CSU in Crisis
What Went Wrong for Bavarian
Conservatives?
For decades, the Christian Social Union in Bavaria has
exerted outsized influence on Germany's national political stage. With state
elections approaching on Sunday, however, the CSU finds itself embroiled in
crisis. What went wrong?
© Maurice Weiss By Markus Feldenkirchen
A pin on a Bavarian hat depicting Franz Josef Strauss.
imago / Sebastian Widmann
A pin on a Bavarian hat depicting Franz Josef Strauss.
October 10, 2018 05:22 PM Print
The mausoleum of Franz Josef Strauss lies at the back of the
cemetery, in the shadow of the monastery chapel in Rott am Inn, a tiny village
just southeast of Munich. Visitors have to climb a couple of steps to reach the
spot where Bavaria's modern-day father has been laid to rest. He is an almost
mythical figure for the state -- and even more important for the state's most
important political party, the Christian Social Union. Indeed, current CSU
éminence grise Peter Gauweiler says of the spot: "It is where our heart is
buried."
Cobwebs cling to the dark corners of the room before the
alcove where Strauss and his wife Marianne are interred. In the corner is a
dehumidifier that looks as though it may have been there since Strauss' death
on Oct. 3, 1988. The floor could use a sweep.
A couple of days earlier, "Dr. h.c. Franz Josef
Strauß," as the concrete inscription reads, would have turned 103. Two
wreathes with ribbons lay in front of the crypt in early September, one of them
from the "state capital of Munich" and another with the dedication:
"In love, your children." No wreath arrived for his birthday from the
CSU itself.
An elderly couple enters the mausoleum. They used to know
Strauss personally, back when he lived in Rott am Inn. Indeed, he and Marianne
were married right here in the monastery chapel. The couple stands silently
before the grave, their heads bowed and hands folded in front of them.
"Thank God that he didn't have to live through all this," says the
man once they have exited the mausoleum.
The CSU is going through a rough patch. Suddenly, a disaster
that Strauss never would have thought possible has become quite likely: a
plunge below 40 percent when Bavarian voters go to the polls on Oct. 14.
Current public opinion surveys have the CSU at around 33 percent. For a party
that has spent decades -- minus a brief interlude 10 years ago -- ruling with
an absolute majority in the state, 33 percent is a catastrophe. It is
comparable to FC Bayern coming in last in the Bundesliga and being relegated to
the second league.
Nothing, in other words, is like it used to be, resulting in
a party that has become deeply insecure. And that insecurity has frequently
expressed itself in abnormal behavior, particularly from party head Horst
Seehofer, the drama queen of the CSU. The party has realized that after years
of omnipotence, it is losing its absolute grip on power in the state. But it
doesn't yet understand what went wrong or how.
It is impossible to write a story about the CSU in 2018
without it turning into a tragedy. The party grew to become the strongest and
most idiosyncratic political movement in the country, but now it is becoming
apparent that even the success of the Christian Social Union is finite. The
causes for that are myriad, and they go far beyond the peculiarities of
Seehofer.
Not all of the blame lies with the party itself, though much
of it does. It managed to change the state so dramatically that even the CSU no
longer quite feels at home in Bavaria.
THE PARTY GODFATHER
"Adelgundis, where is Strauss' watch?," Wilfried
Scharnagl calls out.
"Upstairs," she calls back.
"Could you please bring it?"
A few minutes later, Ms. Scharnagl appears in the dining
room with the watch and sets it on the table in front of him. Scharnagl, 79,
looks at it rapturously.
For 24 years, he was editor-in-chief of the CSU party
newspaper Bayernkurier and Strauss himself used to say: "What I think,
Scharnagl writes." Scharnagl picks up the watch that Strauss wore so
often, a silver Omega Speedmaster Professional. After Strauss' death, his
children presented it to Scharnagl for his birthday.
