When I picture the state of German democracy, I’m reminded of the Larsen B ice shelf—a massive Antarctic formation standing firm for 10,000 years before suddenly disintegrating in just over a month, leaving astonished observers in its wake.
As Germany approaches another election, the coalition led by the center-left Social Democratic Party (SPD) finds itself in tatters. The coalition was initially formed with optimism but has been relentlessly undermined, largely due to the Free Democratic Party (FDP) with their continual efforts at sabotage, culminating in the government’s collapse.
The blame, however, doesn’t rest solely on the FDP. The Greens also share responsibility for failing to convey a gripping vision for a future powered by clean energy. Meanwhile, the SPD itself is facing a steep decline in support, with their leader Olaf Scholz, the chancellor, barely making his presence felt—eerily reminiscent of the imposing figure of Angela Merkel, whom he succeeded.
Having spent a decade living and working in Germany, I’ve come to see Merkel’s leadership as a unique chapter in the country’s political saga. Despite her shortcomings, she made a bold, historic decision by opening Germany’s doors to a million Syrian refugees, fleeing a violent regime. Ironically, Merkel’s own party, the Christian Democratic Union (CDU), is now eager to dissociate from that move. After Bashar al-Assad’s downfall last year, the immediate reaction of Germany’s press and politicians was not to laud Merkel for saving lives, but to explore strategies for hastening the return of all those Syrians.
Responding to the pressing challenges facing the nation, the leading CDU seems to resort more often to pettiness and malice. When Kai Wegner took over as mayor of the capital, grappling with exorbitant housing costs, he chose to ignite a needless cultural skirmish, vowing to avoid using gender-neutral language.
Struggling with a severe migrant worker deficit, CDU leader and potential future chancellor, Friedrich Merz, appears to go out of his way to alienate precisely those individuals he should be attracting. Notoriously, he remarked in September 2023 that a particular migrant-rich area of Berlin “was not Germany.” Even for him, it was a low point.
Amidst this anxiety, there’s a glimmer of hope with Die Linke, whose polling figures have climbed due to a focused campaign addressing the real-life struggles of citizens. While other parties have clung to lofty but vague promises, Die Linke has engaged people directly, addressing issues like utility bills and proposing wealth taxes. This approach might just secure their return to the Bundestag.
Nevertheless, the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) has dominated the discourse, with their rhetoric shamelessly echoed by parties claiming to be more progressive. This rise has seen a corresponding surge in violence. Late in 2023, party leaders were uncovered plotting the expulsion of millions, not just migrants but anyone not deemed sufficiently German, including natives.
These politicians, wary of public reaction, communicated covertly through letters. Their fears were perhaps unfounded as, despite a temporary dip, their support has rebounded to around 20%, positioning them as Germany’s second-leading party with “remigration” strategies at the forefront of their platform.
The xenophobia peddled by the far-right isn’t just isolated to the fringes; it echoes loudly from within the core of German politics. Merz is a prominent voice of this narrative. Following two violent incidents involving migrants, Merz exploited the drama. Rather than advocate for existing, adequate migration policies, he aligned with the AfD in hopes of passing a contentious migration law, breaching EU regulations. Though his plan failed, the fallout was significant. His rhetoric has since intensified, falsely asserting that gang rapes by asylum seekers occur daily in Germany. With this inflammatory language, a coalition with the AfD might not be as far-fetched as some pundits believe—train your eyes on the norms that seem fixed until they crumble in an instant. The fractures are spreading fast.
Reflecting critically on Merz’s recent declarations and their broad acceptance, it feels like we’re entrenched in what technologist Emily F Gorcenski terms “the time of cowards”—an era where many witness injustice and choose indifference. Even as countless people courageously voice opposition to authoritarian dangers, there remains an unsettling silence around dinner tables, within workplaces, and in social circles.
I recently spoke with Jennifer Kamau, from the Berlin-based NGO International Women’s Space, focused on protecting migrants and refugees. Her apprehensions lingered with me long after our conversation, especially her insights on the pervasive disdain for migrants across political lines, even in traditionally progressive circles.
Kamau voiced acute concern: “We don’t even know who to work with. Everyone around me feels fear. There’s a palpable tension—you can sense it in public spaces like trains, even in a city like Berlin. You can feel the animosity.” Without a committed push to foster a positive narrative around immigration, Kamau’s outlook remains stark. “The atmosphere is thick with arrogance and hate,” she said. “It’s reached a point where they can no longer hide it.”
Musa Okwonga is an author and football podcaster based in Berlin.
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