The German Horseshoe

Germany's populist surge poses grave threats to Western security.

Germans went to the polls earlier this month in Thuringia and Saxony, two eastern “Bundeslaender” (federal states), to elect state legislatures. The results were astonishing. In Thuringia, the AfD, generally classed as a far-right party, won a plurality—the first time any far-right party has won a German regional election since World War II. In Saxony, the AfD finished only about a percentage point behind the center-right CDU. And the third-strongest party in both states? The BSW, an upstart, far-left populist coalition centered around Left Party defector Sahra Wagenknecht. Germany’s three ruling parties—the libertarian FDP and the center-left SPD and Greens—were wiped out. 

Since WWII, the German political spectrum has typically spanned a narrow, moderate band of public sentiment. The SPD (center-left) and the CDU (center-right) are the two big parties, typically trading control of the government every decade or so. Angela Merkel, for example, represented the CDU, while the current chancellor, Olaf Scholz, hails from the SPD. Some smaller parties are more radical, but this sudden populist surge still represents a dramatic development.

The AfD would tell you it’s not far-right, and the BSW would likewise reject a far-left label. But both are wrong, and both are also surprisingly similar. Both are anti-immigrant; both are economically populist; and, worst of all, both are anti-Ukraine and pro-Russia. The AfD dabbles in social conservatism, while the BSW does not (the AfD’s co-leader is openly lesbian, so “dabbles” is the correct term). The BSW is also anti-Israel, while the AfD takes a more measured tone. Still, it is a remarkable image of horseshoe theory in action.  

Why the sudden shift, and how dangerous is it? Was Thatcher right to fear German reunification? The populist surge is concentrated in East Germany, the old, misnamed “German Democratic Republic,” which offers the first clue. One might expect far-right German nationalists to advocate the reconquest of Koenigsberg instead of bowing to Putin, but East Germany laid under Soviet domination for many years, and feelings of attachment linger. That pro-Russian sentiment also stems from the same kind of economic populism, anti-elitism, and “country first” sentiment that has led numerous MAGA voters into Putin’s camp. 

Those underlying themes point toward another origin—deep economic and demographic problems. East Germany was much poorer than West Germany when the wall fell, and remains so, especially in rural areas. Those regions suffer from the same problems as American “flyover country”—no jobs, no investment, and an exodus of young people to the cities. That creates a kind of anti-elite sentiment reminiscent of the Trump coalition or the Brexit vote. 

Unlike in America, though, it is young Germans who are spearheading the populist surge—an alarming sign for the future. In Thuringia, the AfD was strongest among 18-to-24-year-olds. In polls, those voters largely cited economic concerns, with many offering their own personal situation as the driving factor. There was a big gender gap, too: men were much more likely to vote for the AfD than women (though the party polled well among both sexes). That may come down to an increasing gender achievement gap in rural areas, leading to a still higher sense of worry or grievance among men. The BSW garnered slightly more female than male votes, though, so perhaps female populists just gravitate toward the more “left-wing” version.

But there are some other interesting background reasons for the populist shift. German politics has marginalized extremists in part since German society, owing to the memory of WWII, has done the same: it is simply taboo to be far-right (and, less so, far-left). Thus it is unsurprising that populist voters don’t see their parties as extreme, according to recent studies. But voters—again, especially young voters—are also less worried about the whole concept of extremism in general. They no longer see right-wing extremism, in particular, as a threat or a thing to worry about, and they express less social aversion to, say, having far-right friends. It’s hard to pinpoint causes, but it might be connected to social media, the fading memory of World War II, and perhaps also a populist drift among the mainstream parties (especially on immigration). 

But it might also be connected to a lack of religiosity. In the US, evangelicals form a key Trumpian demographic, and religious voters tend to lean right (despite some negative correlation between church attendance and support for Trump specifically). East Germany is by far the nation’s least religious portion, and Saxony and Thuringia the two least religious parts of East Germany: in fact, they may be the least religious places on earth. Less than 20% of the population is part of either the German Protestant (“Evangelisch”) or Catholic Church, and about the same percentage believes in God. Over half the population self-identifies as atheist. It is easy to imagine the causal connection between irreligion and populism: a society caught in economic and demographic change, devoid of any positive religious unifier, turns to political extremism and anti-elitism instead. 

All is certainly not lost for East Germany, or Germany as a whole, largely because the center-right CDU has managed to offer potentially extremist voters a healthier, more hopeful alternative. It likely garnered enough votes to form a coalition without the AfD in both Saxony and Thuringia, and hopefully without the BSW as well. And it’s well-positioned for next year’s national parliamentary elections. But a populist Germany would pose grave headaches for NATO, the European Union, and thus Europe’s entire post-Cold War security architecture. It would be foolish to dismiss the risk. And it would be foolish to dismiss the risk that Germany might turn out to be a template for populism in other countries, including America. Disaffected rural voters, a widening gender gap, a loss of religion, isolationist retreat and anti-Semitism, anti-migrant sentiment—all this sounds very familiar. Ugly forces will fill a civic and spiritual vacuum.

Jonathan Meilaender is a JD candidate at Harvard Law and is concurrently engaged in a Master’s program in German and European studies at Georgetown University. He received his BA in Politics from Saint Vincent College where he was also Editor-in-Chief of the Saint Vincent College Review. @JMeilaender