Scharnagl tears up. "I always have to fight against the
emotion. There is this deep sadness," he says. "I still haven't
gotten over the loss, after 30 years."
One reason that Strauss is still so deeply loved in Bavaria
is because he did more than almost anyone else to transform Bavaria from a
poor, agrarian state where nearly half the people worked in farming after World
War II into the industrial powerhouse it is today. It was once Germany's
poorest state. Today, it is the wealthiest.
Dozens of crucifixes of all different kinds hang on the
walls of the Scharnagls' dining room. Behind him sit two neatly dressed dolls
on a chair. It is as though time has stood still.
"The development of my party makes me sad," Scharnagl
says. He speaks slowly and quietly. He has had a difficult couple of years
involving broken bones and a stroke. "The CSU is a huge part of my
life." Even now, he still makes his way to party leadership committee
meetings.
'Completely Absurd'
When he looks at how successful the state has been, the
official statistics, the economic growth and the unemployment rate of just 2.8
percent. When he sees how beautiful and attractive Bavaria is, so attractive
that everyone wants to move there. When he sees all that, he can't believe that
his beloved CSU currently finds itself in the deepest crisis in its history.
"It is completely absurd," he says.
Scharnagl has gone through a lot with his party, including
donation scandals, corruption scandals and the shockingly low 43.4 percent
result it obtained in 2008 -- its lowest ever -- which forced it into a
coalition for the first time in 40 years. "But a result in the 30s? That
is inconceivable." He shakes his head.
"How can it be that the CSU isn't in better shape given
the fantastic current conditions? How can it be that our survey numbers are so
grotesque? I don't get it. I don't understand people."
Like many in the party's leadership, Scharnagl is frustrated
by what he sees as the ingratitude of Bavarian voters. And he also hasa problem
with Chancellor Angela Merkel. Even though she is head of the Christian
Democratic Union, nominally the CSU's big sister on the national stage, many
CSU leaders believe she is primarily to blame for their party's misery. Horst
Seehofer, Scharnagl says, was right when he said the migration question was the
mother of all political problems. "But Merkel doesn't get it. And she
never will," Scharnagl says. "Ms. Merkel is a disaster. She is a
disaster for German conservatives."
Unfortunately, he continues, the CSU has become "an
obedient party." It doesn't have the courage, he says, to risk a break
with its sister party. "There needs to be a confrontation but there isn't
one. It is grotesque how Merkel and Seehofer always grit their teeth and reach
an agreement." Scharnagl has no idea what to do. In fact, nobody knows how
to escape the current dilemma. Nobody.
A CHANGING BAVARIA
That dilemma is not immediately apparent if you take a drive
through small-town Bavaria. The quaint villages and onion-domed churches look
just as bucolic as they always have. But recently, the pollsters at
Forschungsgruppe Wahlen took a closer look at the views of Bavarian voters on
issues from foreigner integration to renewable energies, from childcare to
equal rights for gays and lesbians. What they found is that traditional
positions no longer receive majority support on any single issue.
The phenomenon of changing societal values is continuing
apace in Bavaria as well -- secularization, individualization, egocentrism and
differentiation. The Bavarian populace is much more modern, much more German
than the CSU would like to believe.
In 1945, the first time that the Bavarian governor was a
member of the CSU, the state had a population of 8 million people. Today, it is
13 million. People have moved to Bavaria from across Germany, attracted by the
prospect of work and prosperity -- and not necessarily because of any
particular affinity for the CSU. The party, in other words, is something of a
victim of its own success.
The conditions have become more difficult, says current
Bavarian Governor Markus Söder during an interview about the development of his
party. "Economic success has attracted many people who aren't particularly
familiar with the Bavarian myth." He recalls the former location of CSU
party headquarters on Nymphenburger Strasse in a middle-class neighborhood in
the heart of the city. Today, it can be found on Mies-van-der-Rohe-Strasse.
