My trade union, the DJV Saxony, was hosting a two-day event in the AfD stronghold of Bautzen, in the east, entitled “Quiet days in Clichy”. This was a reference to the novel by Henry Miller, who wrote a book of the same name on the secret sex lives of Parisians in the early 1930s. I signed up.
It turned out to be a much less steamy affair than Miller’s book, with reporters and writers from all over Germany, and presentations by investors who are bringing the AI-driven “green transition” to this former opencast coal-mining region. The idea was to challenge the cliche in our minds that Saxony is backward and its people are slow-witted, ready recipients of AfD propaganda.
But what made it even more surprising was that Bautzen is the cultural heart of one of Germany’s least-known ethnic minority communities: the Sorbs. And while I was there, they were celebrating the spring festival known as “Birds’ Wedding”. It’s an ancient Sorb ritual, very popular with children. To give thanks for feeding them throughout the frozen, hungry months from November to February, the birds reward their human friends.
The night before Bird Wedding Day, Sorbian children put an empty plate on their outside window ledge. In the morning the plate is filled with sweet treats. Some are shaped like birds, with raisins for eyes. Others are little round nests decorated with buttercream.
The festivities continue at kindergarten and school. The “wedding” is traditionally a marriage of a magpie to a raven.
Two children each dress up as one of the birds. They make cardboard beaks and black and white costumes with real feathers. The rest represent the priest and the wedding guests, so they wear their Sunday best.
So far, so quaint and charming. But who are these Sorbs? They are not Germanic at all, but Slavs who are ethnically related to Poles (not Serbs, as their name suggests). They migrated from the east to Saxony and Brandenburg in the seventh century and were absorbed into the Holy Roman empire.
They have their own language, which is linguistically related to Czech, and despite their small numbers – only 60,000 at the last count – they have their own Sorbian-medium schools and cultural centres. Street signs are dual-language and they even have a local radio station, Serbski rohzłós, which is part of the regional broadcaster, MDR.
The Sorbian National Ensemble, based in Bautzen, creates a programme of plays and concerts every year. One play, written by the journalist Jurij Koch, recalls the life of Annemarie Schierz, a local woman who had been baptised in the Catholic church, spoke Sorbian, wore the national dress… but had a Jewish background and called herself Esther.
From 1942, she was forced to report to the Gestapo. And in 1943, she disappeared. Most probably the Nazis deported her to a death camp where she was murdered. Her fellow Sorbs also suffered persecution under the Nazis, who forced them to learn German.
Today’s far right AfD uses a picture of pretty young girls in three variations of their Sorbian national dress in one of its posters. The sarcastic slogan reads “Vibrant diversity – we’ve got it sorted!”
This is a swipe at critics and political opponents who accuse the AfD – quite rightly – of racist discrimination against most minority ethnic communities, pointing to the party’s election promise (or threat, rather) to bring in “re-migration”. By this they mean the enforced repatriation of all German citizens who do not have a “genuine German” background.
Those quiet days opened my eyes to the societal strengths in Germany that resist the lies promoted by groups such as the AfD. The reality of German culture is both more ancient, beautiful and varied than the extremist politicians understand. Spring is on the way. There are green shoots of recovery.
Jane Whyatt has worked as a journalist, newsreader and independent producer
