In the eastern German state of Saxony-Anhalt, the far-right Alternative für Deutschland claimed 44 percent of the vote on Sunday, a result that reverberated through Magdeburg's streets the following morning like the aftershock of something long feared. The party, classified as extremist by German intelligence, has promised to dismantle the post-war culture of historical reckoning and to begin mass deportations — a vision that leaves immigrant families, elderly survivors of displacement, and liberal Germans alike confronting the fragility of the democratic order built after 1945. What unfolds n
German far-right AfD's landslide victory in Saxony-Anhalt sends shockwaves across Europe
Immigrant communities and asylum seekers face potential deportation threats; Syrian teenager and Vietnamese shopkeeper express anxiety about their families' futures in Germany.
We cannot know, and I fear the price could be high.
Mark
So the AfD got 44 percent. That's a huge number. What does that actually mean for how the state gets governed?
Mimi
It means they're the largest party, but they don't have a majority on their own. They need coalition partners. The problem is that every other party has said they won't work with them.
Luke
Has anyone actually defected yet, or is that still just rumors?
Mimi
Still rumors. The CDU denies it publicly. But the pressure is real—the AfD is openly calling for the "firewall" to come down.
Mark
And the people on the street—did they seem to understand what the AfD actually plans to do?
Mimi
Some did. Judith, the 88-year-old, she knew exactly what it meant. She'd lived through history. Others seemed more focused on the economic message—the sense that Berlin had failed them.
Luke
But the economic argument and the immigration argument are getting tangled together, aren't they? Doreen blamed Merkel's migration policy for everything from the Christmas market attack to general decline.
Mimi
Yes. And that attack in 2024 was real—six people died. So for her, it wasn't abstract.
Mark
What about the people who are actually vulnerable—the immigrants themselves?
Mimi
Terrified. Maryam, the Syrian teenager, couldn't stop thinking about what it meant for her family. Huy, the Vietnamese shopkeeper, was trying to laugh it off, but you could feel the anxiety underneath.
Luke
The source doesn't say whether the AfD's deportation plans are legally feasible or what the actual mechanism would be. That's a gap worth naming.
Mimi
True. It's a promise, not a plan. But for people like Maryam, the promise itself is the threat.
Mark
So what happens next?
Mimi
Weeks of coalition negotiations, probably. And more elections coming in Berlin and Mecklenburg-Vorpommern where the AfD is expected to do well again. The whole country is watching to see if the firewall holds.
Il Polso
- A party that German intelligence classifies as rightwing extremist has won a landslide in a state election, sending shockwaves through the political establishment in Berlin and across Europe.
- Immigrant communities — Syrian teenagers, Vietnamese shopkeepers, families who arrived during Merkel's open-door era — are living with immediate, personal fear about what deportation promises could mean for their futures.
- The AfD's agenda to dismantle Germany's post-war memory culture strikes many as an assault on the moral architecture the country spent decades constructing from the ruins of Nazism.
- Mainstream parties cling to a 'firewall' against governing with the AfD, but with 44 percent of the vote and rumors of CDU defections, that barrier is visibly cracking under democratic pressure.
- Federal elections in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern and Berlin loom on September 20, threatening to amplify the result and push Germany into prolonged political paralysis as Chancellor Merz navigates an increasingly volatile landscape.
In the eastern German state of Saxony-Anhalt, the far-right Alternative für Deutschland claimed 44 percent of the vote on Sunday, a result that reverberated through Magdeburg's streets the following morning like the aftershock of something long feared. The party, classified as extremist by German intelligence, has promised to dismantle the post-war culture of historical reckoning and to begin mass deportations — a vision that leaves immigrant families, elderly survivors of displacement, and liberal Germans alike confronting the fragility of the democratic order built after 1945. What unfolds next in coalition negotiations and federal elections will test whether the guardrails of postwar democracy can hold against a movement that now commands the allegiance of nearly one in two voters in this state.
The morning after Saxony-Anhalt's state election, Magdeburg carried the weight of a result few had fully prepared for. The AfD had won 44 percent of the vote — a landslide for a party that German intelligence classifies as rightwing extremist, and one whose first 100 days in power would, by its own promises, include challenging Germany's post-war culture of historical reckoning and beginning deportations of irregular migrants. The slogan was stark: more Bismarck, less Hitler.
On the city's streets, the reactions were layered and raw. Judith, 88, who had fled Poland as a child and built her life in Magdeburg, found the result heartbreaking. Huy, a Vietnamese newsagent, sold the last copy of the local paper and allowed himself only a cautious hope that it might all be OK. Luisa, a bank teller, understood the economic frustrations driving some voters toward the AfD, but feared the price of this particular protest would prove very high.
For Maryam, a 16-year-old Syrian whose father came to Germany in 2015, the fear was not abstract. Her family's future now felt contingent on political negotiations she had no power over. Meanwhile, Doreen, a cleaner who voted AfD, pointed to a deadly car attack near Magdeburg's Christmas market in 2024 as proof that Merkel's migration policy had caused irreparable harm. Her vote was not protest — it was conviction.
