Anna Ortwein is a freshman at Duke planning to major in political science and economics. She took the spring semester off to run for the Bundestag as a member of the Freie Demokratische Partei (FDP). This is Anna’s first dispatch in a series of reflections for The Lemur about her campaign experience.
Many people think politics should be the domain of seasoned professionals in suits – certainly not the place for a 19-year-old university student. But as someone who has always believed that freedom carries with it responsibility, I refused to let age hold me back. My name is Anna Ortwein, and at just 19, as an underclassman studying Political Science and Economics, I made an unconventional decision: I ran for the German Parliament.
Ever since I was very young, I’ve dreamed of owning my own apartment and car——buying and earning them myself, not depending on my family. This principle of individual responsibility and freedom is precisely what drew me to the German Free Democratic Party (FDP). We believe in empowering people to make their own choices, but also expect them to take responsibility for those choices. As a parliamentary candidate, I certainly had my own responsibilities—I oversaw a campaign team of fifteen dedicated individuals organized into specialized committees handling finances, event coordination, and social media strategy. I attended numerous discussion panels hosted by local organizations and stakeholders within my constituency, Göppingen. One such panel was hosted by local restaurant and hotel owners, who were grappling with the effects of the economic downturn. Fewer Germans had been able to afford to dine out, and a chronic shortage of workers in the hospitality sector meant shorter opening hours and reduced services. To connect with these small business owners, I drew on insights I had gained from my aunt, who runs an inn. For instance, she once pointed out to me the strange tax inconsistency: a sausage salad bought at the supermarket is taxed at 7%, but the same dish served in a restaurant—prepared with more effort by a trained cook—is taxed at 19% (and yes, Germans really do eat sausage salad). This small detail captured a larger issue: the structural challenges facing the hospitality industry. Concerns about economic pressure and the ongoing shortage of (skilled) workers came up in almost every discussion I had throughout the campaign. Our work drew significant attention and support to the region: the chairman of my party’s parliamentary group—soon to become the party’s national leader—joined me as a speaker at one of my rallies, and the former vice governor and minister of justice headlined an event on migration policy.
Migration, of course, is a difficult and divisive issue in German politics. One of the most unforgettable moments of my campaign came not from interacting with those high-profile guests, but during a school panel. A student, around 15 years old, asked me about a tragic incident in Aschaffenburg, where an Afghan migrant had killed a 10-year-old child and a kindergarten teacher. Her voice trembled—not just with curiosity, but with fear. Germany had experienced several such incidents in recent weeks, and it was clear how deeply this one had affected her. I was able to connect with her—not only because I took her concerns seriously, but also because of our closeness in age. I responded by outlining both my party’s and my own approach: to meet these challenges with empathy and democratic resolve. I believe that Germany urgently needs skilled and qualified immigrants to support our aging population. At the same time, we must regain control over irregular migration. That means centralizing deportation procedures at the federal level—because the current state-led system is inefficient and inconsistent—and accelerating asylum decisions to ensure they are handled both swiftly and fairly.
This conversation inevitably reminded me of the U.S. immigration crisis, which has many parallels with the European one: millions of people arriving, often seeking refuge or better economic opportunities, yet facing an inconsistent and outdated legal framework and a polarized political environment. I believe that just as the U.S. needs clear, compassionate pathways—both for skilled workers and for those fleeing violence—Germany must also balance humanitarian responsibilities with lawful and orderly processes. Whether in Europe or across the Atlantic, these policies aren’t just about abstract statistics; they’re about real people and families, whose hopes, fears, and futures are on the line. That student reminded me that migration isn’t just an abstract policy issue—it’s something that shapes hopes, fears, and lives in our communities. Listening to voices like hers grounded my campaign in what really matters, and deepened my commitment to responsible, compassionate leadership. My age helped me listen to her, and it made me a better politician.
As a young person, education is deeply personal for me. In Germany, academic opportunities depend heavily on family background and socioeconomic status. I’ve witnessed friends struggle because they didn’t have parental support with homework or couldn’t afford extra lessons or resources. While I was fortunate enough to overcome that challenge, working hard at school, spending afternoons as a guide at the local Jewish museum, archives, and even helped reinstate my city’s youth council after it was dissolved due to a bureaucratic technicality (only 22 young people applied for 20 seats, but the rules required a frustratingly arbitrary cutoff of 30 applicants). I launched a petition, gathered signatures, and pushed until the council was finally reinstated. While I managed to succeed, I saw just how easily others were left behind.