Even the name itself, Söder says, tells you a lot. Sure, the Bavarian governor
allows, Mies-van-der-Rohe was an internationally respected architect. But, he
adds, "the entire district is cosmopolitan. Employees of global companies
work here. They are people who have worked in Berlin, London or the United
States. You can't assume that they have an understanding for what makes Bavaria
special, the Bavaria gene."
'Increasingly Radical'
All of Europe has changed, Söder says. Bavaria cannot simply
isolate itself from international trends. Even when Strauss was still around,
he says, the CSU was rarely more than 10 percent higher than the average
support received by conservatives nationwide. "Name me one country in
Europe that has seen the stability that Bavaria has."
He lists off a number of reasons for the party's current
struggles, none of which have anything to do with him -- even though he happens
to be the CSU's lead candidate in this Sunday's vote, and goes into some detail
when talking about the changes caused by the internet and technological
advancements. The physical presence of the CSU, the analog element of the
party, he says, is still intact. The difference is that there is now a digital
element as well. "Digitalization has naturally led to changes in
democracy. Echo chambers and filter bubbles have developed that reaffirm
themselves emotionally with fake news. Over the long term, they will become
increasingly radical."
In contrast to the analog world, the digital world is more
difficult to shape and steer. That has led to a loss of control that has
presented huge hurdles to Söder's party. As such, it is fair to say the CSU is
one of the losers of technological advancement.
"Unfortunately, digitalization has led to distorted
perceptions," Söder says. "It is a paradox that on the one hand, we
are better off than ever before, while on the other, we are more divided than
we have ever been. There needs to be an anchor, a direction, a compass. That is
what the governor has to provide." His goal is to achieve the best
possible result for his party despite the difficult conditions.
THE CSU'S NATIONAL LEVER
It's a sunny morning in September and the CSU is hosting a
Sunday get-together at the Ebersberger Alm, an inn just east of Munich.
Somebody has installed the party's powder-blue letters in the meadow out front
-- and it all looks so harmonious, as though everything belongs together.
Almost as if it wasn't God that created this beautiful natural setting but the
CSU itself.
Sometimes, the party is still able to stage this wonderful
symbiosis between the landscape and the party, the fusion of attractive
mountains with less attractive politicians. "Upper Bavaria is beautiful.
Bavaria is beautiful," calls out to those who have turned up for the
event. "There is no more beautiful place in the world." It is somehow
fascinating how he can say such a thing without even a trace of irony.
The inn is packed with guests, many of the women are wearing
dirndls while the men are dressed in traditional Bavarian jackets. But the
tables are loaded down with more coffee cups and water glasses than beer mugs.
That, too, is a break with the past.
Söder speaks of the "great personalities" who have
led the state of Bavaria in the past. He speaks of Strauss and of Edmund
Stoiber, who governed the state from 1993 to 2007. And, of course, he talks
about himself as well. This CSU gene has apparently been passed down, he says.
"Just like Coca-Cola, we have a secret formula that only the bosses know.
The CSU gene." He doesn't mention the name Seehofer. Not even once.
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When guests get the opportunity to ask questions later, they
aren't particularly interested in the Bavarian governor's genes. A man wearing
a tradition Bavarian hat stands up. "We met at the pub yesterday and Alois
had an idea for how to fix the apartment shortage," he says. "It
wasn't bad." The reason for the shortage, the man continues, is primarily
because of the large companies that have moved to the region, bringing their
own people and driving up prices. "When a large company comes and hires
1,000 people then it should be required to build apartments for at least 500
people. I think the idea is pretty good." The man's proposal is met with
loud applause. But he doesn't get a particularly satisfactory answer from
Söder.
Political Decisions
The next to ask a question is a mother of two. She wants to
know how Söder plans to improve daycare options. "In elementary schools,
classes are often over by 11:30. For parents, that is really difficult."
