Far-right AfD poised for historic German state power breakthrough

In Magdeburg, a city of roughly 244,000 people in the eastern German state of Saxony-Anhalt, a political rupture is about to unfold. This Sunday, voters will decide whether to hand control of a state government to the Alternative for Germany, a far-right party that would become the first of its kind to govern a German state since the end of World War II. The stakes have drawn the attention of observers across Europe and beyond, all watching to see whether a party that began in 2013 as a protest movement against the European Union can transform its polling advantage into actual power.

The numbers are stark. The AfD is currently polling at 41 percent in Saxony-Anhalt, nearly double the support for the Christian Democratic Union led by Chancellor Friedrich Merz, which sits at 23 percent. Yet those numbers alone do not guarantee governance. Germany's other major parties have made clear they will not form coalitions with the AfD, creating a peculiar scenario in which the party could win the most seats and still find itself locked out of power—a situation that already occurred in neighboring Thuringia in 2024, where the AfD won more seats than any other party but was excluded from the state government when other parties united to form a coalition without them.

Since 2023, Saxony-Anhalt's state intelligence agency has classified the AfD as a confirmed far-right extremist organization. The agency documented that the party's core positions violate fundamental principles of Germany's constitution and are saturated with what it calls a racist ideology of ethnopluralism. Officials have pointed to numerous anti-Muslim, racist, and antisemitic statements from party members as evidence that the AfD seeks an ethnically and culturally homogeneous population and calls for excluding people based on their origin or religion. Ulrich Siegmund, the 35-year-old lead candidate, dismisses these findings as political weaponization, arguing that the intelligence agency monitors the opposition as a political instrument. If his party gains power, he has said, it would consider abolishing or restructuring the agency.

Siegmund presents himself as composed and charismatic, yet his associations tell a different story. He attended the 2023 Potsdam meeting, a gathering of far-right figures from across Europe where Austrian extremist Martin Sellner unveiled a "master plan" for remigration—a concept that envisions expelling asylum seekers, legal non-German residents, and German citizens with immigrant backgrounds deemed to have failed at assimilation to an unspecified African nation. This idea has become central to the AfD Saxony-Anhalt platform, which now calls for a "deportation and remigration offensive" complete with expanded detention centers. The party has rejected suggested immigration caps of around 200,000 annually as far too high, despite there currently being no cap on immigration to Germany. Siegmund's close associates include former officials from a neo-Nazi youth organization that was banned in 2009. Der Spiegel magazine branded him "Germany's most dangerous man" in its August cover story, citing his winning demeanor combined with a realistic path to state power and a radical platform.

The party has also drawn criticism for how it addresses Germany's past. Hans-Thomas Tillschneider, a leading AfD politician, has spoken dismissively of what he calls "memorial site stuff" and criticized efforts to reckon with German history. In a nation where memories of Nazi repression and the Holocaust have shaped political discourse for generations, such rhetoric carries particular weight. The party's platform extends to education, raising concerns among voters about how the country's darkest historical chapters might be taught under an AfD government.

Migration has dominated local conversation in Magdeburg ahead of the election, intensified by a December 2024 attack in which a vehicle driver killed five people at a Christmas market. The perpetrator was a doctor originally from Saudi Arabia who had lived legally in Germany for decades. Though he identified as a former Muslim critical of Islam and had expressed sympathy for far-right movements including the AfD, the incident still resonated deeply. One woman told CBS News the attack had made the atmosphere "particularly tense" and had given the AfD "a particular boost." Justin, a 27-year-old AfD supporter, argued that the party would address "uncontrolled migration," singling out Syrians who arrived as refugees more than a decade ago during their country's civil war. He claimed they had failed to adapt, describing their behavior in harsh terms while acknowledging that Germans too had misbehaved. Yet his argument collides with reality: tens of thousands of Syrians have integrated into German life, including one who came as a refugee in 2015 and now serves as mayor of a village in southwestern Germany.

Other voters see the party as a threat. Birgit told CBS News she was "quite afraid" of the AfD, viewing it as "far too extreme." A couple in their 40s, describing themselves as left-wing former punk rockers, expressed firm opposition and concern about the party's stance on migrants, noting that foreign workers remain essential to Germany's health and social services, particularly given the state's aging population. A man who relocated to Magdeburg from western Germany said he could not imagine staying if the AfD took power, citing particular worry about how an AfD government might reshape the teaching of Germany's history, including Nazi rule and the Holocaust, in schools.

Sunday's election will test whether the AfD can convert its polling lead into governing authority, or whether Germany's democratic safeguards—in the form of other parties' refusal to partner with it—will hold. The outcome will signal whether far-right movements across Europe can move from protest to power, or whether the barriers to coalition remain insurmountable even when a single party commands a plurality of votes.