Joining the FDP gave me the chance to address the issues that bothered me most, and that affect so many young people in Germany: why aren’t schools teaching us important practical skills like how to file taxes or navigate digital spaces effectively? How can we support students whose homes can’t provide extra educational resources? Of course, these aren’t just educational questions—they’re political ones. That’s why I stepped up as a candidate to advocate for fundamental educational reforms, to ensure everyone has a chance at education and a chance through education (“Chance auf Bildung, Chance durch Bildung”). This later became my election slogan.
But I am also motivated by issues that have less to do with my age and generation, which might surprise those who think young people have a narrow set of political interests. Infrastructure is another one of the main reasons I decided to run. The “B10” road, a key transport artery for commuters and freight, is vital to the economic heartbeat of the Stuttgart region—but it’s in urgent need of renovation. Bureaucratic delays at state and federal levels have turned the project into a frustrating game of ping-pong which, if left unresolved, means losing local businesses, discouraging new investment, and ultimately jeopardizing the economic stability of the region I call home. This isn’t just about fixing a road—it’s about securing the future of our community. It’s about protecting the place where I grew up—the place I genuinely love.
I had to have these strong convictions in order to overcome the challenges I faced as a young candidate. During the campaign, I faced the harsh realities of politics, particularly at the hands of other, sometimes unscrupulous candidates trying to boost their position in the polls. At one big event, the local conservative candidate from the CDU, the conservative party, falsely blamed the FDP and its former parliamentarian for blocking the key B10 infrastructure project (the one that I care so much about!). We later found out that it was actually the Social Democrats and the Greens who scrapped the plans. What made this worse was that our former parliamentarian–who was wrongly accused–had already passed away and couldn’t defend himself. That hit hard. This issue isn’t just another political talking point; it directly affects the future of young people in our region, myself included. Seeing this issue get twisted for political gain was deeply disappointing. It made one thing painfully clear: for my conservative rival candidate, it wasn’t about the issue at all—it was about getting re-elected.
I was also stunned when the AfD, the right-wing party of Germany, which also has famous right-extremist politicians in their ranks, tried to undermine me personally online by saying that interns shouldn’t rule the country (I didn’t have an internship at that time 🙁 – please get me one). In my constituency, the AfD holds one of its strongholds in Western Germany. Their tactics went beyond online smear campaigns—the local chairman of the AfD began showing up weekly for lunch at my aunt’s inn, lingering just long enough to send a message. It was an obvious attempt at intimidation—not just of me, but of my family. And it hasn’t stopped – even after the election. What struck me most wasn’t just the pettiness or the brazenness of their attempts to scare me off—it was how normalized this kind of behavior has become in politics. When political disagreement turns into personal harassment, especially by those in positions of influence, it signals something deeply broken in our democratic culture, in Germany and elsewhere. But instead of backing down, these experiences only strengthened my resolve. If anything, they reminded me exactly why I got involved in politics in the first place: to push back against fear with integrity, and to prove that young voices aren’t just valid—they’re necessary.
Of course, had AfD even done a little research, they would have realized that, considering I was 17th on the list, it was highly unlikely I’d be elected this time since my party was going through a major crisis and had lost half its voters (I would have had a better chance in 2021). I came to understand that it was just reflexive propaganda on their part, so I decided to take it less seriously and responded in kind, posting comments that made it clear I wasn’t fazed: “Fake News: I’m not doing an internship.”
(For context, the low polling numbers for my party, the FDP, were largely due to the challenges of being in a coalition with two left-leaning parties—the Social Democrats and the Greens. As a centrist party, the FDP often clashed with its coalition partners, leading to a public perception of constant infighting and political gridlock, rather than effective policymaking. After the war in Ukraine broke out, all parties in the coalition agreed on the importance of supporting Ukraine—a commitment that required significant funding and resource reallocation. However, the coalition never renegotiated its original agreement to reflect these new priorities. As a result, disagreements over budget allocations and long-term energy policy became frequent and increasingly public. The situation escalated further after Donald Trump won the U.S. presidential election, signaling a likely reduction in American support for Ukraine. The German government recognized it would need to step up. But this raised a constitutional dilemma: Germany’s debt brake imposes strict limits on public borrowing. While the Social Democrats and Greens pushed to loosen the debt cap to increase financial aid to Ukraine, the FDP took a different stance—refusing to cross the debt threshold, and instead advocating for military support through weapons and equipment).
