In the essay Destra e sinistra (Right and Left, 1994), the Italian philosopher Norberto Bobbio offered a remarkably clear analysis of the logical and political distinction between the concepts of “right” and “left.”
These terms, widely used — and often abused — over the past two centuries, can be understood as a dyad: a pair of opposing concepts that exist in relation to one another. This dyad may evolve into a triad when a third element, the “center”, emerges as an intermediate position.
But what happens when a country manages to sustain a political system composed of a left and a center, while the very possibility of a legitimate right-wing remains structurally constrained?
Imagine an aircraft attempting to defy the basic laws of aerodynamics by developing a body with only a left wing — reluctant to construct a right wing, not for technical reasons, but because of a historical framework that makes such a construction inherently suspect.
Even if such a prototype were technically possible, it is unlikely that many passengers would be willing to board it — especially in conditions of severe turbulence.
This image can be applied to contemporary Germany: a country with one of the strongest economic models in Europe and a central role within the Eurozone, yet increasingly confronted with the rise of what is often described as the first significant right-wing party since the post-war period — Alternative für Deutschland (AfD).
Even though analysts attempt to trace the origins of this phenomenon, its social perception in Germany often goes beyond ordinary political competition. It is frequently treated not simply as an adversary, but as something external — almost like the emergence of an alien organism within the body of a “sane” country.
We do not intend to analyze the specific positions of AfD or to assess its legitimacy. The party advances programs that can be found in many right-wing movements across Europe: stricter regulation of mass immigration, faster legal procedures against terrorist threats, the reassertion of traditional values in society, Euroscepticism, and so on.
What concerns us here is the collective reaction to this presence. According to major polling institutes, AfD now stands between 18% and 20% nationally and appears unlikely to disappear. Yet the dominant reaction remains one of rejection. For years, there have been calls to classify the party through the Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz as right-wing extremist and to ban it.
This “call for prohibition” can — without overgeneralizing — be interpreted as reflecting a broader cultural tendency: the inclination to regard what does not conform to an established system as inherently suspect.
At this point, it becomes necessary to reflect on the very concept of Verfassungsschutz (“protection of the constitution”). Its function is to identify potential threats arising from within the political order, and there are, for the agency, clear signals that AfD may represent a danger to the German model of wehrhafte Demokratie (“militant democracy”).
Yet the parameters guiding these classifications — which, in certain cases, appear less clearly defined than the threats they aim to address — remain opaque.
Established under Allied supervision in the 1950s and later integrated into the constitutional framework of the Federal Republic, the agency is often invoked almost as a deus ex machina whenever extremist risks are perceived. This raises a deeper question: whether a democracy, in attempting to defend itself, may risk turning against its own foundational principles.
The underlying issue becomes even more visible when looking at the social dimension. A significant part of the German population appears to support the exclusion of another segment — the so-called “AfD-Wähler” (AfD voters) — through the suppression of their political representation.
But can the banning of a party eliminate the millions of individuals who support it?
First of all, we would like to ask whether this part of the population — which typically lives in (Western) German cities, far removed from economically depressed areas where the integration between Germans and immigrants most visibly takes place — truly believes that banning a party would somehow make disappear the millions of people who have turned against rules that conform to the frameworks of the Verfassungsschutz and, more broadly, of the European Union. If this assumption proves misguided, the consequences may be counterproductive. Suppressing a political expression does not remove the social conditions that produced it; it may instead reinforce feelings of exclusion among those who already feel unrepresented.
In such a scenario, dissent does not disappear — it transforms. What is removed from the visible political arena may re-emerge in less predictable and less controllable forms, deepening divisions within society.
A democratic system, if it aims to remain stable, must not only defend itself, but also absorb and process internal tensions, thereby building resilience. Otherwise, the very mechanisms designed to preserve it risk intensifying the fractures they seek to contain.
The recourse of a significant part of the population to institutions such as the Verfassungsschutz also reflects a broader German cultural tendency: the reliance on mediation to resolve direct conflict.
In this sense, the situation resembles a form of excessive parental supervision. While supervision is necessary, an attempt to eliminate all risks from a child’s life may ultimately hinder the development of a mature adult.
One might object that such a comparison risks portraying Germany as politically immature. This, however, is not the point.
The question is not the legality of these institutions, but whether their mode of operation may, in certain circumstances, produce effects that run counter to the very democratic stability they are meant to protect.
This question cannot be answered easily. What can be said, however, is that conservative and reactionary values within a country should not be dismissed a priori. Their legitimacy should be preserved, as long as they do not devolve into theories of supremacy or exclusion.
At the same time, the tendency to label such positions indiscriminately as “fascist” or “Nazi” often reflects a lack of historical awareness. At times, it seems that merely identifying as Christian and European is enough to attract such labels.
This overlooks the fact that some of the most notable forms of resistance to National Socialism and Fascism emerged precisely from Christian and conservative environments — such as the White Rose in Germany, the plot associated with Claus von Stauffenberg, and Catholic and conservative partisan movements in countries such as Italy and France.
The problem, therefore, is not the existence of political tension, but the inability to integrate it.
A democracy that cannot accommodate legitimate opposition risks revealing not its strength, but its fragility.
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