In the course of the preparations for this piece, we have dealt with conspiracy narratives more than extensively and in the face of an overwhelming number – which can neither be surveyed nor comprehensively comprehended – I really have no choice but to stick my neck out and say: the imagination of the “other side” cannot be surpassed. I couldn’t make it up any better. It’s exciting, fascinating and engaging. Worlds in which everything occurs that people can only dream of, that people can only be afraid of.

Who is the “other side”?

But quite soon after this realization comes the question: How can it be that there are people who actually believe that all these stories are real? Let’s be honest. Lizard people? Children’s blood as an anti-ageing remedy? Donald Trump as a savior? That can only be related to some form of mental deficiency and of course it could never happen to you! Stop. Of course, it has nothing to do with a lack of intelligence and yet it can happen to anyone. The topic is much more complex than it seems and it would go far too far here to go into it in all its facets. Incidentally, this applies not only to this small interjection by the author, but probably also to the theater evening itself.

Anyone who is interested in finding out more, and I would very much welcome this for a variety of reasons, is cordially invited to take a look at the publications by Julia Ebner, Michael Butter, Pia Lamberty and Katharina Nocun*. I have included a bibliography below as well as a reference to where you can turn if you or someone close to you is looking for help. I can only warmly recommend the works and offers of these people. They have – in the spirit of the conspiracy narratives – brought light into the so-called darkness. At least as far as it goes, because at the end of the day, if you are not in the middle of it – and this applies to all areas that are ultimately and finally about faith – you remain on the outside.

So let’s summarize after this short section of text: The fantasy of this evening arose from other people’s ingenuity, the topic is too big to really grasp and the answers to the questions posed are in other people’s books – so what are we actually doing here? What is an evening of theater about conspiracy narratives supposed to bring us that we don’t already think we know? We artists on the one side, you audience on the “other”? And my answer is: we are living democracy. Together with you – our audience. Oh yes? And I’ll tell you why.

Kevin Costner, the Illuminati and chemtrails – a threat to democracy?

The deeper I delved into the world of conspiracy theories, the clearer it became to me that transitions are always fluid. One moment you’re watching a Hollywood film with Kevin Costner and finding the cinematic argument somehow convincing, the next moment the assassination of the American president is being orchestrated by some kind of (usually Jewish) elite that wants to seize world domination. On a quiet evening on the sofa, you enjoy being entertained by Dan Brown’s books, but the very next day, the Illuminati could be putting your own life in danger – just like Tom Hanks’s. One fine sunny day, you drive to a farm because you are looking for your twin brother or simply want to be in nature and close to animals – and bang! – you find yourself sitting at a table with people who believe in poisoning by chemtrails. This list consists of superficially contrived examples, but they could also be true in one way or another. But what they are not is a threat to our democracy. They may be crazy ideas, but people in this country have every right in the world to believe whatever they want, against their better judgement. Even if, firstly, this is difficult to understand, secondly, it limits communication to the point of impossibility, and thirdly – especially for affected relatives – it is almost impossible to accept. However, this only applies as long as there are no plans involved that include, for example, gathering in front of a government building with the intention of initiating a coup. Or something similar.

This kind of balancing act between rejection and acceptance applies not only to our dealings with people who believe in conspiracy theories – who are ‘slipping’ or have ‘slipped’ – but also to our dealings with each other, who live in our democracy and also shape it. I would like to give you an insight into our rehearsals: Over the past few weeks – as always when we work on a play together – we have had a number of discussions on a wide variety of topics. One particularly intense discussion focused on the question: Where is the line? What should be allowed in this country and what should not? On the one hand, people can have and express as many opinions and views as they want. On the other hand, people must not attack democracy. But what exactly constitutes an attack on democracy? And what must we accept as part of it? Everything from the AfD onwards is dangerous, that much is clear, but what about opinions that are conservative or even further to the right (not right-wing extremist) on the political spectrum? How do we deal with them? There were different views. Some said that a good conservative offering is needed. As difficult as it is to bear – from a very left-liberal perspective – people like Friedrich Merz and opinions like those of Friedrich Merz are needed in the public debate. Because these opinions also exist among the population. Because that is precisely what democracy is all about. It’s about representation. Right? Another part of the group vehemently objected. Allowing the opinions of the CDU from the 1980s to resurface is a massive step backwards. There must be limits, and those limits are reached when someone stands up and claims that foreigners are taking our dentist appointments. Firstly, this is wrong; secondly, it is populism; and thirdly, in a civilised, enlightened republic, this should not be an argument for closing the borders again so that we can ‘have our peace’ while people outside our borders are dying. We Germans, in particular, know very well where such exclusionary practices can lead.

