How soon before other nations adopt the German playbook?
The strong showing of the far‑right Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) party in local elections in the German state of Saxony‑Anhalt — more than 40 percent of the vote — is the most pointed indicator yet that what once registered as merely a protest vote is now signaling a real shift in power. The AfD talks about safety, family, and tradition, but underneath those words lies a message that worries many people: Protection for some, exclusion for others.
Saxony-Anhalt, in the former East Germany, has emerged as an AfD stronghold thanks to a rural electorate that has been leaning toward AfD for some time now, and this election in particular left the center-right Christian Democratic Union reeling from its strongest defeat in decades.
After the vote, LGBTQ+ people across Germany reported feeling anxious but defiant about the results, which left the average voter “deeply shocked,” in the words of German Chancellor Friedrich Merz. At a “Vote for Love” parade in Magdeburg, the state’s capital, thousands gathered near the state parliament to show they won’t be silenced. Many said the AfD’s win feels threatening, yet it’s also strengthened their resolve to stay visible and keep fighting for equality.
Turning LGBTQ+ voters against their own interests
One of the Party’s leaders, Alice Weidel, is a fascinating contradiction. She’s openly lesbian, lives with her Sri Lankan‑born partner, and they’re raising two adopted children. On paper, she looks like the face of modern Germany. Yet she leads a party that wants to roll back rights for migrants and LGBTQ+ people. Her argument is that strict immigration rules will “protect” gay people from violence by Muslim gangs. It’s a strange twist — using her own identity to defend policies that divide.
Researchers at King’s College London have been studying this pattern. Drs. Russell Foster and Xander Kirke call it alter‑progressivism. In plain terms, it’s when extremists borrow the language of equality to sell exclusion. They promise safety to one group by blaming another. Their paper warns that this tactic is spreading fast across Europe — and it’s clever because it sounds like care. “We’ll protect you,” they say, but what they mean is “we’ll protect you from them.”
You can see how this plays out in Germany. The AfD uses rainbow flags in campaign videos, claiming to defend “Western freedoms.” But at the same time, they oppose same‑sex marriage and want to ban LGBTQ+ lessons in schools.
It’s a performance of tolerance, not the real thing. Having a lesbian leader helps them look modern, even while they push old‑fashioned ideas about who belongs.
Weidel’s story shows how identity can be turned into a shield. The party points to her and says, “Look, we can’t be homophobic.”
Inclusion as camouflage for shadowy intents
But that’s not how equality works. Representation without rights is just decoration. It hides the erosion of freedoms behind a friendly face. The AfD’s rise proves how easily inclusion can be used as camouflage — how the language of protection can become the language of exclusion.
The King’s College researchers warn that this kind of “protection” politics is dangerous. It splits communities that once stood together. It tells LGBTQ+ people they’ll be safe only if they accept someone else’s persecution.
That’s not protection; that’s a trade‑off. And it’s one that erodes the moral heart of equality.
Across Germany, activists are pushing back. Pride organisers in Leipzig and Magdeburg have started using slogans such as “No safety without equality.” They’re reminding people that real safety doesn’t come from fear or division — it comes from solidarity. The far right’s promise of protection is tempting because it feels simple. But simple answers to complex problems are rarely honest ones.
How long before this European trend goes global?
The AfD’s success isn’t just a German story. It’s part of a wider European trend. Far‑right parties are learning to speak the language of rights while quietly hollowing those rights out. They talk about freedom but mean conformity. They talk about safety but mean control. It’s a mirror version of progress — shiny on the surface, empty underneath.
In the end, Weidel’s life sums up the contradiction perfectly: A woman whose own family represents diversity leading a movement that fears it. Her story shows how representation can be twisted into endorsement, how the far right can use the image of inclusion to advance exclusion.
The lesson is simple: Be careful when someone promises protection by narrowing the circle of who deserves it. Safety built on someone else’s vulnerability isn’t safety at all. It’s the oldest trick in politics — divide, then defend.
Based in France, Liz Queyrel reports on LGBTQ+ Christian life across France and greater Europe.