In Bavaria, many police officers, nurses and commuter train
drivers can no longer afford to live in many cities -- places that would no
longer function without the work they do. It's a problem not just in Munich,
but also in smaller Bavarian cities like Bamberg, Nuremberg and Erlangen.
None of this happened overnight. It, too, is the result of
political decisions -- or, to be more precise, a lack of political decisions.
"Such a thing would never have happened under the watch of Franz Josef
Strauss," says Peter Siebenmorgen, the author of the most authoritative
Strauss biography available. "He would have launched a gigantic apartment
construction program 10 years ago."
The CSU has also been claiming for years that it is
improving the state's IT infrastructure. Indeed, the German transportation
minister, who is responsible for IT infrastructure across the country, is a CSU
member. And yet, there are still huge swaths of Bavaria where you still can't
get adequate mobile phone reception.
Siebenmorgen says there have been two grand promises, two
guiding principles in the history of the CSU. "Conservative means to march
side-by-side with progress," that was Strauss' credo. Edmund Stoiber, for
his part, was fond of the motto "laptop and lederhosen," the pairing
of the modern and the traditional. That motto, though, is now 20 years old.
Since then, Bavaria has been waiting for the next courageous policy proposal
that everyone in the state might benefit from.
Part 2: Losing Touch with the Electorate
When the event in Ebersberg comes to an end, Edmund Stoiber
strides across the terrace, water glass in hand. He is wearing a white-and-blue
plaid shirt beneath a Bavarian jacket, but he still fits better with a laptop
than he ever did to lederhosen. The guests treat him with no shortage of
respect. "Grüss Gott, Mr. Governor," they say in greeting. Stoiber is
still the party's honorary chair and he embodies the grand, omnipotent past of
the CSU more than any other living member.
He orders a plate of smoked fish on salad. "Oh yeah,
and I'd like a water," he adds, before noticing that he is already holding
one in his hand. "Err, actually I've already got one."
Stoiber says he has an anecdote he wants to share, one which
helps understand why the CSU exerts so much power on the national stage. He
speaks of the coalition negotiations in 1983 when the CDU, the CSU and the
business-friendly Free Democrats (FDP), who were still the kingmakers of German
politics back then, were trying to form a government. Stoiber accompanied
Strauss to Bonn, Germany's capital at the time, for the talks. Right at the
beginning, Strauss had come up with all kinds of special demands, a slew of
projects that would primarily, if not exclusively, benefit Bavaria. Finally,
the CDU governor of Lower Saxony, Ernst Albrecht, pounded the table in anger,
protesting that a single state couldn't keep making demands. He had a few
things he wanted for his state as well, Albrecht said. "Well, Mr.
Albrecht," Strauss responded drily, "then you'll have to found your
own party as well."
Even today, Stoiber loves telling the story and laughs out
loud. "That's it! That's the difference. That independence!"
And it's true: Without it, the CSU would never have become
what it is today. It enables the party to repeatedly push through
Bavaria-friendly policies on the national stage, even if the rest of the
country isn't interested. It is the only party in the country that is able to
do so.
Stoiber's voice becomes quiet, almost secretive as he leans
in deeply over his plate. "The church is here in Munich," he murmurs.
"The headquarters. It's not in Berlin. We make the decisions here."
It is, he continues, a bit of historical luck that the CSU was founded in 1945
and the establishment of the CDU came later. That meant, Stoiber says, that the
party's independence could no longer be taken from it, despite all of the
attempts that have been made over the decades, starting with Konrad Adenauer,
Germany's first postwar chancellor and a founding member of the CDU.
"It is a structural advantage that can be taken
advantage of without having to be particularly intelligent," says
Passau-based political scientist Heinrich Oberreuter, who has been a member of
the CSU for 50 years and knows the party inside out. "But it is possible
to make a mess of it if the quality of our political leaders continues to
erode."
