In the long arc of European history, few questions have proven more consequential than how a nation perceives the threat at its borders — and how it chooses to respond. This summer, Germany found itself confronting that question anew, as a series of attacks on airports, defense contractors, and power infrastructure coalesced into what its government has named hybrid warfare, attributed to Russia. A majority of Germans now share that alarm, yet the country remains divided along geographic and political lines that reveal not merely disagreement about security policy, but a deeper fracture over w
Majority of Germans view Russia as security threat amid infrastructure attacks
We are not at war, but we are no longer at peace
Mark
So 56 percent see Russia as a threat—that's a clear majority, but it means 44 percent don't, or aren't sure. What's driving that gap?
Mimi
Geography and politics. Eastern Germans lived under Soviet rule. They have different historical reflexes. And the AfD, which is strongest in the east, has been openly skeptical of confrontation with Russia. They frame it as Germany being dragged into someone else's conflict.
Luke
But we should be careful here. The survey doesn't tell us why the 44 percent aren't concerned. Are they skeptical of the threat itself, or skeptical that Germany should respond? Those are different things.
Mark
Fair point. And what about the attacks themselves—is the government certain Russia did all of them, or just the Leipzig one?
Mimi
The government has publicly blamed Russia for Leipzig. On the others—the arson, the explosive devices at substations—the attribution is less clear in what we know. That's important.
Luke
Exactly. The narrative connects all these incidents, but we don't actually know if they're all Russian operations. That's a gap worth naming.
Mark
So the political cost is real regardless. Merz's approval is at 13 percent. That's catastrophic.
Mimi
It is. But again, we need to separate things. Is he unpopular because of how he's handling Russia? Because of the economy? Because he's the chancellor during a crisis? The survey shows economic anxiety is massive—79 percent say things are bad—but it doesn't tell us how much of Merz's collapse is about that versus security policy.
Luke
And the AfD at 27 percent—that's not because of Russia policy alone. It's the economy, immigration, general anti-establishment sentiment. Russia is one thread in a larger tapestry of discontent.
Mark
But the fact that AfD supporters are so economically pessimistic—96 percent say things are bad—while only 3 percent say things are good. That's striking.
Mimi
It suggests the AfD is capturing people who feel left behind, regardless of what the actual economic data shows. They're the protest vote.
Luke
Which means the real question isn't whether Russia is a threat. It's whether Germany can maintain political unity while facing external pressure and internal division. That's the harder story.
Le Pouls
- A drone over Leipzig, arson in Bavaria, explosives at power substations — each incident arrived as a provocation, and together they forced a government to say aloud what it had long hesitated to name: Russia is waging war on German soil by other means.
- Chancellor Merz's warning that Germany inhabits a space 'no longer at peace' has found an audience — 56 percent of Germans now view Russia as a genuine security threat — but nearly half of eastern Germans and two-thirds of AfD supporters remain unconvinced, exposing a nation split on the very nature of its danger.
- The AfD, excluded from every governing coalition yet polling at 27 percent nationally and positioned for an absolute majority in Saxony-Anhalt, is absorbing both the security skeptics and the economically despairing, turning dissatisfaction into structural political power.
- With only 13 percent of voters approving of Merz's chancellorship and economic pessimism running at 79 percent, the government's ability to lead a coherent national response — to Russia, to Ukraine, to its own citizens — is collapsing precisely when coherence is most needed.
In the long arc of European history, few questions have proven more consequential than how a nation perceives the threat at its borders — and how it chooses to respond. This summer, Germany found itself confronting that question anew, as a series of attacks on airports, defense contractors, and power infrastructure coalesced into what its government has named hybrid warfare, attributed to Russia. A majority of Germans now share that alarm, yet the country remains divided along geographic and political lines that reveal not merely disagreement about security policy, but a deeper fracture over what Germany is, what it owes its neighbors, and who speaks for its future.
Germany's summer was punctuated by unease. A drone struck Leipzig Airport. Arsonists hit defense contractors in Bavaria. Explosive devices appeared at power substations in Brandenburg and North Rhine-Westphalia. Taken individually, each incident might have been explained away. Taken together, they formed a pattern the German government eventually named aloud: Russia.
By early September, with three state elections approaching, Chancellor Friedrich Merz had already framed Germany's condition in stark terms — neither at war nor truly at peace. Interior Minister Alexander Dobrindt went further, describing Germany as a daily target of hybrid warfare: cyberattacks, espionage, disinformation, sabotage. Not invasion, but sustained destabilization.
