Anna Ortwein took the spring semester off to run for the Bundestag as a member of the Freie Demokratische Partei (FDP). This is Anna’s second dispatch in a series of reflections for The Lemur about her campaign experience (check out the first one here).

It is hard to overstate just how dramatically Germany changed between the 2021 and 2025 federal elections. In 2021, despite the economic and social shock of the pandemic, election results (and media coverage) largely indicated public satisfaction with the political status quo and optimism for the future. The general tone surrounding that election was celebratory and hopeful. That atmosphere was deeply personal for me—it was the moment I chose to step into politics. Back then, politics felt like a tool for meaningful change, and I believed in its power to shape a better future for my country.

But the political mood in Germany is different and darker now. The mood surrounding the February 2025 election marked a dramatic shift, and virtually no group—not even the “winners” that gained seats in the election—has expressed confidence about the present or optimism about the near future of Germany. The election results painted a sobering picture: voters were clearly putting the blame for their current hardships on the political decisions of the previous three years. In response to this changing discourse, politicians across the board  have been consumed with crisis management. We are focused on how to soften the blow of the recession, secure pension systems for an aging population, and restore rather than reimagine.

This lack of future-minded politics in Germany worries me. I fear it might discourage many young people from getting involved, as voters, activists, and candidates. If everything feels stuck, if change seems impossible, if politics appear tailored only for the old and powerful, why should the next generation believe that it has a voice?

I. From “Future Coalition” to Fast-Fading Optimism

The 2021 election broadly endorsed the status quo defined by Angela Merkel’s sixteen years as Chancellor. Her political ally, Armin Laschet, became CDU/CSU’s (the center-right Christian democratic and conservative political alliance party) candidate for chancellor, though his campaign missteps cost the conservatives their governing majority and led to his resignation. The eventual winner, the Social Democrat (SPD) Olaf Scholz, won because he presented continuity with Merkel’s style (Scholz served as her vice chancellor). Meanwhile, young voters’ optimism was reflected in the Green Party’s historic gains. Born from grassroots environmental and pacifist movements in the ‘70s and ‘80s, the Greens had long advocated for sustainability, peace, and social justice. As a new wave of climate activism emerged in the 2010s—most notably through the Fridays for Future movement led by Greta Thunberg—the Greens positioned themselves as its political heirs, translating protest into policy. They championed faster climate neutrality, liberal migration policies, generous welfare programs, and a rapid transformation of the economy toward green technologies and renewable energy. This bold, future-oriented agenda resonated strongly with younger generations: the Greens were the most popular party among 18–24-year-olds.

Following the election, the SPD, Greens, and centrist Free Democrats (FDP) formed Germany’s first-ever three-party federal coalition—the “traffic light coalition” (named according to the parties’ colors). This marked a significant departure from the previous “grand coalition” of the conservative CDU and the SPD, which had come to be seen as merely preserving the status quo—out of step with the mood of renewal and optimism. This was the first three-party coalition in Germany, and it became symbolic of the fragmented political landscape. Their coalition agreement was ambitious, filled with progressive promises on climate action, welfare reform, and modernization. It quickly earned the nickname “Future Coalition.” One photo came to symbolize this new era: a casual selfie featuring Transport Minister Volker Wissing, Foreign Minister Annalena Baerbock, Finance Minister Christian Lindner, and Economy Minister Robert Habeck. Once political rivals, they now appeared side by side, smiling—capturing a rare moment of genuine cross-party collaboration. The image stood out amid the usual formalities of coalition negotiations. Its informality made it feel fresh, even relatable. What struck many, too, was the age of those in the photo: all between 41 and 52. The message was clear—Germany’s younger generation was finally stepping into power.

But the honeymoon didn’t last. Inflation, already accelerating by late 2021, surged. Three months later, Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine hit Germany’s economy hard. Merkel’s long-standing dependence on Russian fossil fuels and her phase-out of nuclear power (ending in 2022) left Germany dangerously reliant on Russian energy. The result was that, by the end of 2022, inflation hit 7%. Fears mounted that Germany wouldn’t make it through the winter with adequate heating and electricity. Fast forward to 2025, and the contrast from 2021 couldn’t be more jarring. Friedrich Merz, the German chancellor-designate, is 69, and once voted to keep marital rape legal. The only modern thing about Merz might be his unconventional glasses. So much for the future.

The selfie features (from left to right) Transport Minister Volker Wissing, Foreign Minister Annalena Baerbock, Finance Minister Christian Lindner, and Economy Minister Robert Habeck. In stark contrast, a single photo captures Friedrich Merz—Germany’s future chancellor. 

