In the shadow of Martin Luther's birthplace, Germany faces a reckoning on September 6 that reaches back to 1945: whether a far-right party, officially classified as extremist by its own intelligence services, will govern a German state alone for the first time since the war. The AfD's rise in Saxony-Anhalt — and its national polling dominance — exposes a painful irony at the heart of postwar democratic strategy: that the firewall built to contain extremism may have quietly nourished it. What unfolds in these eastern states will not stay there, rippling outward to Ukraine's front lines, Europe'
Germany's anti-far-right firewall may have backfired, boosting AfD ahead of crucial state elections
The firewall has hollowed out the centre
Mark
Why did the firewall strategy backfire? It seems like isolating extremists should work.
Mimi
Because isolation without an alternative doesn't defeat extremism—it just lets it grow in the shadows. The AfD never had to prove it could govern, never had to make the hard choices that moderate other parties. It could promise everything.
Mark
So the CDU's problem is that it kept winning by default, not by offering something better?
Mimi
Exactly. And each time they won by excluding the AfD, they had to compromise with the SPD. That made both parties look the same to voters. The AfD's message—that the establishment is a cartel—started to sound true.
Mark
What happens if the AfD actually wins in Saxony-Anhalt?
Mimi
It gains control of schools, police, media in that state. It gets seats in the federal upper house. But more than that, it proves to far-right parties across Europe that power is possible, even in Germany.
Mark
And Merz's position becomes precarious?
Mimi
His approval is already at 13 percent. If he has to build a coalition with the radical left just to keep the AfD out, some in his own party may decide he's the problem, not the solution.
Mark
Is there a way out of this trap?
Mimi
Only if mainstream parties offer voters something they actually want—not just "we're not the far right." Right now, that's not happening.
The Pulse
- The AfD is polling at up to 42 percent in Saxony-Anhalt, a figure that under proportional representation could deliver an outright majority — and with it, control over schools, police, public media, and federal legislative leverage.
- A victory would mark the first far-right single-party government in Germany since 1945, sending a galvanizing signal to nativist movements across France, Italy, Spain, and Poland.
- The Brandmauer firewall, designed to isolate the AfD from power, instead shielded it from accountability — allowing the party to promise everything while delivering nothing, a luxury no governing party enjoys.
- Mainstream parties, forced into awkward Grand Coalitions to exclude the AfD, have blurred into indistinction, feeding the very narrative of establishment cartelism that the far right exploits.
- Chancellor Merz, who once vowed to halve AfD support, now governs with an approval rating near 13 percent as the party has nearly doubled since his pledge — and his own leadership may not survive the fallout of September's results.
In the shadow of Martin Luther's birthplace, Germany faces a reckoning on September 6 that reaches back to 1945: whether a far-right party, officially classified as extremist by its own intelligence services, will govern a German state alone for the first time since the war. The AfD's rise in Saxony-Anhalt — and its national polling dominance — exposes a painful irony at the heart of postwar democratic strategy: that the firewall built to contain extremism may have quietly nourished it. What unfolds in these eastern states will not stay there, rippling outward to Ukraine's front lines, Europe's political cohesion, and the enduring question of whether liberal democracy can defeat its challengers without becoming something it no longer recognizes.
On September 6, voters in Saxony-Anhalt — a region of half-timbered villages, the Harz mountains, and Martin Luther's legacy — will decide whether to hand sole governing power to the Alternative für Deutschland, a party whose eastern branch German intelligence has formally classified as confirmed rightwing extremist. It would be the first time since 1945 that a far-right party governs a German state alone. Two weeks later, Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania and Berlin follow. The AfD has led national polling since April of last year and sits at up to 42 percent in Saxony-Anhalt — a figure that, under proportional representation, could yield an absolute majority.
The consequences of an AfD government would be immediate and structural. School history curricula would be rewritten to emphasize German achievements over wartime crimes. Anti-racism programs would be defunded. Public broadcasting would be reshaped ideologically. State hiring would tilt toward sympathetic candidates. At the federal level, an AfD-controlled state would gain Bundesrat seats, granting the party a platform to disrupt national consensus. Beyond Germany's borders, the AfD's hostility to Ukraine aid and its appetite for normalized relations with Russia would fracture Western unity at a critical moment — and embolden far-right parties across the continent.
Yet the deepest paradox belongs to the strategy meant to prevent all of this. For decades, Germany's mainstream parties maintained the Brandmauer — a firewall committing them to refuse any coalition or cooperation with the AfD. The intention was containment. The effect, analysts now argue, was the opposite. Shielded from the compromises and failures of actual governance, the AfD was free to promise anything without ever being held to account. Meanwhile, the CDU repeatedly entered Grand Coalitions with the SPD to build AfD-free majorities, blurring the distinctions between mainstream parties and reinforcing the AfD's claim that the establishment is a single, interchangeable cartel.
