A stream so low you barely got your feet wet split a settlement for in excess of four decades. By an accident of landscape, the half a hundred locals of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement encircled by coniferous woods, fields and breathtaking scenery, found themselves at the heart of the Cold War conflict. They had the misfortune to span Bavaria, in West Germany, and Thuringia in the Eastern part, a boundary that was demarcated first by a barrier and then by a barricade. American soldiers dubbed it Little Berlin.
Months after their own barrier was breached, and even before their nation had reunified in 1990, a collection of residents set about memorialising their heritage. The effort is close to come to fruition: on 9 November, the thirty-sixth commemoration of the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Museum of German Division Mödlareuth will inaugurate. It was officially inaugurated by the federal president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the first part of October, but the show wasn’t quite prepared. Speaking to the villagers who experienced the former times, Steinmeier stated: “You were witnesses of an brutal split, which ripped families apart and turned neighbours into foreigners.”
“You were bystanders of an inhuman separation, which ripped families into pieces and turned neighbors into aliens.”
Even at its establishment in 1810, the village straddled the Bavarian Kingdom and the Reuss Principality, a royal family best known for giving all its male descendants the title Heinrich and labeling them sequentially by birth. As Steinmeier informed the gathering, the quirk never stood in the way of the locals socializing in the identical tavern, attending the identical place of worship and placing their children to the identical learning center.
Next arrived the World War II. The moment they came, the Soviet forces put up wood stakes by the creek. For a twelve months they occupied the entire hamlet, setting up their headquarters in a house on the Bavarian territory side, decorating it with a image of Stalin and a communist symbol. The American soldiers persuaded them to withdraw to the other side of the brook. For a time, villagers could still cross over, though as controls tightened they were required to present identity papers, despite the fact that everyone knew who they were, and to go back at after dark.
After that, in 1952, came wire fencing and the formal sealing of the border. In 1966, as in Berlin five years earlier, a concrete structure was erected, with mines, tank traps and guard posts. The locals could still observe each other by ascending elevations, but on the east side signaling and shouting were prohibited. One woman was added to a GDR intelligence monitoring list for replying “likewise” to a western local who wished her “good new year”.
I was told stories including these tales by Robert Lebegern, the head of the institution, who has devoted a large part of his professional career building it. Locals were polled at an early stage about how much wall they desired to keep. They opted for a stretch on the western perimeter, adjacent to where a local resident was able to flee in the dead of night with a climbing device, following which the boundary was substantially strengthened.
Two watchtowers are preserved in addition to a series of displays showing the most significant moments in the community’s past. As we walk, Lebergen enumerates the rules: not a single person could approach 5km of the border. Rural residents needed specific authorization to tend to their fields; the spouse could work the combine harvester but under no circumstances both, lest they attempted to flee. Military personnel stood watch.
The boundary between Western Germany and the East Germany ran 1,400km, from the Baltic Sea in the northern part to here in the southern region. Berlin is commemorated and documented the most, but over twice as many people (exceeding 300) died trying to cross it in countryside regions than in the metropolis. the director tells me that 95 percent of efforts to cross were unsuccessful.
The majority of Mödlareuth’s locals were agricultural workers or skilled workers, who adjusted to residing in the uncertain territory between 2 ideological spheres by staying low-profile and caring for their land. They neither supported the communist regime nor opposed it, Robert Lebegern states.
For tourists, however, the hamlet became a sort of destination. About 15,000 came to visit each year, viewing tools in their hands, to gawp – and then rapidly go away. In 1983, the United States leader, George Bush, was shown around by the German defense official.
Twenty-five years after unification, the TV show, a TV series about a imaginary hamlet like Mödlareuth, resulted in new attention.
The opening of the recently established museum – with a restaurant, shop, film screening area and sizable car park – is probable to