In just a few years, the hopeful vision of a progressive, forward-looking “Future Coalition” has given way to disillusionment and political regression. What began as a historic moment of youthful energy, innovation, and cross-party collaboration has unraveled under the weight of external crises and internal contradictions. The selfie that once symbolized generational change now feels like a relic of a brief, idealistic interlude. As Germany pivots back to older, more conservative leadership, the optimism of 2021 appears not just faded—but almost forgotten. The promise of a new era, it seems, was no match for the pull of old power and the pressures of a volatile world. Let’s examine more closely what happened to the “Future Coalition” and what challenges remain for Germany today.

II. Crisis, Climate, and Internal Collapse

At first, the coalition acted decisively. In late February 2022, just three days after Russia invaded Ukraine, Chancellor Scholz declared a historic shift in defense policy—a Zeitenwende. Green Party minister Robert Habeck moved quickly to revamp Germany’s energy strategy: securing LNG imports, fast-tracking terminal construction by sidestepping bureaucracy, and even restarting coal and nuclear plants. But although Habeck’s pragmatic approach was widely praised and his popularity soared nationally, his pragmatic triangulation alienated the Greens’ activist base, particularly young urban leftists. When Habeck approved the expansion of the Lützerath coal mine in 2023, it sparked mass protests, fierce backlash, and accusations of betrayal. Green Party offices were vandalized—a clear sign of the growing rift between leadership and grassroots supporters. In an attempt to realign with their core voters, the Greens pivoted toward symbolic—but widely unpopular—decisions like closing down nuclear power plants and mandating carbon-neutral heating in private homes. Replacing low-carbon nuclear with coal was seen by many as ideologically rigid and scientifically regressive. The controversial Building Energy Act,  which mandated rapid retrofits for carbon-neutral heating in homes, became one of the government’s most unpopular laws, criticized as intrusive, unrealistic, and prohibitively expensive. The favored heat pumps were costly and technically unreliable. The Greens’ image took a hit—seen increasingly as elitist, inflexible, and disconnected from the realities of everyday life.

In addition to the Greens’ energy missteps, the coalition also made a strategic error by not renegotiating its agreement contract after the outbreak of war in Ukraine. There were two clear reasons to do so: first, to reallocate funds to support Ukraine and second, to forge a unified strategy for managing the war’s domestic consequences, particularly the energy crisis. Without such a recalibration, the coalition drifted, pulled between its original progressive ambitions and the urgent demands of a radically changed world.

Immigration policy became another major fault line for the coalition. Angela Merkel’s 2015 decision to admit over a million Syrian refugees was widely praised on moral grounds—but it exposed serious logistical weaknesses. Germany lacked the legal, administrative, and infrastructural capacity to integrate people at such scale effectively, failing to provide clear legal pathways to residency or securing and controlling its borders. Legal immigration remained mired in bureaucracy; qualified refugees faced endless hurdles getting their credentials recognized; and deportations were both inconsistent and chaotic—removing well-integrated workers while failing to expel violent offenders. In 2023, a string of lone-wolf terror attacks by rejected asylum seekers shocked the country. One story that still haunts me came during a school panel discussion. A student, no older than 15, asked me—her voice trembling—about the horrific incident in Aschaffenburg, where an Afghan migrant had murdered a 2-year-old child and a kindergarten teacher. Her fear was palpable. For many young people these incidents weren’t an abstract policy issue—it felt like a daily threat. Municipalities across the country began sounding the alarm: they could no longer absorb more refugees without undermining public services. Yet the federal government hesitated. The Greens’ resistance to stronger enforcement and policy reform deepened public frustration. Trust eroded, and the coalition’s approval ratings fell sharply. Before the election the polls showed that national security and immigration have become top priorities for voters—a pattern mirrored across much of Europe. Countries are still grappling with the long-term effects of the 2015–16 influx of refugees driven to Germany from the Syrian civil war.

I saw this firsthand in 2022 when I joined an election tour in Sweden to support our sister party, Centerpartiet. There, I studied the Swedish electoral system, met party leaders, and followed the campaign closely. Migration was one of the central issues there, just as it is in Germany today, three years later (as a side note, that experience also inspired me to launch the Duke Election Exchange, a program that gives students a global perspective on elections by exploring foreign electoral systems, current campaigns, and their intersections with American politics (https://dukeelectionexchan.wixsite.com/duke-election-exchan).

The coalition government’s early decisiveness gave way to disunity, policy missteps, and a failure to adapt to rapidly shifting realities. In the end, climate policy became a symbol of alienation rather than alignment, and immigration exposed deep structural weaknesses that fueled public anxiety. The coalition’s refusal to revise its original agenda in the face of war and economic upheaval left it politically adrift—out of step with the public mood and unable to deliver cohesive solutions. In the end, the “Future Coalition” became a cautionary tale: a government that promised transformation but struggled to reconcile its ideals with the hard demands of governance.

