In recent times, a fresh entity has emerged within the political landscape of Germany, sparking surprise and intrigue. The Sahra Wagenknecht Alliance (BSW), led by Sahra Wagenknecht and Amira Mohamed Ali, both women with immigrant backgrounds from the Middle East and North Africa, has taken a stern stance on immigration, all in the name of safeguarding what they perceive as progressive values, particularly social welfare.
This development harks back to six years ago when the Alternative for Germany (AfD) party embarked on a similar trajectory from the radical right. Alice Weidel, the party’s lead candidate, an openly lesbian banker, championed a punitive approach toward migration, ostensibly in defense of progressive values. Despite her party’s stance against LGBTQ rights, Weidel garnered support, propelling the AfD to become the first far-right party to gain entry into the German parliament since 1961.
The question naturally arises: What fosters such alignment between two parties situated at opposite ends of the political spectrum?
For the past 75 years, German policymakers have deliberately steered clear of the notion of “race,” considering it a dark vestige of the Nazi era. Despite efforts to distance themselves from racial discourse, the combination of racial and sexual anxieties has proven influential in shaping the boundaries of the postwar West German nation, which forms the foundation of present-day Germany. Politicians, religious figures, media outlets, and anti-immigration protesters, while disavowing any racial undertones, have inadvertently perpetuated racism, a phenomenon persisting across the political spectrum.
Examining the postwar migration scenario sheds light on the intersection of race and immigration policies. From 1955 to 1973, West Germany implemented a temporary work visa program to address labor shortages in its burgeoning industrial capitalist economy. However, as migrant workers from various regions, including Southern Europe, Turkey, North Africa, and even South Korea, sought to extend their stay beyond the initial visa period, successive administrations attempted to impose restrictions on residency, particularly targeting Turkish immigrants, while affording leniency to European migrants. This period witnessed a redefinition of German belonging along racial and religious lines, endorsed by politicians across the ideological spectrum.
Center-right figures advocated for stricter immigration controls citing social incompatibility and strains on the welfare system, framing it as the “new social question.” Concurrently, center-left voices expressed concerns about the perceived threat to economic stability and social cohesion posed by post-1973 migration. This sentiment resonated with left-wing activists who feared that Islamic cultural norms, particularly those regarding women, posed a challenge to the advancements made in German women’s liberation. Consequently, the racialization of “Muslim immigrants” gained traction, transcending political divides during the latter part of the 20th century.
However, this racialization was not inevitable. Prior to 1969, West Germany retained Nazi-era laws criminalizing homosexual activities. Some individuals sought refuge in countries like Morocco, where laws pertaining to homosexuality were less stringent, viewing Islam as more accepting of homoeroticism. It was only after the 1979 Iranian revolution, coupled with the sensationalized execution of individuals convicted of sodomy, that perceptions of Islam as inherently homophobic began to take root among gay and lesbian activists in Germany and abroad.
The unification of East and West Germany in 1990, against the backdrop of the collapse of Eastern European Communism, provided fertile ground for the convergence of racial and sexual politics. Subsequent right-wing attacks prompted activists, including Black feminists like May Ayim, to highlight the pervasive racism in German society. These challenges brought together white LGBTQ activists and anti-racist advocates, united in their pursuit of equal rights and protections under liberal democracy.
Yet, policymakers and mainstream media outlets often downplayed the entrenched bigotry within German society, attributing violence to individual criminal behavior or the transitional phase following East Germany’s democratization. Legislative responses, such as the 1993 “asylum compromise,” further underscored the emphasis on strengthening border controls and tackling right-wing violence, resonating with certain segments of the LGBTQ community who perceived immigrant men as a threat to their rights and safety, akin to neo-Nazis and skinheads.
This confluence of racial and sexual anxieties provided a platform for the mainstreaming of anti-immigration sentiments, with left-wing parties advocating for integration measures to combat perceived Muslim homophobia, while center-right factions proposed citizenship tests to gauge acceptance of homosexuality. Even international media outlets contributed to this narrative, as evidenced by the criticism leveled against openly gay politicians like Guido Westerwelle for not confronting perceived Islamic homophobia.
In hindsight, the anti-immigration policies of Sahra Wagenknecht and the AfD’s stance on protecting LGBTQ Germans appear outmoded, revealing the enduring and adaptable nature of racism in German politics. Such dynamics transcend national boundaries, as evidenced by the proliferation of Dutch citizenship tests and international media narratives. It underscores the imperative to scrutinize the pervasiveness of racism across the political spectrum, regardless of the policy rhetoric employed.