Schwarz

5.9.2026

What was supposed to be professional journalism quickly spiralled into something else, the abyss. I’m suing!

“If I were to write this down in my diary and I would read it, I would be like, who is this freak? This isn’t me.“ says Rory Gilmore in Gilmore Girls E21, S2, when contemplating the relationship between life and lyrical prose.

Reporter #3 felt about the same about his experiences driving over 300 miles over to the so-called „Democracy Party“, kindly hosted by the far-right AFD in a place he had never even heard about — Saxony-Anhalt — to inquire what the political hubbub in the East was all about. Things he picked up before:

„Can’t they keep quiet over there?“ – Reporter #2 after his second half-pint.

“They can have my passion, but not my pension” – elderly man in Bottrop.

“When the right is right, and the left is left, what will be left, and what is right?” – a confused, wise spirit.

This Sunday’s elections in that small state next to Berlin loom large over the Federal Republic and Friedrich Merz’s coalition in the potential autumn of its reign; local polls see the AFD in the clear lead, within reach of an absolute majority (a recent poll on X showing the AFD winning by a landslide was fake though). No matter which way the actual results swing, the ruling CDU is set to receive a shellacking, and its current state governor — Sven Schulze — will be hard-pressed to form a coalition sidestepping the party that makes it all about the past: The good, old, save Germany from before, is the line repeated by the AFD’s lead candidate Ulrich Sigmund wherever he goes. Unlike other commentators, I wholeheartedly agree with this sentiment; I too believe we peaked in the 1780s when we invented Weimarer Klassik and even Napoleon loved reading about the romantic travails of a young man called Werther. Now all we export is trade deficits and mediocre football.

Since at the Schwarz Press we are no believers in polls, piercings or Amazon-Prime (we watch Art House movies like high-minded people), we sent our best man down memory lane in the East to find out why Siegmund is quite so successful promising a revolution, and how he likes to eat his strawberries. Consequently, Reporter #3 was dispatched to the small town of Hallensleben in the vicinity of the state capital, Magdeburg, on Tuesday, armed with a disarming smile, a hand ready to be shaken, and ears eager to listen to whatever insanity they might encounter. All this in the hope of picking up some yet-unknown wisdom from the many a-cobbled streets about the party that Friedrich Merz once promised to cut in half at the polls.

POV: I’m driving into Hallensleben with the ominous feeling that whatever I might encounter here I should be on my guard, for this is the Far-East, and I don’t know their customs, religious affiliation and treatment of strangers. Hence, I immediately seek refuge in a quaint-looking Indian-Pakistani restaurant — this unlikely combination an omen of conciliation to come? — and take comfort in the familiar tastes of falafel and chips; it is yet too early to try the local cuisine.

Yelp rating 4 stars out of 5: Perched by the window in the otherwise empty dining area, I am suddenly startled by a loud bang, as a big bus steams past our little corner, only to abruptly come to a halt thereafter. A young man, as pale in spirit as in general complexion, tumbles out of the driver’s seat and darts towards our little outpost, where he breathlessly talks at the puzzled restaurant man, who was just busy watching me eat. The two seem to be resolving the issue of, on the one hand, having crashed public bus line 615 into a parked car and, on the other hand, being at the receiving end of the bruising bus banging into one’s private property, with commendable civility. A police car arrives and insurance claims are exchanged, words spoken in polite, casual demeanour and everybody goes about their day: Not all is lost here in this country of wide fields, long tree-lined roads and romantic German castles; respectful discourse lives and it may even live on after Sunday: Following this invigorating experience, I am now ready to step back into the political sphere and see how it holds up against life on the high-street. No more excuses! I make my way to the party of the alternative universe.

There is crazy, and then there is some other kind of crazy: today I get to see it all, as I first walk past the heavy-clad police units guarding fields and such things, and accidentally wander into a counter-protest by the “Omas Gegen Rechts” — Grannies against the Right — and get to see how the vibes feel around here. Not particularly good, I find, as I’m surrounded by shrill hippie wannabees in ill-fitting T-shirts and other fashion choices Karl Lagerfeld would have diagnosed as a life out of control.

Eyes back on the price: I’m trying to make out any grannies in this crowd of circa 250 people but am hard-pressed to find a single one, let alone any looking to date (just kidding). Instead, I find plenty of middle-aged Allmans, vying for the granny look, but not quite making the cut. Some age-related wisdom would have been a welcome political perspective, but unfortunately, we are missing out. A lady gets up to the pulpit and declares she is one of the grannies from here, but then admits she just moved here from a bigger city, worried about the “right-drift” happening in this part of Germany. Commendable activism of course, but not a local I would say. Leaving the group, I conclude that vibes and all, the Peace Protests of the 70s must have been a lot more fun!

On I go, to investigate Evil Incarnate across the field, by slipping away from my surroundings unobserved and crossing over to where the brunt of the police force is keeping a keen eye. There is a gathering in the local Schützenhaus – or Shooting Club – of mayhaps 500 people, mostly outside in the yard, kept separated from the street by a single fence. It is not clear if that fence is supposed to keep us out, or keep some muscular, heavily ponytailed men inside away from polite society. These walls do seem to have political relevance here in the East, but why, I can’t quite remember.

