number individuals (exceeding 300) were killed trying to cross it in rural areas than in the urban center. the director reminds me that 95 percent of attempts to flee did not succeed.
The majority of Mödlareuth’s residents were agricultural workers or artisans, who accommodated to living in the grey zone between a pair of ideological spheres by keeping their heads down and tending to their farms. They neither backed the socialist government nor resisted it, Robert Lebegern states.
For tourists, however, the village became a type of pilgrimage. Roughly fifteen thousand visited annually, binoculars in their hands, to stare – and then rapidly depart. In 1983, the US president, George Bush, was given a tour by the national security head.
Twenty five years after merger, Tannbach, a broadcast production about a made-up community resembling Mödlareuth, led to fresh attention.
The inauguration of the modern exhibition center – with a restaurant, boutique, movie theater and big vehicle area – is likely to
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