Germany’s democracy is 75 years old this month. The anniversary is pregnant with meaning, as the country debates with ever greater anxiety the principles that have underpinned its postwar identity and sense of self-worth.
Pomp is not something modern Germans do, but on 23 May the Basic Law will be celebrated with a state ceremony. That will be followed by a “Festival of Democracy” in Berlin and in the former capital, Bonn, where it came into being in 1949. Commemorative events and discussion groups are taking place in universities and civic halls. If only other countries, not least Britain, with its politics-as-entertainment culture, could interrogate their democratic credentials as earnestly.
In my nearly four decades of visiting and living in Germany, I cannot think of a time when it is questioning its values as much as now. And with good reason. The birthday celebrations take place a fortnight before elections to the European parliament that are expected to see a highest-ever showing for the parties of the populist right and far right across the continent.
The German variant, the AfD – which has been criticised even by the likes of Marine Le Pen – is running second in the polls, behind the centre-right Christian Democrats (CDU), but ahead of the chancellor Olaf Scholz’s Social Democrats (SPD) and the Greens. The third party in the ruling coalition, the liberal Free Democrats (FDP), are languishing in sixth place, behind another hard-right party.
In the autumn, the AfD could emerge victorious in possibly two of three elections taking place in regions of former East Germany. A series of scandals since the start of the year – from the discovery in January of a “remigration masterplan” to allegations of spying for China – have dented its support – which has dropped from 24% to 16%, according to one poll. But it is still a very significant political force.
The AfD upsurge should not be seen in a vacuum, and nor should a recent spate of attacks against German politicians, including Franziska Giffey, a Berlin senator and former city mayor. It is a consequence of the steady erosion of the certainties that have guided the Federal Republic of the cold war era. In the mid-1980s, the political philosopher Jürgen Habermas developed the term “constitutional patriotism”. Postwar West Germans could finally feel proud of something, of the values and practices of a liberal democratic constitution.
The Grundgesetz, the Basic Law, was intended only to be temporary, to be an interim constitution following the division of Germany. However, it was not superseded in 1990 by something new, but adopted into the reunified larger country. It is a copious document that ranges from the rights of the individual to the imposition of motor vehicle taxes (article 106). It sets out in detail the roles of executive, parliament and judiciary, and the relationship between the centre and the (now 16) regions, or Länder.
It has been amended more than 60 times, including the contentious clauses added in 2009 requiring governments to adhere to a balanced budget, the so-called “debt brake”, which has strangled government spending plans.
For all the quibbles, the constitution should be seen as a source of pride, certainly when compared to other such documents around the world. It is not stuck immutably in the 18th century, as is the case in the United States. Nor is it constantly being rewritten, as with each French Republic. It is flexible enough to adapt to the times, but it is less at the potential mercy of victorious bombast – some articles are inviolable, others can be changed by a two-thirds majority of both houses of parliament. The ultimate arbiter is the fiercely independent constitutional court.
The many checks and balances are embedded to prevent the wilful use or abuse of power. As the weekly newspaper Die Zeit observed in a recent edition devoted to the 75th anniversary, the Basic Law is “deeply laden with scepticism” and mindful of “the abuse of power and the obstruction of the democratic system”. It notes: “The creators … did not trust the people, those same people who had cheered on Hitler and then opted for a representative democracy.”
The document’s authors envisaged the creation of only three “people’s parties” – the CDU, SPD and FDP, reflecting a tightly drawn range of respectable opinion. However, many are now wondering whether constitutional guarantees that were put in place in the late 1940s, while Germany was still rebuilding from rubble, are resilient enough to withstand the current populist onslaught.
This is an important question to ask, but not the only question. Constitutions provide the bedrock. They are necessarily – vital even – but they are ultimately insufficient.
In 2019, the diplomat Thomas Bagger, now the chief civil servant at the foreign ministry, wrote an essay reassessing the post-1989 era, after the advent of Donald Trump, Brexit and other populist movements. He juxtaposed countries such as France, with its proud traditions and strong sense of national interest, with Germany, which, he argued, had nothing but present-day beliefs to fall back on. He added: “The Trump challenge goes much deeper than just policy disagreements – his approach pulls the rug from under the feet of German foreign policy thinking since the foundation of modern Germany in the late 1940s.”
In the ensuing five years, global and domestic instability have increased yet more sharply. As it marks its important milestone this month, contemporary Germany needs to chart a new course, one that is based on its principles, but one that also requires more courage. That involves fighting harder for liberal democracy, at home and abroad. That involves taking more risks. The comfort blanket has been removed.
John Kampfner is the author of In Search of Berlin, Blair’s Wars and Why the Germans Do It Better
