A stream so low you barely got your feet wet split a settlement for over four decades of time. Due to a quirk of geography, the 50 residents of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement surrounded by evergreen groves, meadows and spectacular scenery, found themselves at the center of the Cold War tensions. They had the misfortune to straddle the Bavarian region, in Western Germany, and Thuringia in the East, a border that was demarcated first by a barrier and then by a wall. United States military personnel called it Little Berlin.
Months after their own division was opened, and even before their nation had reunified in 1990, a collection of residents set about documenting their past. The effort is about to reach completion: on 9 November, the 36th annual commemoration of the demolition of the Berlin Wall, the Deutsch-Deutsches Museum Mödlareuth will begin operations. It was publicly opened by the national president, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in early October, but the show was not completely prepared. Telling the villagers who endured the old days, Steinmeier remarked: “You were observers of an cruel division, which ripped families apart and turned neighbors into foreigners.”
“You were witnesses of an brutal split, which pulled relatives apart and turned neighbours into strangers.”
Even at its founding in 1810, the community straddled the Royal Bavaria and the Principality of Reuss, a princely house best known for assigning all its male members the title Heinrich and labeling them in order by date of birth. As Steinmeier related to the crowd, the peculiarity never stood in the path of the residents drinking in the same pub, visiting the identical church and placing their kids to the same educational institution.
Then came the World War II. The moment they arrived, the Russians erected wooden posts by the stream. For a twelve months they took over the whole village, establishing their headquarters in a house on the Bavarian side, embellishing it with a picture of Stalin and a red star. The US forces urged them to retreat across the stream. For a period, villagers could still jump across, though as controls increased they were obliged to display identification, despite the fact that everyone knew who they were, and to go back at night.
Subsequently, in 1952, came wire fencing and the official shutting of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin five years earlier, a wall was constructed, with explosives, anti-tank obstacles and watchtowers. The residents could still see each other by ascending elevations, but on the eastern side gesturing and yelling were prohibited. A local woman was put on a GDR intelligence monitoring list for replying “same to you” to a western villager who greeted her “happy new year”.
It was related to me narratives like these by Robert Lebegern, the director of the museum, who has spent a significant portion of his professional career building it. Residents were consulted early on about how much barrier they wished to preserve. They chose a stretch on the west perimeter, near where a villager managed to flee in the dead of night with a ladder, after which the frontier was substantially reinforced.
A pair of observation towers are preserved together with a collection of tableaux showing the most impactful moments in the community’s history. As we walk, the director enumerates the restrictions: no one could get closer than 5km of the frontier. Rural residents required particular approval to tend to their fields; the spouse could work the agricultural equipment but not both, for fear that they sought to make a run for it. Armed guards stood watch.
The frontier between West Germany and the GDR ran nearly 900 miles, from the northern sea in the north to here in the southern region. Berlin is commemorated and documented the most, but more than two times more individuals (well over 300) died attempting to cross it in provincial zones than in the metropolis. the director tells me that almost all of escape attempts did not succeed.
Most of Mödlareuth’s residents were agricultural workers or artisans, who adjusted to residing in the uncertain territory between 2 ideological spheres by staying low-profile and looking after their farms. They nor did they supported the communist regime nor fought it, the director states.
For tourists, however, the settlement became a sort of destination. Approximately 15k visited every year, optical devices in possession, to look – and then swiftly leave. In 1983, the US president, George Bush, was given a tour by the German defense official.
Twenty five years after merger, the TV show, a TV series about a imaginary village similar to Mödlareuth, resulted in fresh curiosity.
The inauguration of the recently established museum – with a coffee shop, store, cinema room and sizable car park – is probable to
Lena Voss is a tech enthusiast and writer, passionate about unraveling complex topics for curious minds.