A creek so low you hardly got your ankles wet split a community for over four decades of time. By an accident of topography, the 50 inhabitants of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement bordered by pine forests, fields and breathtaking views, found themselves at the core of the Cold War tensions. They had the bad luck to span the Bavarian region, in West Germany, and the Thuringian region in the East, a frontier that was demarcated first by a fence and then by a partition. United States military personnel nicknamed it Little Berlin.
Months after their own wall was torn down, and even before their state had become one in 1990, a collection of local people began commemorating their history. The effort is about to be completed: on 9 November, the 36th annual remembrance of the collapse of the German barrier, the Deutsch-Deutsches Museum Mödlareuth will inaugurate. It was officially launched by the national president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the first part of October, but the display was not entirely finished. Telling the locals who endured the old days, Steinmeier stated: “You were witnesses of an inhuman split, which tore families into pieces and turned neighbors into strangers.”
“You were observers of an cruel split, which tore families apart and turned neighbours into aliens.”
Even at its establishment in 1810, the hamlet cut across the Kingdom of Bavaria and the Princely State of Reuss, a noble lineage most renowned for assigning all its male members the title Heinrich and numbering them consecutively by birth. As Steinmeier told the gathering, the oddity did not stand in the path of the residents drinking in the same inn, going to the same church and enrolling their children to the same learning center.
Then came the World War II. The moment they appeared, the Russians put up wooden posts by the brook. For a year they seized the whole village, establishing their control center in a building on the Bavarian territory side, adorning it with a image of Stalin and a communist symbol. The US forces urged them to withdraw back over the stream. For a while, residents could still hop over, though as restrictions became stricter they were required to present identity papers, despite the fact that each person was aware who they were, and to return at night.
After that, in 1952, came metal barriers and the official shutting of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin half a decade before, a barrier was erected, with landmines, tank traps and guard posts. The locals could still see each other by climbing elevations, but on the east side gesturing and yelling were banned. One woman was added to a East German secret police monitoring list for responding “likewise” to a West German local who greeted her “good new year”.
It was related to me narratives such as these tales by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has devoted a significant portion of his working life building it. Villagers were asked at an early stage about how how long a section structure they wanted to preserve. They chose a section on the Bavarian fringe, near where one of their own succeeded to escape in the middle of the night with a scaling tool, after which the frontier was significantly fortified.
A pair of guard towers are conserved alongside a set of displays illustrating the most dramatic dates in the hamlet’s history. As we move, Lebergen lists the rules: nobody could approach 5km of the frontier. Agricultural workers needed specific authorization to look after their produce; the husband or wife could use the agricultural equipment but never the two, in case they sought to flee. Armed guards stood watch.
The frontier between West Germany and the GDR extended 1,400 kilometers, from the northern sea in the northern part to the south in the south. Berlin is commemorated and memorialised the most frequently, but in excess of double the number persons (well over 300) lost their lives seeking to pass over it in provincial zones than in the big city. Lebegern informs me that almost all of escape attempts did not succeed.
The majority of Mödlareuth’s locals were agricultural workers or artisans, who accommodated to living in the uncertain territory between two political systems by staying low-profile and looking after their farms. They did not backed the East German authorities nor fought it, Lebegern states.
For visitors, however, the hamlet became a sort of pilgrimage. About 15,000 came to visit annually, optical devices in their hands, to gawp – and then rapidly leave. In 1983, the US president, George Bush, was guided by the German defense official.
Twenty-five years after merger, Tannbach, a television program about a imaginary hamlet similar to Mödlareuth, resulted in new attention.
The opening of the modern exhibition center – with a coffee shop, shop, film screening area and sizable parking lot – is likely to