The AfD now polls at 29%, dwarfing Chancellor Merz’s CDU. After 15,000 protesters clashed with police in Erfurt, we look at why Germany’s political “firewall” is cracking — and what it means for Europe.
Germany is heading toward an inevitable explosion, and the scene from Erfurt last weekend shows that this explosion is no longer confined to the abstract realm of political forecasts. It is already on the streets, in front of congress halls, in blocked roads, in the shouts of protesters, but also in the self-assurance of a party that no longer sees itself as an incident, a protest voice, or a fringe phenomenon. The AfD looks like a government still waiting only for formal confirmation.
The party that for years was treated as an anomaly of the German system now speaks the language of historical necessity, while its opponents try to slow down on the street a process that has already gone deep into the country’s political body.
Around 15,000 protesters in Erfurt is not a small number, especially considering the mobilization of unions, the left, civic groups, and antifascist organizations. The image of blocked streets and riot police is a reminder that German politics is increasingly shifting from the space of parliamentary procedure into a space of physical tension. Protests against the AfD carry energy and a strong historical memory, but their political effectiveness is becoming more and more uncertain. The more visible the resistance, the easier it becomes for the AfD to present its rise as a fight against the system, the media, the elites, and organized pressure from the street. This dynamic has been feeding Europe’s right wing for years, and in Germany it takes a particular shape because of a history that turns every shift toward harder national policy into a seismic event.
Alice Weidel and Tino Chrupalla have been re-elected to lead a party that, according to polls, leads ahead of the CDU and CSU of Chancellor Friedrich Merz (currently supported by only 13% of respondents!). The mere fact that the AfD is reaching around 29% support nationally changes every calculation. In Western European countries, the rise of the right has often been read as a corrective to established parties — pressure that would push the center to toughen migration policy, cut bureaucracy, or acknowledge economic frustrations. The German case goes further. The AfD is no longer just seeking influence over the agenda. Chrupalla openly says the party will govern, first regionally, then nationally. A statement like that would have sounded like provocation a few years ago. Today it sounds like a reading of the political calendar.
Eastern Germany remains the most fertile ground for this rise. But it would be far too superficial to explain it all through nostalgia, authoritarianism, or the eastern states’ resistance to the liberal center. Behind it lies a deeper sense of humiliation, economic marginalization, and distrust of a system that, after reunification, promised equality and then for decades produced social distance between east and west. When the AfD talks about the country’s decline and mentions insecurity in parks, the housing crisis, migration, and the humiliation of the ordinary person, it is speaking to people who have long felt that Berlin sends them moral lectures instead of material solutions. That is the source of their strength, however crude, harsh, and often colored by political fantasy their response may be. Germany’s ruling center itself opened up the space the AfD now occupies.
Years of economic stagnation, the energy shock following the break with Russia, the costly engagement around Ukraine, rising prices, industrial insecurity, and migration tensions have created an atmosphere in which the promise of stability no longer sounds convincing. For decades Germany was portrayed as Europe’s rational machine, a country where crises are handled through procedure, compromise, and administrative discipline. That machine no longer functions the way it once did. The industrial model that depended on cheap energy, exports, technological edge, and relative social peace no longer has the same strength. The AfD recognized the crack and stepped into it with slogans linking identity, economy, and fear.
The question of the war in Ukraine is especially important. Chrupalla advocates ending military aid to Kyiv and resetting relations with Moscow. In the German context, this message carries more weight than in many other European countries. German economic strength was tied for decades to Russian energy, and the abrupt break of that link was a geopolitical decision with enormous economic consequences. Around this the AfD is building a narrative that appeals not only to nationalists but also to workers, entrepreneurs, and even pensioners who ask why Germany has to pay the price for a strategy largely shaped by Washington. If the AfD ever reaches a position where it can genuinely influence policy toward Eastern Europe, this very question could decide whether the party remains a protest phenomenon or becomes the bearer of a serious turn.
Here lies the paradox of the AfD’s rise. Right-wing parties often grow most easily while in opposition, where every fault belongs to others and every promise remains untouched by reality. Power is different. Power demands budgets, coalitions, bureaucracy, international pressures, industrial compromises, and confronting the fact that a society cannot be run on rhetoric of deportations and national pride alone. If the AfD takes power in an eastern state, its voters will for the first time see how much its program can actually touch everyday life. Can it bring back industrial jobs, lower energy prices, and at the same time avoid an institutional war with the rest of the state?
The history of Europe’s right often shows a rapid burning-out of such movements after they enter government. Still, Germany is entering a phase where even that scenario is not guaranteed. Of course, regional power is not the same as national power, and even there the AfD can always score points by claiming that Berlin is blocking everything — thereby opening a wider path precisely toward Berlin. The AfD could lose support if it turns into a comfortable party of power, an organization radical on the podium but obedient in budget corridors. That fate has befallen many forces that promised to “tear down the system” and then quickly settled into its privileges. But there is another possibility. If the AfD manages to link social discontent, opposition to war policy, criticism of migration, and deep distrust of the liberal center, a more lasting political structure could emerge — one that changes the whole of Germany. That would be a moment when the European order would feel an impact far stronger than the usual rise of the right in smaller countries.
Germany is a special zone of sensitivity because every major political change there is read through the historical experience of the twentieth century. That is why the so-called firewall against the AfD is so important for the political center. It serves as a moral and institutional dam, an agreement by which the party is kept outside coalitions and executive power.
But the firewall is growing weaker as the AfD grows stronger. When a party reaches nearly a third of the electorate, its permanent exclusion starts to produce new tension. AfD voters may then conclude that a political operation is being run against them, while AfD’s opponents may conclude that any concession is a betrayal of the democratic legacy. Between these two positions, there is less and less room for a peaceful transition.
That is why the scene from Erfurt carries a European meaning. It shows a future in which elections alone will no longer be a strong enough valve for social anger. One side takes to the streets because it believes a dangerous right wing is being normalized before its eyes. The other side fills congress halls because it believes it is being denied its right to power. The police stand between them as a symbol of a state that still maintains order but is finding it ever harder to maintain trust. Under such circumstances, physical clashes, blockades, counter-mobilizations, and pressure on institutions become increasingly likely. Germany’s tradition of stability still exists, but its authority is no longer beyond question.
If the AfD wins in Saxony-Anhalt and Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Europe will be watching the start of a new phase. Small and medium-sized countries will quickly recognize their own replays of the German scenario. Every migration crisis, every rise in energy prices, every new allocation for war, and every further weakening of industry will become fuel for similar movements. Germany has long been the anchor of the European Union. If that anchor starts to drag, the ship will not stay calm. The AfD is not yet in power, but it is already acting as a force reshaping the entire political space. Germany is moving toward an outcome that old formulas can no longer stop. The question is whether that outcome will be an institutional turn, a street-level escalation, or a painful unmasking of the emptiness behind the big slogans. Either way, Europe will feel all of it.
About the Author
Mario Hoffmann is an independent analyst and writer covering global economics, geopolitics, and international affairs. With a background in history and politics, he writes for EconoPuls to provide in-depth context on the stories shaping our world.