III. The Liberal Party: Ideas Without Power

The traffic light coalition’s troubles reflect a broader crisis for progressive politics. In democracies, movements can change policy through transforming public opinion over time—civil rights and marriage equality are examples. But many modern activists lack patience and pragmatism. Their climate and immigration visions often ignore economic reality, labeling any push for order as discriminatory. Unable to build consensus, they pressure sympathetic parties—like the Greens—to act unilaterally. This dynamic led the coalition to make one unpopular decision after another. And of course, as a representative for the Free Democratic Party (FDP) you’ll hear me say that not all parties were equally to blame. The FDP, the smallest coalition partner, consistently warned against ideological overreach. Its platform—centered on civil liberties, economic reform, digitalization, and liberal immigration—resonated with young voters in 2021. The Free Democratic Party (FDP) positioned itself as the voice of pragmatic reform. It championed streamlined work visa processes, faster asylum decisions, tighter border controls, and the deportation of dangerous individuals. On climate, the FDP pushed for market-based innovation and an expanded EU emissions trading system. In economic policy, it advocated tax reform, labor market flexibility, investment in education, and cutting bureaucratic red tape. But as the smallest party in the coalition, its influence was limited. Finance Minister Christian Lindner secured a few notable wins—extending nuclear energy use, softening the controversial heating law, and carving out EU exemptions for e-fuels—but failed to deliver broader systemic reforms. Rather than being seen as a driving reformist force, the FDP often appeared as the coalition’s brake, frustrating both partners and activists. I heard this frustration firsthand from people on the political left, who criticized the FDP for blocking bold initiatives. In contrast, more centrist voices expressed appreciation, viewing the FDP as a stabilizing force that prevented ideological overreach. Still, in politics, there’s a difference between being a counterweight and offering a compelling vision. Voters don’t elect a party just to say no—they want one that leads. Voters don’t always distinguish between parties within a coalition. All they saw was a government paralyzed by infighting, unable to respond to the crisis. Frustrated, many abandoned mainstream parties, flocking instead to populists. Most troublingly, the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) capitalized on the frustration—fueled by fear, resentment, and the sense that no one in power was truly listening. In the end, the Free Democratic Party embodied both the promise and the limits of liberal reform in a coalition government. It offered clear, pragmatic solutions—but lacked the leverage to fully implement them. While some praised the FDP for injecting reason and restraint into the coalition, others saw only obstruction. And in a time of mounting crises, restraint without results didn’t inspire. The deeper lesson here is not just about the FDP, but about the broader challenge facing liberal and progressive politics: without the ability to build consensus and deliver outcomes, even the best ideas risk fading into irrelevance. As the coalition faltered, the public’s disillusionment grew—and into that vacuum, more extreme voices stepped in.

IV. Collapse, Early Elections, and the Rise of the Right

In November 2023, Germany’s Constitutional Court ruled that reallocating €60 billion in unused COVID emergency funds for climate initiatives was unconstitutional—blowing a massive hole in the federal budget. The ruling deepened tensions within the already fragile coalition, with each party retreating into its ideological corner. Then came another major shift: the U.S. presidential election. With Donald Trump returning to office, it became clear that American support for Ukraine would diminish. The European Union—and especially Germany—would have to step up. Chancellor Scholz proposed taking on new debt to provide substantial financial aid to Ukraine. This meant breaking Germany’s constitutionally enshrined debt brake, a safeguard meant to preserve fiscal space for future generations to tackle long-term challenges like climate change. Finance Minister Christian Lindner disagreed. He insisted on respecting the debt brake and proposed a different form of support—delivering weapons to Ukraine but avoiding additional debt. By November 2024, budget negotiations had completely broken down. In a dramatic move, Scholz dismissed Lindner. The FDP responded by withdrawing all its ministers, effectively collapsing the government. Because of this dire governmental predicament, elections were moved ahead by seven months.  I was completely stunned. At the time, I was in the U.S., focused on the presidential election there, and didn’t see any of it coming. I spent the entire day in back-to-back video calls with other party members, trying to understand what had just happened—and what came next. It quickly became clear that I’d need to return after the fall semester and take a leave of absence, instead of running during the summer break as planned. I was heartbroken to leave Duke, but the election campaign had already begun.

