A stream so low you scarcely got your feet wet divided a community for more than four decades of time. By an accident of topography, the fifty inhabitants of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement surrounded by coniferous woods, meadows and spectacular scenery, found themselves at the core of the Cold War conflict. They had the bad luck to cross Bavaria, in West Germany, and the Thuringian region in the Eastern part, a border that was demarcated first by a barrier and then by a wall. United States military personnel dubbed it Mini Berlin.
A few months after their own division was opened, and prior to their state had reunified in 1990, a collection of villagers began documenting their heritage. The effort is close to reach completion: on 9 November, the 36th anniversary of the fall of the German barrier, the Museum of German Division Mödlareuth will open. It was officially opened by the head of state, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in early October, but the display wasn’t quite finished. Addressing the villagers who lived through the past era, Steinmeier stated: “You were witnesses of an cruel separation, which pulled relatives asunder and turned neighbours into strangers.”
“You were bystanders of an brutal split, which ripped relatives apart and turned neighbours into strangers.”
Even at its founding in 1810, the community straddled the Royal Bavaria and the Reuss Principality, a princely house most famous for bestowing all its men the designation Heinrich and counting them consecutively by birth. As Steinmeier informed the gathering, the quirk did not stand in the manner of the residents socializing in the very same pub, visiting the same place of worship and placing their children to the very same learning center.
Next arrived the World War II. Immediately after they came, the Soviet forces installed wood stakes by the creek. For a year they seized the whole hamlet, establishing their headquarters in a dwelling on the Bavarian side, adorning it with a portrait of Stalin and a red star. The Americans persuaded them to withdraw to the other side of the stream. For a time, villagers could still cross over, though as controls increased they were forced to display identification, although everyone understood who they were, and to return at night.
After that, in 1952, came metal barriers and the legal sealing of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin previously in 1961, a concrete structure was erected, with explosives, anti-tank obstacles and guard posts. The locals could continue to view each other by climbing elevations, but on the eastern side waving and shouting were forbidden. A female resident was put on a East German secret police surveillance list for answering “likewise” to a western resident who greeted her “good new year”.
I was told stories including these incidents by Robert Lebegern, the head of the institution, who has devoted much of his occupational time creating it. Residents were consulted early on about how much structure they wanted to keep. They chose a section on the Bavarian fringe, near where one of their own managed to escape in the darkest hours with a climbing device, following which the boundary was heavily reinforced.
2 guard towers are conserved alongside a set of exhibits showing the most impactful moments in the village’s chronicle. As we move, Robert Lebegern details the restrictions: not a single person could approach 5km of the boundary. Rural residents required particular approval to look after their crops; the husband or wife could work the agricultural equipment but not the pair, in case they sought to flee. Armed guards stood watch.
The boundary between Western Germany and the East Germany ran nearly 900 miles, from the Baltic coast in the north to the south in the southern region. Berlin is remembered and documented the most, but over twice as many individuals (more than 300) lost their lives attempting to pass over it in provincial zones than in the metropolis. Robert Lebegern tells me that 95 percent of attempts to flee failed.
The greater part of Mödlareuth’s villagers were agricultural workers or craftsmen, who accommodated to living in the grey zone between a pair of ideological spheres by avoiding attention and looking after their land. They did not supported the East German authorities nor fought it, the director clarifies.
For sightseers, however, the settlement became a sort of pilgrimage. About 15k visited every year, binoculars in hand, to look – and then rapidly leave. In 1983, the United States leader, George Bush, was guided by the German defense official.
Twenty five years after unification, Tannbach, a TV series about a fictional village similar to Mödlareuth, led to new curiosity.
The launch of the recently established museum – with a cafe, shop, movie theater and big car park – is probable to
Lena Voss is a tech enthusiast and freelance writer, passionate about demystifying complex innovations.