In the heart of Quedlinburg, the town square bustles with life as both visitors and locals seek refuge in the weak winter sunlight. Elbow-to-elbow at the outdoor lunch tables, they absorb the rays, a meager source of warmth against the crispness of the season. The setting is picturesque, with UNESCO-recognized half-timbered houses that whisper tales from the 10th and 11th centuries, creating a tableau that feels almost frozen in time. Here, in 919, King Henry the Fowler received his crown, marking Quedlinburg as the esteemed ‘Cradle of the German Reich.’
This historic town, set against the backdrop of the majestic Harz mountains, carries with it an air of both charm and conflict. Just a stone’s throw from the castle, a former prison now serves as a food bank managed by AWO, a nonprofit agency dedicated to “helping their community through thick and thin.” By providing food, clothing, and vouchers to approximately 2,000 families—nearly 10% of the town’s population—AWO demonstrates the adversity faced by many in a seemingly affluent area. With donations sourced from local bakeries and supermarkets alike, a robust network of volunteers maintains this vital lifeline.
The fact that a prosperous town in Europe’s largest economy relies heavily on food banks raises eyebrows. How did a place that often seems outwardly affluent fall into such a pattern? “People feel ignored; politics seem distant,” reflects Anka Schleritt, a local resident. The Alternative for Germany (AfD) party, especially in the former East, capitalizes on this sentiment. Their rhetoric targets those who feel left behind, especially amid discussions surrounding migration.
Quedlinburg stands as a microcosm of the broader struggles that still plague sections of de-industrialized East Germany. This region bears the scars of an economy that has languished in stagnation, grappling with the fallout from two years of recession and intensifying issues stemming from the ongoing conflict in Ukraine. The discontinuation of affordable Russian gas has sent shockwaves through energy-reliant industries, distorting perceptions of inflation. While Europe has seen some relief, here, inflation feels relentless and unforgiving.
“Rising costs devour what little money we have,” Schleritt lamented. “Young people are leaving, and many families are relying heavily on food banks and discount supermarkets.” This prevailing sense of abandonment fosters resentment towards the established political parties—the Social Democrats (SPD) and Christian Democrats (CDU)—who are seen as having turned their backs on the needs of ordinary citizens in the region.
At an AfD rally in the town square, Otto Uwe Ziegler, the party’s MP for nearby Sangerhausen, anticipates a strong showing for the AfD, citing a projected 35% share of the vote. Although lively counter-protests disrupt the event, he remains undeterred. “This area suffers from high unemployment and industrial neglect,” he asserted. “The narrative from the ruling parties about a lack of skilled labor doesn’t align with the reality of barren job opportunities.”
Indeed, Ziegler’s comments resonate with a generation that remembers better times. Schleritt reflects on her youth during the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, a moment of optimism that quickly gave way to disillusionment. Her parents, working as mechanic and nurse, navigated the rigidities of the GDR with some stability. After reunification, Saxony-Anhalt experienced a brief resurgence as it adapted to new market dynamics, manufacturing car parts for industry giants like Audi, Volkswagen, and BMW. But that moment was fleeting. Shifting economic tides, EU expansions, and more competitive international markets led to a stark decline in manufacturing jobs.
Today, Quedlinburg’s outskirts reveal a population struggling to stitch together livelihoods, often juggling multiple jobs just to meet their basic needs. “We couldn’t sustain the economy; many were burdened with debt,” Schleritt reflected, capturing a pervasive sorrow as residents grapple with unfulfilled promises of a better life. The festering frustration, difficult to articulate, serves as fertile ground for AfD’s political rise.
The AfD’s growing appeal has not escaped criticism from opponents. Peter Matuschek from the Forsa Polling Institute notes that many AfD supporters are driven by an ideological connection rather than a comprehensive understanding of economic policy. People, seeking an anti-establishment voice, might overlook the party’s shortcomings. Yet, Matuschek estimates that 10-12% of German voters cling to far-right beliefs, a factor that could explain the AfD’s emergence as a significant political player since entering the Bundestag in 2017.
This upheaval has manifested in a more combative political landscape. In January, following a tragedy involving an Afghan asylum seeker, CDU leader Friedrich Merz sponsored a bill aiming to tighten border controls, uncharacteristically seeking the AfD’s backing. This shift ignited outrage in many corners of German society, exemplifying the party’s polarizing effect on discourse.
Addressing the issues of economic disparity and migration, Merz promises to overhaul the country’s fiscal policies, emphasizing growth as the bedrock of social well-being. His vision is clear: navigate Germany towards stability amidst its multifaceted crises. However, the looming specters of economic mismanagement, an aging population, and potential trade sanctions hang heavy over any optimistic projections.
As these complex narratives continue to intertwine, the political climate intensifies, making the upcoming elections not just a local affair but a dramatic pivot in Germany’s broader socio-political narrative. At a time when the nation grapples with its identity and future, Quedlinburg serves as a dramatic stage for these unfolding tensions, capturing the spirit and struggle of a people yearning for connection and clarity.
Edited By Ali Musa
Axadle Times international–Monitoring
