Germany’s Far-Right AfD Nears Historic Breakthrough in Saxony-Anhalt Vote as TikTok Star Siegmund Leads Charge

During the coronavirus pandemic, a little-known German state lawmaker with an upbeat patter and a telegenic smile began speaking out on TikTok against pandemic regulations. Complaining about masks, vaccinations, and other government requirements he considered “crazy,” the lawmaker attracted millions of viewers by delivering an anti-establishment message in an affable tone.

Now, that same lawmaker, Ulrich Siegmund, has leveraged his online popularity to come closer to power than any far-right politician in Germany since the Nazi era ended in 1945.

Mr. Siegmund, 35, a former air freshener salesman, is the lead candidate for the Alternative for Germany party (AfD) in Saxony-Anhalt, a state in eastern Germany where the party is projected to finish first in a statewide election on Sunday.

Should the AfD win an outright majority, Mr. Siegmund would become the first far-right politician to govern a German state since the re-establishment of the country’s democracy nearly eight decades ago — a potentially seismic shift for Germany’s postwar political system, originally designed to prevent extremist figures from ever reaching office.

To much of the political establishment in Berlin, Mr. Siegmund’s party remains an outcast. Germany’s domestic intelligence agency has labeled the AfD as “suspected extremist,” an accusation the party rejects as politically motivated. The AfD has declared that Islam is incompatible with the German Constitution and has advocated mass deportations of immigrants. Several of its leaders maintain close ties to Russia, and some have made coded references to the Nazi era, including minimizing the Holocaust and repeating Nazi-era slogans.

In a podcast interview with Politico, Mr. Siegmund avoided condemning supporters who chanted his surname—Siegmund—in the style of the Nazi salute, “Sieg Heil.” When pressed on whether the Holocaust constituted humanity’s worst-ever crime, he said he could not “presume to judge,” citing his inability to assess the full scope of human history.

Nevertheless, experts credit Mr. Siegmund with broadening the AfD’s appeal beyond its hard-right base by presenting the party’s controversial platform in a more accessible, optimistic tone. Alongside calls for mass immigration deportations, the party has proposed cutting public broadcasting funding, banning gay pride flags in schools, increasing Russian language instruction, offering tax breaks for large families, and expanding access to free childcare.

“I can provide motivation, create a sense of optimism, and get things moving forward again,” Mr. Siegmund said in an interview with The New York Times earlier this year. He has since declined further interview requests.

His approachable demeanor has made him more palatable to a broader swath of voters, according to Professor Steffen Mau, a leading sociologist at Humboldt University of Berlin.

“He’s a canvas onto which people can project some kind of promise for the future,” Professor Mau said.

Mainstream politicians have repeatedly criticized Mr. Siegmund and the AfD, dismissing their policy proposals as unworkable. During a televised debate last month, Saxony-Anhalt’s incumbent governor, Sven Schulze, challenged Mr. Siegmund directly: “Whenever the topic turns to substance, when people actually ask how you intend to move our country forward economically, you’re nowhere to be found.”

In August, Germany’s leading newsmagazine, Der Spiegel, featured Mr. Siegmund on its cover, calling him “the most dangerous man in Germany.” The article highlighted how his friendly persona helps make the AfD’s hardline agenda more digestible to certain voters. Supporters embraced the label, proudly requesting his autograph on copies of the issue during campaign stops.

Mr. Siegmund is “so approachable and charming,” said Wolfram Adler, 67, a retired train driver who attended one of those rallies.

From Salesman to Politician

Born in 1990, shortly after the reunification of East and West Germany, Mr. Siegmund grew up in the picturesque medieval town of Tangermünde in eastern Germany.

Raised in the east, he came of age amid rising discontent over how reunification unfolded in his home region. The east’s economy, employment rates, and population declined after 1990, fostering a sense of exclusion among many East Germans in the newly unified nation. This grievance became a central theme for the AfD, particularly in Saxony-Anhalt, where unemployment hovers around 8%, significantly higher than the national average.

In his twenties, Mr. Siegmund worked as an account manager at a healthcare company before launching his own business in Berlin selling room deodorizers.

He initially affiliated with the Christian Democratic Union (CDU), a mainstream conservative party that currently leads Germany’s national coalition government.

However, he soon grew disillusioned with what he perceived as rigid party hierarchies, and joined the AfD in 2014. He was drawn to the party’s opposition to what he viewed as the top-down policies of the federal government in Berlin.

The AfD was originally founded in opposition to Germany’s adoption of the euro. After pivoting toward an anti-immigrant stance, Mr. Siegmund ran on the party’s slate for the state parliament in 2016, winning a seat as the AfD secured 24% of the vote. The victory coincided with surging public concern over Germany’s decision to welcome roughly one million refugees during the European migrant crisis. Around the same time, he also served on his local council alongside his father and brother.

He rose to national prominence in 2021 with his relatable videos criticizing pandemic restrictions, positioning both himself and the AfD as the voice of citizens who felt abandoned by mainstream parties.

Today, Mr. Siegmund commands more than 850,000 followers on TikTok—an extraordinary reach for any German politician—which has amplified his campaign messaging throughout the summer.

When addressing large crowds, he often records the event on his phone, pointing the camera at the audience to showcase turnout.

“When you watch all of Siegmund’s campaign appearances, it becomes perfectly clear: They’re not primarily intended for the live audience—they’re primarily for the internet,” said Professor Paula Diehl, who studies populist leaders at Kiel University.

His signature preppy shirts and distinctive tuft of graying hair have made him instantly recognizable in his hometown of 10,000 residents. During his conversation with The New York Times this year, pedestrians repeatedly stopped to greet him, wish him luck, or simply smile as he walked through town.

Throughout the discussion, he balanced a calm, measured tone with starkly exclusionary rhetoric.

He claimed not to blame immigrants for coming to Germany — only to immediately follow up by vowing to make life for newcomers in his state “very uncomfortable.”

Melding Nostalgia with Vision

The makeup of his campaign team underscores the contradictions in Mr. Siegmund’s public image. The production company behind his approachable campaign videos is run by a far-right activist associated with the Identitarian movement, which German intelligence has flagged for extremist activity. His spokesman previously belonged to a banned extremist group inspired by the Hitler Youth.

Mr. Siegmund declined repeated requests for comment regarding these connections. In past interviews with other outlets, he dismissed their significance.

According to Professor Diehl, Mr. Siegmund “pretends to engage in inclusive discourse and then immediately shatters it.”

A key element of his campaign strategy involves appealing to nostalgia for East Germany, despite having been born after its dissolution. While many remember the former regime as authoritarian, others romanticize it as an era of full employment and stability.

One campaign event included a comedian performing the East German national anthem—an act controversial enough to prompt even some AfD politicians to distance themselves from it.

At various stops, Mr. Siegmund rode through rural areas on a Simson—an underpowered two-stroke motorcycle symbolizing life under Communist rule. His bike was painted baby blue to match the AfD’s branding.

In other moments, he has looked toward the future rather than the past. Citing widespread frustration with rising unemployment and living costs, he has painted a vision of renewed prosperity under AfD leadership—even if the details remain vague.

“Things are going downhill everywhere, and that’s a bad and demotivating place to start,” he said during his interview with The New York Times. “I want things to start moving uphill,” he added.

Critics argue he is merely offering false hope, drawing attention to his earlier career in sales.

“I discovered my strength in sales early on,” Mr. Siegmund told a business magazine in 2014. “I love to sell.”

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