A lawmaker for the Alternative for Germany has been assaulted. If an anti-AfD motive is proved, it could increase tensions. We must try to de-escalate and talk to each other respectfully, DW's Jens Thurau writes.
Advertisement
Image: picture-alliance/AP Photo/H. Reuter
Until recently, Germans had associated violent clashes between political adversaries with earlier eras, such as the 1920s, when worker alliances fought protofascist groups in the streets and many lost their lives.
Now, apparently, Germany is again experiencing such violence. On Monday, Frank Magnitz, the leader of the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) in the state of Bremen, was set upon by a number of unknown individuals and beaten up. The seriously injured parliamentarian was later taken to hospital. German politicians across the entire political spectrum expressed shock at the incident. But the AfD (or rather its co-leader Jörg Meuthen) soon published an unedited image of Magnitz's severe head injuries on Twitter. It seems that not even this brutal beating, in the AfD's view, warranted briefly halting attacks on the party's political adversaries. And so, the discussions that ensued after Monday's attack on Magnitz were full of hate.
DW's Jens Thurau
After a while, almost all German media outlets began covering the attack. By and large, the press does not have much sympathy for the AfD.
'In the mirror'
Where does such violence begin? And where does it end? All observers agree that debates in Germany's parliament, the Bundestag, have become much shriller and more chaotic since the AfD entered the legislature in 2017. The party has, for instance, broadly and hatefully branded refugees as "subsidized knife-wielding men and veiled women." And Germany's other parties have yet to find a way of dealing with the AfD that calms, rather than escalates, tensions. Indeed, in September, the lawmaker Johannes Kahrs of the Social Democrats lambasted the AfD in the Bundestag, telling members that "hate makes you ugly — just look in the mirror." The far-right parliamentarians walked out of the chamber in protest. Scenes such as these are eerily reminiscent of the Weimar Republic.
One may assume that Magnitz's assailants felt spurred on by Germany's increasingly polarized political climate. Most people, however, are not involved in these heated debates, nor do they want to be. They are appalled by the vitriol. And they stay silent.
It is exactly those Germans who should work to put an end to the political tensions. Schools should play their part, and parents, too. German society has shifted markedly to the right. And what is needed now more than ever is for people to engage in dialogue with one another — about eastern and western Germany, about natives and migrants, about the rich and poor. Establishment parties need to push for debate, and to treat the AfD respectfully, regardless of how fiercely they disagree with its policies. It is unlikely that the far-right party will engage in de-escalation, as illustrated by the way it has dealt with the attack on Frank Magnitz.
Splendor and misery in the Weimar Republic
The Weimar Republic (1918-1933) was full of contradictions, political tension rising alongside artistic and societal revolutions, and all captured stunningly in German art from the era.
Image: VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2017, Foto: Galerie Michael Hasenclever
Christian Schad, 'Boys in Love'
The exhibition at the Schirn Kunsthalle in Frankfurt collects images from some of the most important issues of the Weimar era. Among the political debates that took place during that time was one regarding Article 175, a law dating back to 1871 which forbade homosexuality. A grassroots campaign from 1919 to 1929 sought to abolish the law and very nearly succeeded.
Image: VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2017/Foto: J. Oschik, Museen der Stadt Aschaffenburg
Otto Dix, 'Woman with Mink and Veil'
After WWI, Berlin grew to be the world’s third largest city and quickly gained a reputation for nightlife and hedonism that attracted people from around the globe — including prostitutes, injured war veterans and those looking to make an easy buck. The contrast of Ku'damm's fur-clad matrons with the poverty of the tenement houses of the eastern districts was a common theme in the art of the time.
Image: VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2017, Judy and Michael Steinhardt Collection, New York
The expressionism of Otto Dix
Otto Dix used simple materials to capture Weimar Berlin’s depravity. The World War I veteran vacillated between sketches like that shown above, "Pimp and Girl," and disturbing recollections of wartime frontlines. The contrast served as criticism of the country’s inability to adequately grapple with its war past.
Image: VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2017
The extravagance of the Ku'damm
Comprising 190 works of art by 62 different artists, the exhibition showcases the contrasts of the Weimar Era in its selection. This sketch by Dodo (born Dörte Clara Wolff), "Box Logic," was created for the satire magazine "Ulk" in 1929 to highlight the lives of the wealthy who continued their extravagant lifestyles as anti-Semitism and economic depression severely shifted the mood in Berlin.
Image: Privatsammlung Hamburg/Krümmer Fine Art
'Margot' by Rudolf Schlichter
Irmgard Keun's novel, "The Artificial Silk Girl," brought Weimar Berlin to life from the female perspective. Struggling to make ends meet while hopping between parties and prostituting herself while wrapped in a stolen fur, the narrator comments on her fellow women, noting: "There are clubs where women sit wearing stiff collars and ties, who are frightfully proud of being perverse."
Image: Viola Roehr von Alvensleben München/Foto: M. Setzpfandt
'Self-Portrait with Son,' 1933
Granted suffrage in Germany on November 12, 1918, women were emancipated as never before. That liberality was felt in many aspects of society, as women took on professional jobs and political debates on contraception, marital rights and prostitution. Artists like Kate Diehn-Bitt captured the New Woman in their works of social realism: urban, independent, self-confident, androgynous in appearance.
Image: Nachlass Kate Diehn-Bitt/Kunstmuseum Ahrenshoop
Jeanne Mammen captured Berlin in transition
A central fixture in Berlin's art scene was artist Jeanne Mammen, Berlin-born but raised in France before she returned to the German capital during World War I. Her sharp eye captured the city and its citizens in a time of great transition. In paintings like the 1926 watercolor "Ash Wednesday," Mammen captured the era's hedonism and bore witness to the liberality and excesses of the period.
Image: VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2017/Foto: M. Schormann
Political tension: 'Weimar Carnival'
In "Berlin Alexanderplatz," Alfred Döblin wrote of a vibrant capital city in upheaval as he documents the life of Franz Biberkopf. In it, and in paintings like that by Horst Naumann above, the rise of anti-Semitism, militarism and National Socialism came into full view. As Döblin wrote: "He has seen the paramilitary troopers, the young men, and their leader, too, that is something."
"Splendor and misery in the Weimar Republic" seeks to make clear just how the foundation for societal and economic advancements that we might take for granted today were laid during what many recall fondly, though not altogether accurately, as a decade of decadence. The exhibition runs through February 25, 2018 at the Schirn Kunsthalle in Frankfurt.
Image: VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2017, Foto: Galerie Michael Hasenclever
