Sunday was election day in my state of Brandenburg. The morning was sunny, unseasonably warm, yet already in autumnal gold. Normally I just cross the road to vote, but due to a lack of poll clerk volunteers, I had to drive 8km to one of the next villages. Following Google Maps, I ended up on a road so rocky that only tractors might brave it. The thin layer of recent asphalt had cracked over the GDR gravel. At the bottom of the potholes lay the Prussian cobble stones.
I was greeted by three poll clerks: a middle-aged woman, a grey-haired bulky man and an adolescent with a decidedly military haircut. Grabbing my voting slip, I couldn’t help being moved for a moment by the beauty of democracy. Here I was, about to make a cross they would probably deem degenerate or totalitarian, knowing full well that I deemed theirs fascist. Statistically, two of them would vote for the far-right AfD. Our parish has again come out with more than 50% for the far right, as it did back in May for the European elections. And yet, neither I or anyone else in the polling station ended up with a black eye. The clerks didn’t even hiss “we know where you live”.
It was a relief to see the results that evening. After months with the AfD ahead in the polls, the social democrats won by a tight margin of 1.7% (30.9% for the SPD, with the AfD at 29.2%). This was certainly not the achievement of Olaf Scholz, the social democrat German chancellor. Brandenburg has been red for about 35 years, and its governor, Dietmar Woidke, is very popular. His primary campaign strategy was to dissociate himself from the government in Berlin. Scholz did not take part in any of the campaigning. And the election posters presented the party affiliation as a bullet to be bitten: “If you want Woidke, vote SPD.” A vote for Woidke was also endorsed by some who might otherwise have voted for the Greens or the Left party. Alice Weidel, the AfD’s co-chair, complained that it only lost due to tactical voting. But lose it did.
Nevertheless, Hans-Christoph Berndt, the AfD’s main candidate in Brandenburg, who recently argued for a segregation-style law banning immigrants from attending public events, defiantly claimed that the future was “blue” (the AfD’s signature colour). The future is open, but it is undoubtedly true that authoritarian populism is on the rise. The AfD is up about 6% from the election in Brandenburg five years ago, and was the strongest party among younger voters.
To understand the shift to the right in Brandenburg, or the former GDR, it is vital to look at global and local trends. First, this isn’t a result of east Germans’ unfamiliarity with democracy, as some commentators suggest. After all, we are witnessing a shift to the right among many voters in the oldest democracies, too, including France and the US. Much more decisive is what the Vienna-based historian Philipp Ther has called “the other end of history”: unhampered neoliberal restructuring after the iron curtain fell. This restructuring affected rural and de-industrialised areas in the west as well, but is most pervasive in the postsocialist regions. Echoing the economist Karl Polanyi, Ther stresses that marketisation corrodes the social fabric. Politics then mainly consists of attempts at repair, attempts that mostly miss the root causes of the degradation.
After reunification, only 6% of formerly state-owned assets ended up in the hands of east Germans. Even if there is some economic growth, as there is in Brandenburg, it comes from multinational investors – Tesla for instance – which creates volatile, non-unionised jobs.
Besides the economic stratification, there is a wounded memory of dispossession connected with the post-socialist transformation. Up to 80% of east Germans lost their jobs, with many of them seeing their training rendered useless overnight. The bitterness that arose from the pandemic era’s quarantine measures – a great source of contention in Brandenburg – was partly to do with people once again being compelled to suspend ordinary life. It is as if the weight of another break in routine was simply intolerable and experienced as sheer sadism, but resolved by declaring any government action an incursion into one’s personal freedom.
The core remedy that the AfD promises is control in another realm: an entitlement to treat racialised others like disposable objects. They promote white supremacy and ethnic homogeneity. At least some of the AfD sympathisers I have been in conversation with argue, in stark contrast to the party’s economic neoliberalism, that they would like to see the state crack down on the super-rich and address social inequality. But they consider this so unlikely, so out of reach, that another demonstration of sovereignty takes precedence: Germany for the Germans.
After I had returned from the voting booth, the older guy among the poll clerks reminded me that we knew each other. We had reroofed a house together about 10 years ago for a friend of his, using shiny new tiles. We in turn were grateful to salvage the old clay ones. In fact, I often refer to this experience when asked by those in metropolitan areas how to talk to your political adversaries. “You can only do so if you have another context that you work together in,” I say. Societies should offer those spaces. If their fabric tears, it’s hard to find enough common ground to say, for instance, that no, open borders are not the problem, or to tell them you simply don’t find that joke funny. That time on the roof, such conversation was at least possible. It hasn’t become easier in the meantime.
At the polling station, the clerks lightly mock me: “Why did you take that idiotic route? There is a much more direct way back to your place.” They know where I live and choose to help me and compensate for my dodgy navigation. We still don’t know how to create a cooperative basis for society. But when I experience small interactions like these, I realise such an ambition is the only viable path away from a bleak, fascist future.
Eva von Redecker is a German philosopher and nonfiction writer
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