Like almost everyone else in Germany, Lisl Halberstadt listened to the speech from the Siemens-Schuckert factory, broadcast through speakers mounted on the roads — unaware that she was witnessing the roots of Germany’s far-right resurgence. “Sirens marked the start and end,” the teenage high school student wrote in her diary, without mentioning a word of what was said. The speech marked the end of Adolf Hitler’s election campaign in 1933, which saw the Nazis win 92.1 percent of the vote after voters were presented with a list of Nazi Party candidates and a handful of their political allies. That summer, all other political parties were banned.
“The conflict and hatred between nations is sowed by particular interested parties,” Hitler declaimed. “It is a group of people who make their home everywhere and nowhere, who live in Berlin today, Brussels tomorrow, Paris the day after that, and then again in Prague, Vienna, and London, who feel at home everywhere.”
From the crowd, someone helpfully called out what he meant: “The Jews.”
This week, for the first time since the elections of 1932—the last free exercise the country would see until after the Second World War—a far-right party became the second-largest formation in Germany’s Reichstag. Then, the Nazis won 18.3 percent of the vote and 117 seats; this time, Alternative für Deutschland (AfD)—Alternative for Germany—took 20.8 percent of the vote and 152 seats. There was no Elon Musk-like figure to make a congratulatory call to the Nazis.
Lisl Halberstadt survived the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, migrated to the United States, and passed away in 1993 at the age of 77.
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Germany’s far-right and the burden of history
The great American writer Mark Twain is often—incorrectly—credited with the observation that history does not repeat itself, but it often rhymes. Like other right-wing populist movements reshaping the world, the scholar René Cuperus has observed that the AfD “is a backlash against a world in flux: an anxious, angry cry to preserve a familiar way of life and identity. It is a protest against threats from outside, and at the same time, an alarm signal that the existing political and social system is failing to represent people.”
There is little purpose in imagining Germany is headed back into its centuries-old history of pogroms or more modern experiences of industrialised genocide. Almost certainly, it is not. Yet the rise of the AfD raises serious questions about the growing challenges to the democratic structures of Europe and the United States.
The AfD clearly contains a core of unreconstructed Nazism: the party’s propaganda, indeed, celebrates it. Leaked emails from party leader Alice Weidel, dating back to 2013 when she worked at finance giant Allianz, condemned Germany’s leadership for being “puppets of the World War Two allies.” “The reason why we are overrun by culturally foreign people such as Arabs, Sinti and Roma is the systematic destruction of civil society as a possible counterweight from the enemies of the constitution by whom we are governed,” she ranted.
Eberhardt Alexander Gauland, another key AfD leader, infamously claimed that while Germans might venerate mixed-race football icon Jérôme Boateng, “they wouldn’t want him as a neighbour.” Later, he asserted that Germans had a right to be proud of the soldiers who fought in the Second World War. “We have the right to take back not only our country, but also our past,” Gauland declared.
At AfD rallies, scholar Thomas Kilkauer has documented explicitly pro-Nazi signs and symbols, along with slogans calling for the elimination of immigrants. Followers of the movement have sometimes played a song by pro-Nazi musician Oliver Keudel: “You Jews are all addicted to Zyklon B. It’s that long noses, I see. Tons of gas we will bring for them.”
The reasons this language has wide appeal are not opaque—but they are complex. Like in the 1930s, antisemitism and racism still find an audience in Germany. Even though data shows little difference in crime rates between immigrants and native Germans of similar social and economic cohorts, the AfD has stoked fears of violence, much like President Donald Trump did in the United States. These beliefs, however, are also rooted in a particular historical moment.
For Hitler, when he made his speech in 1933, the Jews were a metaphor for the crisis of modernity: the familiar world of community, culture, and identity had been ground down during the First World War, and the dislocation between past and present had only grown in the years since. To many, it seemed the world had fractured, with no hand present to heal it. For many in the post-Covid world, that’s familiar emotional terrain: lost in a predatory world, neo-Nazis are returning to a primal, blood-and-nationhood tribe.
