An brook so shallow you barely got your ankles wet separated a settlement for over four decades. Because of a chance of landscape, the 50 residents of Mödlareuth, a small village surrounded by evergreen groves, fields and stunning scenery, found themselves at the core of the Cold War conflict. They had the unfortunate circumstance to straddle Bavaria, in the Federal Republic of Germany, and the Thuringian region in the Eastern part, a boundary that was marked first by a enclosure and then by a barricade. United States military personnel dubbed it Mini Berlin.
Months after their own wall was torn down, and prior to their nation had become one in 1990, a group of residents started memorialising their history. The work is about to be completed: on 9 November, the 36th anniversary of the demolition of the Wall in Berlin, the Deutsch-Deutsches Museum Mödlareuth will inaugurate. It was publicly launched by the head of state, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the beginning of October, but the display wasn’t quite prepared. Telling the locals who endured the former times, Steinmeier remarked: “You were bystanders of an brutal split, which pulled families apart and turned local residents into aliens.”
“You were witnesses of an cruel separation, which tore households apart and turned local residents into aliens.”
Even at its creation in 1810, the village spanned the Bavarian Kingdom and the Principality of Reuss, a noble lineage most famous for assigning all its men the designation Heinrich and counting them consecutively by date of birth. As Steinmeier informed the crowd, the peculiarity never stood in the path of the residents gathering in the very same inn, visiting the identical place of worship and sending their children to the identical educational institution.
Then came the global conflict. The moment they arrived, the Soviet forces erected wooden posts by the stream. For a twelve months they occupied the entire hamlet, creating their control center in a dwelling on the Bavarian territory side, embellishing it with a portrait of Stalin and a red star. The US forces convinced them to pull back back over the brook. For a period, residents could still cross over, though as limitations tightened they were forced to display identification, despite the fact that everyone understood who they were, and to come back at night.
After that, in 1952, came metal barriers and the official sealing of the frontier. In 1966, as in Berlin five years earlier, a wall was erected, with mines, vehicle barriers and guard posts. The villagers could still see each other by climbing slopes, but on the Soviet side gesturing and shouting were prohibited. One woman was put on a GDR intelligence watch list for responding “back at you” to a Bavarian resident who greeted her “happy new year”.
I was told accounts including these incidents by Robert Lebegern, the head of the institution, who has devoted a large part of his working life building it. Villagers were asked early on about how much structure they desired to keep. They chose a portion on the western perimeter, adjacent to where one of their own was able to flee in the middle of the night with a scaling tool, after which the boundary was substantially fortified.
Two watchtowers are conserved together with a series of exhibits showing the most impactful dates in the village’s past. As we move, the director details the regulations: nobody could come within 5km of the boundary. Rural residents required specific authorization to tend to their fields; the partner could work the harvesting machine but under no circumstances the two, for fear that they attempted to make a run for it. Military personnel kept guard.
The frontier between the Federal Republic and the GDR extended 1,400km, from the Baltic Sea in the north to here in the south. Berlin is recalled and memorialised the most frequently, but in excess of twice as many people (exceeding 300) lost their lives trying to pass over it in rural areas than in the metropolis. Lebegern informs me that 95 percent of attempts to flee were unsuccessful.
The greater part of Mödlareuth’s residents were agricultural workers or skilled workers, who accommodated to living in the uncertain territory between two ideological spheres by staying low-profile and caring for their fields. They neither backed the socialist government nor opposed it, Robert Lebegern explains.
For sightseers, however, the hamlet became a type of site of interest. Roughly fifteen thousand came to visit annually, binoculars in possession, to gawp – and then swiftly depart. In 1983, the US president, George Bush, was given a tour by the German defense official.
25 years after reunification, the television series, a television program about a made-up hamlet similar to Mödlareuth, caused new attention.
The inauguration of the recently established museum – with a cafe, boutique, cinema room and big vehicle area – is expected to
Elena Voss is a seasoned journalist and editor with over a decade of experience in digital media, specializing in global affairs and tech trends.