Strauss and Stoiber were adept at using Bavaria's privileged
position. The former brought industry to Bavaria while the latter brought in
the high-tech companies. A booming economy resulted, along with microscopic
unemployment rates. But the price for the rapid development can be seen both in
the cost of living and in the impersonal ring of suburbs surrounding Munich,
where it is difficult to tell if you are in Unterhaching, Unterföhring or
Unterschleissheim. The glass-concrete office buildings all look the same.
In a way, those buildings are symbolic of the CSU's current
situation. The party has modernized many parts of the state and welcomed
globalization with open arms. But at the same time, it has become colder and
less personable. A victim of its own success.
LOSING ITS GRIP
One man who experienced that lack of warmth first hand is
Reinhard Kremmling. He has hauled out a large white binder labeled "CSU
local chapter" and placed it on the garden table, right next to the bowl
of veal sausages. For almost 10 years, he led the local CSU chapter in the
municipality of Görisried, population 1,300. His binder tells the story of his
relationship with the CSU -- a story of alienation.
Kremmling is a friendly 65-year-old in cowhide clogs. He and
his wife run a hair salon in the neighboring village and they organize peace
prayers in their spare time. His wife is on the board of the local parish.
When he canceled his membership in the party in June,
several other local party leaders in the region did so as well. Kremmling pulls
out the letter he received on July 3 in response to his withdrawal. It is the
last document in the binder. "We have received your notification that you
have withdrawn from the CSU. We have completed your discharge and this notice
serves as confirmation."
"Any other club would have avoided such an ice-cold
reaction," Kremmling says. His ties to the party began to dissolve in fall
2015 when party head Horst Seehofer held a speech blasting Chancellor Angela
Merkel for not having closed the borders to refugees. Kremmling wrote Seehofer
several times to warn him that taking the party to the right as a consequence
of the refugee crisis would be damaging. He was critical of the party's demand
for a hard ceiling on the number of refugees Germany would accept in addition
to what he describes as a radicalization of the rhetoric.
"I miss the C, the beloved C," says Kremmling, a
devout Christian. "The C has become an empty promise." He says he
never received a response to his concerns from Seehofer.
Ever since he left the party, Kremmling says he has felt
shunned in his village. "When you leave the party, you have to be careful
that they don't tar and feather you." Some people have begun pretending
that they don't recognize him on the streets, he says, while he and his wife
have noticed that fewer people are coming to their beauty salon.
Recently, Kremmling wrote to Katharina Schulze, head of the
Bavarian chapter of the Green Party. He says he finds it refreshing how she has
remained so open and friendly despite the caustic environment. Schulze wrote
him back immediately, which he also appreciated.
A Challenge from the Right
Reinhard Kremmling is not the only liberal Christian who has
migrated toward the Green Party. The CSU finds itself fighting a battle on two
fronts, both the left and right. And on both sides, the party's foundation is
crumbling. They are losing people like Kremmling to the Greens and many others
to the right-wing populist Alternative for Germany (AfD).
Indeed, many in the CSU have begun pining for the good old
days when the SPD was their primary opponent. The center-left party, to be
sure, rarely managed over 30 percent in Bavarian state elections, but they made
for a good enough foil to mobilize the CSU base. And the party is experienced
when it comes to dealing with the SPD; they always play by the established
political rules. The AfD, on the other hand, resorts to guerilla tactics --
something with which the CSU has no experience whatsoever.
Katrin Ebner-Steiner, the AfD candidate in the eastern
Bavarian town of Deggendorf, is running her campaign with four volunteers. Two
of them join her at the information stand while two others hang posters. The
AfD has 63 members in Deggendorf. The Bavarian AfD chapter has one full-time
and one part-time employee, but it has temporarily doubled its payroll for the
campaign.
It is an unequal battle. On the one hand is a party that is
virtually synonymous with the state of Bavaria, one with 140,000 members,
almost three-quarters of all government officials in the state and a deep
network. On the other is the AfD, a party that essentially only has a shrewd
marketing agency on its side. It's posters aim directly at the CSU's Achilles'
heel: "We do what the CSU promises," is one example. Another:
"If CSU is on the label, Merkel is one of the ingredients."