Friedrich Merz pledged in 2018 to halve AfD support. It has nearly doubled. His approval rating hovers around 13 percent. Even if the AfD falls short of a majority on September 6, the CDU may need to ally with every remaining party — including the radical-left Die Linke — to keep it from power, a coalition so unwieldy it could collapse and take Merz's leadership with it. Germany is now confronting the possibility that the firewall itself has become a liability: that isolating extremism, without the policies to actually defeat it, may produce the very outcome it was designed to prevent.
In just over two weeks, the state of Saxony-Anhalt will hold an election that could fundamentally alter the postwar political order in Germany. The region, known for its half-timbered villages and the Harz mountains, is the birthplace of Martin Luther—a place steeped in history. On September 6, voters will decide whether to hand power to the Alternative für Deutschland, a party whose eastern branch is officially classified by German intelligence as "confirmed rightwing extremist." If the AfD wins, it would be the first time since 1945 that a far-right party governs a German state alone.
The stakes extend far beyond Saxony-Anhalt's borders. The AfD has led national polling since April of last year and is comfortably ahead in the eastern state, where it polls at up to 42 percent. Under Germany's proportional representation system, a score in the low-to-mid 40s could deliver an absolute majority. Two weeks after Saxony-Anhalt votes, Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania and Berlin will hold their own elections, with the AfD competitive in both. What happens in these contests could shatter a consensus that has held since the end of World War II—the understanding that the far right belongs nowhere near power in Germany.
An AfD government in Saxony-Anhalt would immediately reshape education, policing, public broadcasting, and regional administration. The party has proposed rewriting school history curricula to emphasize German "achievements" over wartime crimes, defunding anti-racism programs, removing pride flags from public spaces, and restructuring public media to align with its ideology. State-level hiring and appointments could favor ideologically sympathetic candidates, creating an environment where dissent becomes costly. At the federal level, an AfD-led state would gain seats in the Bundesrat, the upper house representing the states, allowing it to table initiatives and disrupt consensus even without unilateral blocking power.
The European implications are profound. Germany's role as an engine of integration would weaken as its political landscape fragments. The AfD's hostility to further military aid for Ukraine and its eagerness to normalize relations with Russia would directly undermine Western unity at a moment when it matters most. An AfD victory would also send a signal to nativist parties across Europe—in France, Italy, Spain, and Poland—that even the continent's largest economy is vulnerable to the far right.
Yet there is a deeper paradox at work. For decades, German political parties have maintained what they call the Brandmauer, or firewall—a commitment to refuse any coalition or cooperation with the AfD. In 2018, the centre-right CDU even codified this into a formal incompatibility resolution. The strategy was meant to prevent the normalization of far-right extremism, to keep the AfD isolated and powerless. Instead, analysts now argue, it may have done the opposite.
By making the AfD a pariah, the firewall insulated the party from the compromises and failures that accompany actual governance. Unlike far-right parties elsewhere in Europe that have moderated after tasting power, the AfD has never had to deliver results or answer for broken promises. It can promise voters whatever it likes. That freedom has made it more appealing, not less. Meanwhile, to build majorities that exclude the AfD, the CDU has repeatedly entered Grand Coalitions with its historic rival, the centre-left SPD. Over time, these uncomfortable alliances have blurred distinctions between mainstream parties, reinforcing the AfD's claim that the establishment is a cartel of identical forces. The firewall has hollowed out the centre.
The evidence is stark. In 2018, Friedrich Merz, now CDU leader, promised to halve the AfD's support. Since then, it has nearly doubled. The party's dominance in eastern Germany has forced the CDU into unnatural, unstable alliances that frustrate voters rather than reassure them. Merz's approval rating sits around 13 percent—among the lowest of any postwar chancellor. Even if the AfD falls short of an absolute majority on September 6, the CDU may be forced to ally with every other party in parliament, including the radical-left Die Linke, to keep it out. That coalition could prove unsustainable and could cost Merz his leadership.
The question now is whether the Brandmauer itself has become a liability. Isolating the far right is a reasonable instinct. But if you lack the policies to actually defeat it at the ballot box, the result may be a cycle of ideological compromises that alienates voters further and drives them toward the very extremism you sought to contain. Germany is about to test whether that paradox can be resolved.
Notable Quotes
The firewall has insulated the AfD from the compromises and failures of government, allowing it to promise voters whatever it likes without delivering results— Analysis of Brandmauer strategy
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