A stream so low you barely got your ankles wet separated a community for in excess of four decades of time. By an accident of topography, the fifty inhabitants of Mödlareuth, a tiny settlement surrounded by coniferous woods, fields and breathtaking views, found themselves at the core of the Cold War conflict. They had the bad luck to cross Bavaria, in West Germany, and Thuringia in the Soviet sector, a border that was marked first by a fence and then by a partition. United States military personnel called it Small Berlin.
Several months after their own wall was torn down, and before their state had become one in 1990, a group of villagers set about documenting their heritage. The project is about to be completed: on 9 November, the 36th annual anniversary of the collapse of the Wall in Berlin, the German-German Museum Mödlareuth will open. It was publicly opened by the head of state, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, in the beginning of October, but the show was not completely finished. Addressing the villagers who endured the past era, Steinmeier stated: “You were bystanders of an brutal split, which tore families asunder and turned neighbours into foreigners.”
“You were bystanders of an brutal split, which pulled families into pieces and turned neighbors into strangers.”
Even at its founding in 1810, the community straddled the Bavarian Kingdom and the Reuss Principality, a noble lineage most renowned for giving all its male members the name Heinrich and labeling them sequentially by date of birth. As Steinmeier informed the crowd, the oddity was never an obstacle in the way of the residents gathering in the same inn, going to the very same church and placing their young ones to the very same educational institution.
Then came the second world war. The moment they came, the Russian troops erected wooden posts by the stream. For a year they took over the whole community, establishing their command in a house on the western side, embellishing it with a picture of Stalin and a red star. The US forces urged them to retreat to the other side of the creek. For a while, villagers could still cross over, though as restrictions became stricter they were forced to present identification, although all was aware who they were, and to go back at night.
After that, in 1952, came wire fencing and the legal sealing of the boundary. In 1966, as in Berlin five years earlier, a barrier was erected, with explosives, vehicle barriers and watchtowers. The residents could still observe each other by ascending hills, but on the Soviet side gesturing and calling out were forbidden. A local woman was added to a GDR intelligence surveillance list for responding “likewise” to a western villager who wished her “happy new year”.
I heard narratives including these tales by Robert Lebegern, the head of the institution, who has spent much of his professional career creating it. Residents were polled early on about how much structure they desired to preserve. They selected a section on the west perimeter, close to where a local resident managed to get away in the darkest hours with a ladder, subsequently the frontier was substantially reinforced.
A pair of observation towers are maintained together with a series of displays illustrating the most significant dates in the village’s chronicle. As we walk, Robert Lebegern details the rules: not a single person could approach 5km of the border. Agricultural workers required specific authorization to care for their crops; the spouse could use the combine harvester but not the two, lest they tried to make a run for it. Soldiers stood watch.
The border between the Federal Republic and the German Democratic Republic ran 1,400km, from the northern sea in the northern part to here in the south. Berlin is commemorated and documented the most, but more than twice as many individuals (well over 300) were killed trying to traverse it in provincial zones than in the big city. the director reminds me that almost all of attempts to flee failed.
The greater part of Mödlareuth’s locals were agricultural workers or artisans, who adapted to residing in the uncertain territory between a pair of belief systems by avoiding attention and looking after their land. They nor did they backed the socialist government nor fought it, Robert Lebegern explains.
For visitors, however, the settlement became a kind of pilgrimage. Approximately 15,000 came to see each year, viewing tools in their hands, to gawp – and then quickly leave. In 1983, the US president, George Bush, was shown around by the national security head.
Twenty-five years after merger, the television series, a television program about a imaginary hamlet similar to Mödlareuth, caused fresh attention.
The launch of the recently established museum – with a cafe, shop, cinema room and sizable parking lot – is likely to
Dr. Elara Voss is a tech analyst and futurist with a Ph.D. in Computer Science, specializing in emerging technologies and their societal impact.