"Both posters do quite well," says Ebner-Steiner.
There are hardly any Bavarian restaurants anymore, she said
prior to our meeting, before proposing a place right on the Deggendorf main
square. She orders stewed plums with plenty of whipped cream. She ends up
laughing a lot on this afternoon. After all, things could hardly be going
better for her. In the federal elections last September, the AfD received
roughly 20 percent of the vote in Deggendorf and in the region next door. This
time around, the forecasts look even rosier. "It really is embarrassing
for the CSU," Ebner-Steiner says.
A Tradition of Patronage
It's not just refugee policy that is driving people into the
AfD's arms, she says, and goes on to talk about large and small scandals in
which local CSU politicians have been embroiled. There is the state
parliamentarian who hired his wife to work in his office at taxpayer expense.
There is the construction company belonging to a local CSU politician that
received a contract to build a refugee hostel. She laughs. "That's how
things work here. Nobody is allowed to build a fence taller than 1.5 meters.
But if you are in the CSU, you can get away with 2 meters."
The CSU took extra care of its members even during the
Strauss era, says biographer Siebenmorgen. An extremely diverse group of people
assembled under the CSU big tent because they hoped it could be good for them
personally. There was almost no other way to win a public construction
contract. Such patronage has always been the flip side of the party's success,
says Siebenmorgen.
The CSU has its spies everywhere, says Ebner-Steiner. She
says she knows Deggendorf municipal employees who are not even allowed to stop
by an AfD informational stand. "For these people, it is such a feeling of
autonomy to be able to secretly cast their ballots for the AfD. They say: It's
time to put an end to the cronyism and the social control." It is a sense
of frustration, she says, that has been building up over the course of several
years. The refugee crisis was merely the straw that broke the camel's back.
On that issue, too, Ebner-Steiner says she doesn't
understand the CSU. "It would be so easy to combat the AfD, but they
simply don't do it," she says. Horst Seehofer especially makes all the
wrong moves, she says. "He's like a press spokesman for us. It's like he's
campaigning for us." His comment that the migration question is the mother
of all problems, she says, was fantastic for the AfD. "He keeps putting
the issue in the spotlight. And everybody knows that the AfD dominates the
issue. I don't understand how they don't get it."
VICTIM OF ITS OWN SUCCESS
The CSU isn't alone in its nostalgia for days gone by, for
their proud past. Almost all big tent parties are currently embroiled in
territorial battles, both in Germany and elsewhere in Europe. It's just that
the atrophy is more obvious with the CSU because the party considers anything
below an absolute majority to be undignified. But in this era of societal
fragmentation and political party dilution, results of over 50 percent are
likely a thing of the past.
Still, the party has made a significant contribution to its
own crisis. Over the years, it had always been able to rejuvenate itself. It
never needed the voters to send it into the opposition for a period of
reflection. Their intuition was sensitive enough to make timely adjustments when
necessary. But the party leadership has recently lost that intuition.
The most significant failure, however, is the following
paradox: Even as the CSU happily modernized the state of Bavaria, it failed to
modernize itself. For years, the party has been led by the same type of
personality: male, coarse and more or less cunning. There is hardly room at the
top for women, much less for immigrants.
Ahead of the party's convention three weeks ago, somebody
must have noticed that all the important speeches were going to be held by men:
the CSU's general secretary, party leader and the Bavarian governor. So they
set up a panel discussion between the speeches in which six women were allowed
to participate. They briefly addressed issues such as the midwife shortage,
palliative care, elderly care and family benefits. Then, the convention moved
on.
Peter Gauweiler, the party's intellectual cornerstone, says
that the CSU still hasn't managed to completely digest the events of 1989/1990.