By early 2025, the outcome was clear: Scholz’s SPD, having alienated both partners and voters, saw its support halved—its worst result in over a century. The FDP failed to reach the 5% threshold and was ousted from parliament. The CDU/CSU alliance reclaimed its top position. But the CDU/CSU under Friedrich Merz had changed. A longtime Merkel critic and conservative, Merz’s return to leadership marked a break from Merkel’s centrist legacy. During the campaign, he stayed cautious, letting the coalition self-destruct. When elections neared, he focused on border control and migration caps, sometimes courting controversy—like collaborating with the AfD on a migration bill after a shocking terror attack. The public reaction was split: some saw pragmatism, others saw a breach of Germany’s post-war firewall against the far right. Merz’s clear opposition to Trump and his outreach to EU allies during Trump’s second term strengthened his image as a stable leader—especially compared to Scholz’s dithering. The collapse of the coalition and the early elections marked the dramatic end of Germany’s short-lived experiment with progressive governance. What began as a bold, future-oriented alliance unraveled under the strain of fiscal crisis, geopolitical shifts, and deep ideological divides. In the chaos, voters turned not just against individual parties, but against the very idea of consensus-driven politics. The rise of Friedrich Merz and the CDU/CSU signaled a sharp rightward turn—one that blurred lines once thought uncrossable, especially in cooperating with the far right. As Germany entered a new era shaped by fear and frustration, the hope that once defined the “Future Coalition” had all but vanished. The story had shifted—from one of transformation to one of reckoning.

V. A Fractured Parliament and Uncertain Future

Despite dramatic moments like Merz’s flirtation with the AfD or Elon Musk’s endorsement of the far right, the overall election outcome aligned with long-term voter sentiment. The CDU/CSU won. The traffic light parties suffered. The AfD surged to its highest-ever result, becoming the official opposition, with newfound legislative power. On the far left, Die Linke also made gains, attracting voters disappointed by the Greens’ moderation. Together, the far-right and far-left now hold over one-third of the Bundestag—enough to block constitutional reforms and judicial appointments. This worries many observers, as their isolationist, anti-EU, and extreme views pose long-term risks to Germany’s democratic institutions.

Friedrich Merz’s leadership marks a clear break from the Merkel era—but this election was, above all, a cry of frustration from German voters. Ironically, that frustration may not result in meaningful change. Populist parties, despite their gains, offer no viable policy solutions. The FDP—the only party with a comprehensive reform agenda—has been ousted from parliament. And the most likely governing coalition, a renewed “Grand Coalition” between the CDU/CSU and SPD, looks set to preserve the status quo—or worse, deepen the economic malaise. Early signals from the coalition talks are discouraging. While increased defense spending is necessary and overdue, proposals for additional climate and infrastructure funding—largely pushed by the Greens—lack coherent planning. Worse, they appear to violate Germany’s constitutional debt rules, putting long-term financial stability at risk.

Structural reforms are completely absent from the coalition’s 144-page agreement. The economy, facing mounting pressures, is slated to receive only minimal relief—just one percent of GDP per year starting in 2028. That is far too little, far too late. Businesses already reeling from the effects of Donald Trump’s protectionist trade policies were hoping for immediate tax relief. Instead, corporate tax reductions have been delayed until 2032—an inexplicable decision given the urgency of the current crisis, and one that may never materialize. The historic debt pact, by contrast, was rushed through without hesitation—highlighting the coalition’s skewed priorities. Meanwhile, every critical step toward revitalizing the economy—cutting bureaucracy, easing regulation, and providing real tax incentives for investment—is being indefinitely postponed. If Germany is to recover, it needs bold, immediate reform—not sleepy compromises. Speaking of which, the coalition agreement is written with such mind-numbing blandness that I nearly fell asleep reading it. A metaphor, perhaps, for the government’s own political inertia.

For many, these next four years may represent the final chance for mainstream parties to deliver the reforms the public demands. If they fail, more voters may drift towards political extremes. With them, Germany’s long-standing democratic firewall could collapse. One recent poll even placed the AfD as the strongest party in the country—an outcome that would have once seemed unthinkable. This is the same party whose local branches have distributed fake flight tickets to mailboxes with foreign-sounding names, echoing tactics once used by the Nazis. Some senior AfD politicians have even begun repeating slogans lifted directly from the Nazi era. Germany has long been a stabilizing force in Europe. If it veers off course, the entire continent could be dragged into dangerous waters.

Now, as I prepare to leave Germany once again and return to Duke, I do so with a heavy heart. I’m deeply worried—both for my country’s future and for my place in it. The recession, mounting debt that could strangle future investments for my generation, the absence of meaningful reforms, the growing strength of extremist parties, and rising polarization that increasingly resembles the divisions I’ve seen in the U.S.—these are not distant concerns. They are the reality we are facing. And after the elections, these problems only feel more urgent.

By Anna Ortwein