John Kampfner is a British author, broadcaster and commentator. His latest book “In Search of Berlin” is published by Atlantic. He is a regular POLITICO columnist.
One of the most common headlines in the German newspapers used to be a reassuringly long compound noun: Koalitionsverhandlungen. Coalition and negotiations — these were the two words Germany’s postwar democracy was based on, as mainstream parties would come together to forge deals to run the country and the Länder.
No group or individual would ever again get close to untrammeled power — a rule that applied not only to the formation of governments but to each and every measure, requiring committees to pore over details, cabinet meetings to discuss the big picture and compromise, and then gain parliamentary approval. Plus, if politicians overstepped, the courts could always restrain them.
This system of multiple checks and balances provided reassurance and stability since the establishment of the Federal Republic in 1949. But now, all this is under threat.
In today’s new age, deliberative politics is regarded as the antithesis of what is needed. It’s a reappraisal that’s affecting many liberal democracies in Europe — but none more so than Germany, which long advertised the virtues of compromise that are now denounced as vices.
Some Germans, particularly those on the right, now negatively compare their government’s approach to domestic and foreign policy to that of U.S. President Donald Trump, asking why Christian Democrat (CDU) Chancellor Friedrich Merz can’t be more like the American leader. Why can’t he bulldoze his way to get what he wants and then bask in the glory, rather than wheeling and dealing with his coalition partners over everything from aid for Ukraine to unemployment benefits.
It’s not just the politicians who complain about this supposed weakness either. Much of the German media fulminates about it every day, as opposed to how they embraced compromise before.
As a result, Merz has found himself wading through in the worst of both worlds. When recently challenged by one of Germany’s top television hosts about watering down so many of his party’s election promises, he responded: “I am no longer the representative of the CDU. I am the representative of the government. And that government is a coalition of two parties.”
That, alas, is no longer enough.
Instead, everyone must fight to get their own way in a new form of public disputatiousness that took root during the last government’s three-party “traffic light” coalition. Leading members battled over everything: The Social Democrats (SPD) , then the largest party, pursued their welfare agenda; the pro-market Free Democrats (FDP), which had barely scraped into parliament, controlled the purse strings; and the only thing they could agree on was ganging up on the Greens’ agenda.
It was dispiriting to watch, and it came crashing down when then-Chancellor Olaf Scholz fired his minister of finance, FDP leader Christian Lindner, with ostentatious acrimony.
All three parties were subsequently punished in last February’s general election, ushering in the new era under Merz. But even before he took the seals of office, Merz was being undermined by all sides — including within his own ranks.
The players might be different, but the fighting remains the same. Right before parliament went into recess in July, for instance, several CDU MPs signaled they’d vote against a judge nominated to the Constitutional Court — an unprecedented break with protocol — prompted by a far-right storm portraying the moderately liberal candidate as dangerously left-wing. The vote was postponed, and the judge eventually withdrew her candidacy.
Amid fears that a Rubicon had been crossed, both ruling parties then vowed to behave and better cooperate when the Bundestag resumed in September. But have they? Yes and no.
In the age of social media, with its onus on brevity and bombast, German politicians are having to relearn their craft. Dogged and discreet participation in committees is no longer the route to success. Therefore, the negotiations required for two or more parties to come together and strike a deal are inevitably being portrayed in an argumentative manner. And it’s a shift that’s taking place across pretty much all areas of government business.
For example, both the CDU and SPD already agree on the reintroduction of military service in some form, and the details being haggled over are just that — details. The fundamental question is what happens if the required threshold isn’t met through voluntary recruitment. Is it a form of lottery — absurd, but under consideration — or something else? And yet, the discussions led to a public row between senior politicians.
What Merz promised was an “autumn of reforms,” and these are gradually being rolled out. But instead of hailing what is being achieved, all sides are publicly complaining they haven’t got what they wanted, and it’s taking up all the oxygen.
Indeed, that is politics — but as ever, there’s also the looming specter of the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) to consider. Still riding high in the polls, the party has five regional elections to look forward to in 2026, including one in the eastern state of Saxony-Anhalt, where polls predict it might even win an overall majority — an extraordinary prospect.
And the AfD’s promises, such as those to slash immigration, point to a wider phenomenon — the simplification of political solutions — which, again, brings us back to Trump. By riding roughshod over constitutional and societal norms, the U.S. president has changed both the American and global landscape in less than a year.
The German political system, which is nearly 80 years old now, was built to withstand the exercise of muscular power. But if the very type of politics that it introduced — the politics of compromise — is now scorned by so many, the onus is on Merz and his ministers not just to deliver on policy but to clearly demonstrate that all isn’t lost for the painstaking politics of reason.
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