He is sitting on the sofa inside his law offices in Munich and dragging on a
cigarillo. He says the party is suffering from a kind of depression born of
success. "We have reached all of our goals: Moscow is defeated, communism
is over, Bavaria is the No. 1 state in Germany. There is nothing left to
win."
Now, he says, the party finds itself in a transitional
period. The CSU must now reinvent itself, a tortuous process, he allows.
"But then, a butterfly will emerge from the cocoon."
Bavarian voters rattle Berlin
politics
Angela Merkel and the Social Democrats face existential
questions in the wake of an electoral drubbing.
By MATTHEW
KARNITSCHNIG AND ZIA WEISE 10/15/18,
2:30 AM CET Updated 10/15/18, 6:03 AM CET
A tough 2018 continues for German Chancellor Angela Merkel,
whose allies in Bavaria suffered an historic electoral setback on Sunday | Odd
Andersen/AFP via Getty Images
MUNICH — The Bavarian wing of Angela Merkel’s center-right
bloc suffered its worst result in nearly 70 years in a state election as voters
abandoned Germany’s ruling parties for alternatives on both the left and right,
sending a clear signal to Berlin that growing numbers of Germans are displeased
with the country’s direction.
The Christian Social Union (CSU), the sister party of
Merkel’s Christian Democrats, lost its absolute majority as more than one-fifth
of its supporters defected, according to preliminary results. However, with 37.2
percent of the vote, the CSU, which has dominated Bavarian politics since World
War II, still managed to defend first place, paving the way for it to build a
coalition.
The larger question was what effect the election will have
on the government in Berlin. At the least, the result delivered an unvarnished
rebuke to the “grand coalition” between Merkel’s bloc and the Social Democrats
(SPD), which has been beset by infighting and controversy since it took office
in March. With its support diminished, there is growing doubt over whether the
government will survive its full term until the fall of 2021, at least in its
current form.
SPD Vice Chairman Ralf Stegner suggested the party needed to
rethink its commitment to the coalition. “There’s no reason to hang on to the
grand coalition at any price,” he tweeted, adding that the Bavarian election
outcome showed the coalition’s “stability is dwindling.”
The big winners of the night were the far-right Alternative
for Germany (AfD), which debuted in a Bavarian election with 10.2 percent, and
the Greens, which more than doubled its 2013 result to finish with 17.5
percent.
The two parties’ success underscored the ongoing
polarization of German politics as well as the continued resonance of the 2015
refugee crisis. One-third of voters cited migration and the integration of
foreigners as the biggest problem facing the state in an exit poll for German
public television. While the AfD attracted many disgruntled former CSU
supporters upset over Merkel’s liberal approach to asylum, the Greens drew in
centrist voters put off by the CSU’s often-harsh rhetoric on migration.
Söder pain — and relief
Describing Sunday’s outcome as “painful,” Bavarian premier
Markus Söder said his party accepted it “with humility.”
“The grand coalition is a challenge for us all,” he added.
The CSU hopes to form a center-right coalition with the
Freie Wähler (Free Voters), a conservative movement that shares many of the
CSU’s views. It finished in third place with 11.6 percent, benefiting from
voter frustration with its incumbent rival.
A poor showing in Hesse at the end of the month could force
Angela Merkel to relinquish the chairmanship of her party.
While the election was a disaster for the CSU, given its
long record of success, most polls predicted an even worse outcome in the low
30s. That relief could help Söder, who took over as premier in March, keep his
position. More than half of voters believe he’s doing a good job, according to
exit polls, a result that should bolster his case to remain.
Less clear is whether his predecessor as premier and current
CSU leader Horst Seehofer will survive. Many within the CSU blame Seehofer, who
took over Germany’s interior ministry after stepping down as Bavarian premier,
for the party’s crisis. He has been engaged in an often cantankerous feud with
Merkel over migration policy, a dispute that nearly brought down the government
over the summer and that remains a serious point of contention between the two
erstwhile allies.