These experiences with intimidation and underhanded political tactics weren’t just challenges – they were wake-up calls. If young people like you and me don’t stand up, voice our concerns, and fight back against misinformation, we’ll be overlooked and stuck with the decisions older generations make today. The recent parliamentary decision to take on 1 trillion euros in debt exemplifies this perfectly. Our generation will pay for this debt—we’re the ones who won’t be able to invest that kind of money in the future–money that could have gone toward fighting climate change, modernizing schools, or fixing crumbling infrastructure.
Those one trillion euros aren’t being invested in us. You might think: “Finally! Here’s funding that will benefit us, the younger generation – since we’re the ones footing the bill.” But you’d be wrong. It won’t be spent on climate action, education, or infrastructure. Instead, it’s being used to finance the campaign promises of conservatives and social democrats – everything except initiatives for young people. This isn’t just about budgets—it’s about whose voices get to be heard in the rooms where decisions are made. When young people are excluded from policy priorities, it’s often because we’re not at the table in the first place (of course, you cannot even run for Congress at age 19 in the United States). The arguments for increasing age diversity in politics are clear: only when all people are truly represented can decisions genuinely reflect their interests. Yet when it comes to taking real, concrete steps toward inclusion, many fall short.
The gender gap remains bigger than you might think in German politics. When I decided to run for the German Parliament, there was one other woman in the race to represent my party – making two of us. Both of us had impressive credentials: I was studying at Duke, and she was the Vice CEO of a medium-sized firm. Still, the president of my local party branch wasn’t satisfied. Convinced that only a man could win votes, he actively searched for a male candidate to replace us. He managed to bring in his preferred candidate – a man – by the day of the nomination event. But when it came time for speeches and questions from the audience, that candidate could barely offer anything of substance. It was all empty, populist slogans—no vision, no connection to the challenges we face. It became clear that the push for a male replacement was never about competence. It was about preserving control and the status quo.
This was a clear example of how diversity is celebrated in theory but quietly undermined in practice. Through his actions, I witnessed firsthand the deeply rooted, outdated power dynamics that still shape political decision-making. In his attempt to sabotage my campaign, the local party president falsely informed the board that the state leadership wouldn’t support my candidacy – and even suggested announcing this publicly at the nomination event. But I refused to let that narrative stand. I reached out directly to the president of the state board – a sitting member of the German Parliament and the Secretary of Transportation and Digital Services. He confirmed that the claims were entirely untrue. Within hours, he sent a formal letter not only refuting the misinformation but offering a strong endorsement of my candidacy and sharply criticizing the local president’s leadership style. Ironically, the same person who tried to silence me ended up resigning – all it took was a then-18-year-old woman standing her ground. I still smile when I think about that. We need to stand up to these local opponents of opportunity and diverse democracy in Germany
I also encountered open sexism outside of the internal party politics, during the campaign itself. My identity as a young woman in politics was frequently reduced to looks or mocked outright: I still remember older men saying things like, “Yes, I remember something as beautiful as you,” or “I know better places for women than politics—like the kitchen,” and even, “Before you get my vote, you could do something for me.” Many Americans might assume that Germany, having had a female chancellor for so long, is inherently progressive when it comes to women in politics. In reality, though, the country still struggles with deeply ingrained biases. The sexist remarks I encountered weren’t just offhand comments; they reflected a culture that often fails to recognize young women as serious political voices. After the election, women’s representation in the German Parliament fell from 35% to 32%. Only approximately 8% total are under 30 years old—despite the fact that the decisions made today will affect younger generations the most. Clearly, diversity in politics isn’t something we can take for granted – it’s something we must actively and continuously pursue—the root of the issue lies within German society itself, not with female candidates. When young people and women are sidelined from decision-making, their needs, futures, and ideas are too easily overlooked. If we want policies that genuinely serve the next generation and women, we need more than symbolic gestures—we need real access, real allies, and real change. It’s crucial that women gain stronger representation in parliament, government, and senior leadership roles. Only then will the prejudices that hold us back begin to fade.
My journey is far from finished. I remain committed to fighting for the future of my generation, my home, and a society built on true freedom and responsibility. will continue to put forward motions on the issues I care about—education, climate change, transatlantic relations, and infrastructure—at our national conventions. And once I graduate from Duke, I’ll run for office again—this time, hopefully with a win. And I encourage you to join me. Your role as a citizen doesn’t end with voting— it begins there. Inform yourself, speak out, and fight for the future you believe in.