A poll of 1,319 respondents conducted for ARD between August 31 and September 2 found that 56 percent of German voters now consider Russia a threat to national security. Yet the alarm was unevenly distributed. Nearly half of eastern Germans felt little or no threat from Russia. Among AfD supporters, two-thirds rated the Russian threat as low. On military aid to Ukraine, four in ten Germans believed support had already gone too far — a view that dominated in the east and among the far right.
The political consequences were stark. The AfD held 27 percent in national polling, far ahead of any rival, and was positioned to win an outright majority in Saxony-Anhalt — an outcome that would have seemed impossible just years ago. The CDU/CSU and SPD polled at 21 and 13 percent respectively. Merz's personal approval had fallen to 13 percent; overall government satisfaction stood at 15 percent.
Economic anxiety deepened the fracture. Seventy-nine percent of respondents described the economy as performing poorly. Among AfD voters, that figure reached 96 percent — the same constituency that opposed aid to Ukraine and dismissed the Russian threat. As Germany entered September facing external pressure and internal division, the country's central challenge was no longer simply how to respond to Russia, but whether it could find enough common ground to respond at all.
Germany woke up this summer to a series of attacks that felt designed to unsettle. A drone struck Leipzig Airport. Arsonists targeted defense contractors in Bavaria. Explosive devices and pyrotechnics turned up at power substations in Brandenburg and North Rhine-Westphalia. Each incident arrived like a question mark. Each one, taken alone, might have been dismissed as isolated. Taken together, they began to form a pattern—one that the German government eventually named aloud: Russia.
By early September, as three crucial state elections loomed, the attacks on critical infrastructure had become impossible to ignore. Chancellor Friedrich Merz, leading the conservative Christian Democratic Union, had already warned months earlier that Germany occupied a strange middle ground: "We are not at war, but we are no longer at peace either." Interior Minister Alexander Dobrindt, from Bavaria's Christian Social Union, went further, describing the country as a daily target of what officials call hybrid warfare—a term that encompasses cyberattacks, espionage, propaganda, disinformation, and sabotage. Not military invasion, but something designed to destabilize and unsettle.
The message appears to have landed. A survey conducted by the polling firm infratest-dimap for public broadcaster ARD between August 31 and September 2 found that 56 percent of German voters now view Russia as a threat to the country's security. The poll, which included 1,319 representative respondents, captured a nation genuinely alarmed. Yet the alarm was not evenly distributed. Nearly half of citizens in eastern Germany felt only slightly threatened or not threatened at all by Russia. The same skepticism dominated among supporters of the far-right Alternative for Germany, the AfD, with two-thirds of that party's backers considering the Russian threat to be low.
These divisions ran deeper than security concerns alone. When asked about military aid to Ukraine, just over half of Germans believed their country's support was appropriate or should be expanded. But four in ten thought it had gone too far. In eastern Germany and among AfD voters, opposition to sending weapons to Ukraine was the dominant view. The country was splitting along predictable lines—between those who saw Russia as an adversary requiring a firm response and those who saw the conflict differently, or saw German involvement as the problem.
The political landscape reflected this fracture. The AfD, despite being excluded from government coalitions across the country, held a commanding lead in national polling at 27 percent—down just one point from August and still far ahead of any other party. In the eastern state of Saxony-Anhalt, heading to elections that Sunday, the AfD was positioned to win an absolute majority, an outcome that would have been unthinkable in German politics just years before. The governing coalition of Chancellor Merz's CDU/CSU and the Social Democrats polled at only 21 and 13 percent respectively, well below what they would need to govern together if an election were held immediately.
Merz himself had become deeply unpopular. Only 13 percent of voters approved of his work as chancellor. Just 15 percent expressed satisfaction with the government's performance overall. Even among supporters of the governing parties, a majority was disappointed. The CDU/CSU's perceived competence had eroded across nearly every policy area. On ensuring peace in Europe, the figure had collapsed from 31 percent a year earlier to just 23 percent. On the economy, still their strongest area, confidence had dropped from 31 percent in February to 24 percent by September.
Economic anxiety was pervasive. Seventy-nine percent of respondents said the economy was performing poorly or very poorly. But here too, the country divided sharply by political affiliation. Forty-one percent of Social Democratic voters and 37 percent of Green voters saw the economy as good or very good. Among AfD supporters, only 3 percent held that view—96 percent said conditions were poor or very poor. The party that rejected the government's Russia policy, that opposed military aid to Ukraine, that warned against German overcommitment abroad, was also the party that channeled the deepest economic pessimism. As Germany entered September with three state elections ahead and a potential national reckoning looming, the country faced not just external threats but a profound internal fracture over how to respond to them.
Citations marquantes
Germany has become a daily target of hybrid warfare—measures not military but designed to destabilize a country and unsettle the population— Interior Minister Alexander Dobrindt
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Politics & Governance