Munich sneezes, Berlin catches cold
While a Seehofer exit would certainly be welcomed by Merkel,
it wouldn’t resolve the larger questions hanging over her government. The
Bavarian result, which follows a flurry of recent polls suggesting that the
grand coalition has lost its popular majority, is bound to fan speculation
about Merkel’s own future as chancellor. She faces a further challenge at the
end of October with another regional election in the state of Hesse, where her
party, which leads the local government, faces steep losses. A poor showing in
Hesse could force Merkel to relinquish the chairmanship of the CDU at a party
congress in December, severely diminishing her power.
The biggest loser of the night was the center-left SPD,
which imploded, dropping by more than half to just 9.7 percent. If confirmed,
the result would be the worst-ever in a state election for Germany’s oldest
political party, which is ceding many of its traditional supporters on the left
to the Greens.
“It’s worse than expected,” Michael Schrodi, an SPD member
of the federal parliament who was born and raised in Munich said, calling the
result “disastrous.” He added: “It’s clear that it can’t continue like this.”
The SPD had not “kept pace with the times” and was “perhaps
no longer interesting enough,” he said.
Three-quarters of Bavarian voters think the Social Democrats
should try to renew themselves in opposition in Berlin.
Many voters complain the SPD has lost its profile under
Merkel, who has co-opted and taken credit for various SPD initiatives over the
years. In Bavaria, where the SPD had long been the No. 2 political force, 76
percent of voters believe the party should try to renew itself in opposition in
Berlin, according to an exit poll for German public television.
The SPD initially resisted joining another grand coalition,
after seeing its support dwindle significantly during its last term as part of
a Merkel government. It eventually relented and since then its decline has
accelerated, as the Bavarian election illustrated.
Not the economy, dummkopf
For the CSU, which many credit for transforming what was
long an agrarian economy in Bavaria into one of Europe’s most successful
industrial corridors, Sunday’s election offered a reminder that economic
success alone doesn’t guarantee voter support.
Bavaria counts as Germany’s most prosperous region with an
unemployment rate below 3 percent. Yet the conflicts that arose from the influx
of refugees in 2015 threw the state’s political system out of kilter.
The CSU leadership decided to go toe-to-toe with the AfD on
the question of migration. Though it was undoubtedly a subject of great concern
to many, critics complained that the CSU focused too much on it, while giving
short shrift to other issues on voters’ minds, such as affordable housing and
education.
That second-guessing was on full display Sunday evening in
the Bavarian state parliament, where representatives of all parties gathered to
watch the results come in on television. CSU politicians and supporters sipped
their beers with long faces.
Barbara Stamm, a popular CSU politician and the president of
the Bavarian parliament, said the CSU had “overemphasized” the topic of
migration and asylum.
“We let ourselves get pushed in that direction,” she said,
alluding to the pressure from the AfD. “I always said, you can’t gain from the
right what you will lose in the center. The results today suggest as much.”
Felix Mönius, a member of the influential CSU youth
organization Junge Union, said that the party would need to change. “Making it
more youthful can’t hurt,” he said.
“The results still show that you cannot govern in Bavaria
without the CSU. We got away with a black eye.”
Inside the Green party’s parliamentary offices, green
confetti rained from the ceiling as the results came in at 6 p.m. Party leaders
Katharina Schulze and Ludwig Hartmann were greeted with whooping and thunderous
applause.
Whatever comes next, “this election result has already
changed Bavaria,” shouted Schulze, who was wearing a green dress.
The boast reflected the kind of bravado that made Schulze,
who sometimes appeared on the campaign trail in a traditional dirndl, a media
favorite. Despite the buzz surrounding their surge, the Greens appear destined
to remain where they have been ever since they first joined the Bavarian parliament
in 1986 – in opposition.
Judith Mischke contributed reporting.
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