The AfD, led by former fragrance salesman Ulrich Siegmund, fell just short of an absolute majority, and rumors swirled of attempts to peel away CDU members to form a government. The long-standing 'firewall' — mainstream parties' refusal to govern alongside the far-right — was under unprecedented strain, with record turnout of 78 percent and nearly one in two voters having chosen the AfD. Federal elections in two further states were weeks away, and Berlin faced the prospect of months of stasis as Chancellor Merz weighed every move against the risk of pushing yet more voters toward the radical right.
For a state of 2.1 million, Saxony-Anhalt had generated a political storm with consequences far beyond its borders — a test of whether the democratic institutions built from the wreckage of the Second World War could survive a movement determined to rewrite the terms of that inheritance.
On Monday morning in Magdeburg, the day after a political earthquake, the streets held an unusual tension. The Alternative für Deutschland—the AfD, a far-right party classified by German intelligence as extremist—had won 44 percent of the vote in Saxony-Anhalt's state elections the night before. It was the kind of result that changes how people look at each other. Walking through the city, asking residents what they thought felt almost intrusive, yet nearly everyone who was approached spoke openly, their answers layered with fear, resignation, and in some cases, vindication.
Judith, 88 years old, initially hesitated before sharing her story. She had been eight when she fled Poland in 1946, eventually settling in Magdeburg with her family. She built a career as a project engineer, and the AfD's landslide victory struck her as heartbreaking. The party's stated agenda made the wound deeper: in its first 100 days, it promised to challenge Germany's post-war memory culture—the national reckoning with Nazi history that the AfD views as an obstacle to pride—and to begin deporting what it calls irregular migrants. The slogan was blunt: more Bismarck, less Hitler.
Huy, who runs a newsagent in the city center, shook his head as he sold the last copy of the local paper, its headline screaming the margin of victory. He is from Vietnam. "I don't want to think what it might mean," he said, his question hanging unresolved: "But maybe it will all be OK?" Nearby, Luisa, a 34-year-old bank teller, expressed a hope that those who voted for the AfD had truly considered what they were doing. She understood the impulse to punish Berlin over economic stagnation, but the stakes felt different now. "We cannot know, and I fear the price could be high," she said.
The price, for many in Magdeburg, was not abstract. Maryam, 16, a Syrian teenager whose father arrived in Germany in 2015 during Angela Merkel's open-door policy, could not stop thinking about what the election meant for her family. She had returned from work experience at a retirement home to find her household on edge. Her anxiety was not unfounded: the AfD's rise had been turbocharged partly by resentment over Merkel's decision to welcome roughly a million migrants, a choice that now seemed to haunt the country's political future.
Yet the party's support was not monolithic or mysterious. Doreen, a cleaner, admitted she had voted for the AfD. She pointed to a 2024 attack near the Christmas market in Magdeburg's city center, where a Saudi doctor drove a car into the crowd, killing six people. That incident, she said, symbolized the broader damage she believed immigration had caused. "What on Earth is there to thank Merkel for?" she asked. "It's owing to her that we are in the state we're in. I say, good on the AfD for promising to clean up the mess."
The question now was whether the AfD could actually govern. The party, led by Ulrich Siegmund, a former fragrance salesman, fell just short of an absolute majority. Rumors circulated that the AfD was attempting to recruit members from Chancellor Friedrich Merz's Christian Democrats to secure the numbers needed to form a government. The CDU denied any defections were expected, but the pressure was mounting. Some AfD members had begun invoking Ronald Reagan's 1987 call to tear down the Berlin Wall, reframing it as a plea for mainstream parties to dismantle the "firewall"—the long-standing refusal of other parties to coalesce with the far-right. With turnout at a record 78 percent and nearly one in two voters choosing the AfD, that firewall looked increasingly fragile.
Franz-Josef, a 71-year-old retired mechanic and Green voter visiting from western Germany, called the election a catastrophe, particularly given the country's Nazi past. His concern was shared across the political establishment in Berlin, where Chancellor Merz accused the AfD of seeking ethnic cleansing. Federal elections were scheduled for September 20 in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern and Berlin, where the AfD was expected to perform strongly again. For weeks or months ahead, political negotiations would likely dominate, leaving the federal government in a state of stasis as Merz calculated every move, wary of driving more voters toward the far-right.
For a state of 2.1 million people, Saxony-Anhalt had created a political storm whose waves would reach far beyond its borders. The question facing Germany—and Europe—was whether the democratic guardrails that had held since the war could withstand the pressure of a party that wanted to fundamentally reshape the nation's relationship with its own history.
Citazioni salienti
The news that AfD had not only won the election, but by such a wide margin, was heartbreaking.— Judith, 88, a refugee from Poland who settled in Magdeburg after World War II
It's owing to her that we are in the state we're in. I say, good on the AfD for promising to clean up the mess.— Doreen, a cleaner who voted for the AfD, referring to Angela Merkel's migration policy
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