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Electing Nazis—Germany’s far-right leaders
Exactly what is this neo-Nazi tribe, however? Large numbers of media commentaries have suggested that the AfD draws its support from Germany’s deindustrialised East, feeding on resentments against sharp welfare cuts and high levels of unemployment. There is some truth to this. The scholar Penny Bochum, in her taut book on the AfD, suggests this is at best a partial truth. The AfD’s support in the East, she notes, comes from above-average-income rural areas, with no clear link to unemployment rates.
Although high youth unemployment was positively related to AfD support in Berlin and Dresden, in the south, support came from people with educational attainment, income levels, migrant populations, and age compositions close to the national average.
This should not surprise us. Among the most durable myths about the rise of the Nazis in the 1930s is that it was driven by economic dislocation. As the historian Volker Ulrich has shown, the Weimar Republic made significant steps towards economic stabilisation after 1923. Though economic crises disrupted progress, Weimar ended hyperinflation, introduced currency reform, and restored industrial production. The Great Depression, which began in 1929, hit Germany hard—but that in itself did not lead to an unstoppable surge of support for Nazism.
Instead, the real crisis was political. The failure of the KPD, or Communist Party, and the Social Democrats to cooperate in the face of the Nazi threat eroded the structure of the democratic state, helped along by conservative interests allied to the military. In the elections of the summer of 1932, the KPD received 12.3 percent of the vote, and the Social Democrats 18.3 percent. The Nazis, despite their momentum, fell well short of a majority, with 37.7 per cent.
There have been troubling signs the centre-right is willing to repeat these mistakes. In 2020, lawmakers from the Christian Democratic Union voted with the AfD to dislodge left-wing Thuringia provincial premier Bodo Ramelow. Following AfD victories in Thuringia and Saxony last year, some in the CDU called for talks with the AfD rather than forming alliances with the Left.
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The Liberal implosion
Across Europe, the old liberal political establishment—left or centre-right—appears to have lost the imagination and energy to address the enormous dislocation their voters face. Instead of engaging in a sensible discussion of what levels of immigration are necessary and why, analysts Kristina Simonsen and Tobias Widmann note that the debate has centred around moralising. Few ideas for economic rejuvenation and the reconstruction of decaying social security infrastructure are being articulated by mainstream parties.
This vacuum breeds space for populist politicians, who preach the second coming of times of glory past, forged through primal ties of blood and culture.
Germany’s election results are alarming, but not because of the spectre of a second Auschwitz or a coming age of Nazi terror. The rise of the AfD demonstrates that the liberal order in Europe is on the edge of imploding—not because of external threats, but because of its bankruptcy of imagination.
Key Takeaways: Germany’s Far-Right Surge
- Election Results & AfD’s Rise: In 2025, Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) won 20.8% of the vote, becoming the second-largest party in Germany’s Reichstag. This echoes the Nazi Party’s rise in the early 1930s, raising concerns about the country’s political trajectory.
- Historical Parallels to Nazi Germany: The AfD’s nationalist rhetoric, use of anti-immigrant language, and celebration of Nazi-era figures resemble strategies Adolf Hitler used to manipulate public sentiment.
- Far-Right Propaganda & Extremism: Leaked emails and party leader statements reveal elements of Nazi ideology within the AfD. At rallies, pro-Nazi slogans and music are sometimes used, normalizing hate speech and violence against minorities.
- Roots of the AfD’s Popularity: The AfD’s support isn’t purely economic — it draws from anxieties about national identity, immigration, and a perceived failure of traditional political systems to represent everyday citizens.
- Lessons from History: Just as political divisions in the Weimar Republic helped the Nazis seize power, today’s fragmented political landscape could enable extremist forces to further erode democracy if centrist parties fail to unite.
- The Liberal Vacuum: Mainstream parties’ failure to address voters’ real concerns — like social security, economic stability, and the pace of immigration — has left space for far-right populists to thrive.
- Future Implications: While Germany isn’t on the brink of repeating its darkest chapters, the AfD’s success signals growing democratic fragility. Addressing voter discontent, promoting social cohesion, and resisting extremist normalization are crucial to preserving Germany’s democratic future.
Praveen Swami is contributing editor at ThePrint. His X handle is @praveenswami. Views are personal.
(Edited by Prashant)