I play nice and approach the gate alongside some fellow reporters and young families, which is equally “securitised” by stern-looking men. Somewhat embarrassingly, everybody trying to enter gets filmed by a gaggle of streamers from across the spectrum — political, I mean — giving anybody entering a serious sense of shame, perhaps mingled with a sense of defiance against the obtrusive interference of one’s privacy. I’m not for them, after all.

I’m inside, and nothing really happens. Perhaps I expected to be outed as an alien, not from the East, nor in cahoots with the party. Maybe they would hold a show-trial over my head, with pre-meditated outcome. Scratch that, there is none of that excitement. Like many of the attendees, I stand around a little awkwardly, which is throwing me right back to the high school prom dance. Thanks for that AFD; last time I just wanted somebody to dance with me; this time I hope nobody tries!

The one guy I try to interview about his being there seems as afraid of me as I am of him. The chances that we are both trying to cover the event for a ragtag news platform like this one are probably greater than nil.

Some AI-generated music is playing, which is kind of catchy, but well, not exactly Wolfgang Petry either; something I would have welcomed a great deal! We are all waiting for Ulrich Siegmund to arrive, and I briefly get mesmerised by a Spinning Wheel where your dart can hit the different parties, including the AFD. Looks fun, but the danger of hitting the comically large middle circle, dedicated to the AFD, is too great for me. Wouldn’t want to get caught up in the wrong optics, wouldn’t I? Out of sheer boredom, I politely ask some party functionaries (the only ones in suits) near the house entrance for the loo, and just like that I am given access to the inner sanctum of the party. That was too easy. Slightly disappointed, I retire to the actual loo to ponder my next steps.

By the time Ulrich — or “Ulli” as they cheer him on like Rocky running into the arena himself – arrives, I am ready for some rhetorical hypnosis, unable preferably to avert my eyes from the spectacle. But alas, I am once again disappointed; my eyes are positively able to dart back and forth in a crowd that is happy to keep their gaze fixed at the 35-year-old guy on stage, or simply the person’s neck in front of them. For a journalist like myself, the contents of the speech should be of the greatest interest; unfortunately, my attention wanders, and I can only recall the faintest pieces of information from what Ulli produced.

From what I do recall, he said that he was glad to be finally among “reasonable” people, loud cheers. He said the thing about wanting his good, old Germany back, more cheers. Then he announced the possibility of people taking photos with him after, even greater cheers. Through it all, Siegmund did speak of optimism — now the contents are coming back to me — how he knew that if this election didn’t work out for the AFD, the next or the one after would be the one where they win the majority, or enact a revolution, or something. Crikey. Then again, he didn’t make it sound like the end of democracy — after all, we were at the democracy party, right — and didn’t give reason to think of him as the foulest apple of them all. The papers have been writing as much as this so far. There was some talk about a Trojan horse too, but that was too complicated for me.

Not a party-pooper: The state-chief of the party Martin Reichardt spoke next, and his tone was noticeably more aggressive — and more hypnotic I dare admit — than Siegmund’s. Reichardt was only recently part of an investigation over an alleged Hitler salute in 2020, forbidden in Germany, with a picture of him emerging that is quite indicative. He rejects the accusation, saying he has never in his life given the salute. During his speech, Reichardt, who is a bit faster and sharper with his words than Siegmund, says the line that gets the most laughs and jeers that day. Allegedly, he spoke to the police previously about the counter-protests opposite the event and about whether they aren’t forbidden from covering their faces with black Covid masks. The policeman apparently replied: “No, they can do so, because they are sick.” The crowd roars. Reichardt follows up by saying, surely that hadn’t helped them during Covid either.

Let’s get the hell out of here: At this point, I’ve seen and heard enough to question my intent to do more reporting of this kind; slight unease about my situation and my old foe, boredom, start creeping back. As I leave the wire gate, I get a little nervous about whether I’ll make it out in time, but no issues here; the spy has slipped through the wire.

On my way back to the car, I come past the activist stands again, this time witnessing how a right-wing heckler and his cameraman are being encircled, to be kept from the stage, and getting quite some verbal abuse from the crowd. While I may have worried a little bit for my life inside the AFD party, at least there were plenty of accredited journalists going about their jobs looking pretty unharassed. This is not the case for the right-wing streamer; I think he is made to leave, at the latest when the police step in and ask him to do so. I’m outta there as well…

Just some organised fun? Being up close to the people at the AFD event, and having talked to a few of them, I feel that while I did see some aggressive people and many with strong conspiratorial tendencies, there were also plenty of decent ones. To be honest, here were many types that looked like they hadn’t had it easy in life and were aggrieved about slights that they perceived were directed at them or simply felt they had been disregarded or paid no respect in the past. It seemed that by organising this party that day, the AFD gave many an occasion to get together, have a beer, laugh at the elites in Berlin, and indulge a little in the idea of a revolution in their lives. I don’t think most seriously wanted that, but certainly would welcome more political say and a better expression of their interests. I also didn’t see a serious, well-oiled political movement that day, at least not in the worst possible sense as we have known them in Germany’s history. At least for now, there was no one marching in Hallensleben, which came as a welcome relief.