The freedom of the civil subject as the lowest common denominator.

I share the despair that it is possible to say such things in this country. And I listen to Mario Voigt – the CDU’s leading candidate for the upcoming 2024 state elections in Thuringia – in his campaign speeches and interviews, and I can hardly bear it. One lie follows another. Exaggerating and in line with his agenda, he misleads people. Or at least incites them. An unbearable way to engage in politics and stir up sentiment. But he is not the leading candidate of the AfD. He unreservedly professes his commitment to democracy. This binds him to the Basic Law, on which our coexistence and our free constitutional order are based. This is not set in stone, and we are certainly still far from truly living up to the ideal that was enshrined there 75 years ago and has been in force throughout the country since 1990. But he and Friedrich Merz are committed to it and can and should therefore be measured by it. So is my stance: in order to avoid the AfD, I would even accept someone like Friedrich Merz? Perhaps it is worth recalling the premises of conservatism in Germany at this point, so as not to forget in all levity that being conservative always means maintaining the status quo and, when in doubt, telling narratives that primarily serve one’s own purposes, always putting one’s own interests before those of others. And in the history of the Federal Republic (conservative forces in the GDR are another story altogether), the status quo naturally also included rejecting the civil rights movement and the women’s movement, whose achievements we still benefit from today. Whose achievements I benefit from. So what does that mean now? I can condemn the way the CDU/CSU and also the FDP, and yes, sometimes even the parties I am more inclined towards, argue on certain issues. Or how they behave in everyday politics, because that is also what it is about now. But in the face of an unprecedented accumulation of crises, classic camp thinking is perhaps outdated. Perhaps it is not the time to divide things into ‘my side’ and ‘the other side’. Perhaps it is rather time to seek common ground, to build community and forge alliances where possible. And where are they possible? As long as my counterpart does not question the freedoms of civil subjects, I can and must talk to them and try to find solutions to our current problems. But if my counterpart’s solutions are to send women back to the kitchen or worse, then no. Conservative and right-wing voices are part of Germany. They are part of reality as soon as you open the newspapers in the morning. They are part of reality in almost every family in this country. They are part of my family.

A new normalisation?

Seeking common ground and forging alliances with the ‘other side’ quickly feels like the normalisation that has been warned against since the Second World War. ‘Nip it in the bud,’ they say. And I want to resist. I want to defend our democracy with all the means at my disposal, because it is only within it that I can think and work the way I do. But who am I defending it against? What is a threat? And what is just silly chatter? And what is both? That is something we have to figure out anew every day. And negotiate. By exchanging views and opinions, not by categorically excluding the ‘other side.’ But maybe that’s just my opinion on how our society should work. I’m writing here like a precocious child, but to be honest, I don’t know exactly how democracy works either.

So: What is democracy?

Let’s be honest. Who knows exactly how our democracy works? And how it should work? And why it is worth protecting. Not that, but why. Shortly before the elections, my social media timelines are full of: ‘Go vote!’ / ‘Vote or be a Nazi.’ / ‘Use your vote before someone else does!’ But when the sun is shining outside and I can spend another hour at the flea market, which only happens once a month, how important is my vote then? Is it really so bad if I don’t cast it? It’s only one vote. And even if I do cast it, it always feels like a very small contribution I’m making to democracy. And it’s abstract, too.

At school, I was taught that democracy is the ultimate wisdom. But what exactly is so wise about it? Well, there are people sitting on this committee (aha, committee, what’s that again?), people forming working groups (ok, working groups, got it), and then there’s the trinity of the separation of powers, et voilà! (Yes, I understood the whole thing reasonably well.) What role do I play as an individual, as me, as a citizen of this state? There are almost 84 million of us, so how important is my opinion? My one vote? And what happens to that vote when I leave it at the flea market, maybe even next to some revealing clothes I’m picking out because I didn’t really understand in social studies class that it’s my responsibility to use that very vote in this country? Because I didn’t understand that it is precisely this vote that enables me to pick out all the revealing clothes in the world at monthly flea markets, because I didn’t understand that I, along with everyone else, am the power in this country. Power comes from the people, and that is me. I am the power. Not alone, but I am part of it.

The keyword is self-efficacy. It’s hard to understand that ‘those up there’ were elected by us, that they are like us and work on our behalf. People don’t magically come into their positions and thereby gain power. We do that. And if we’re not satisfied with them, then we have to vote them out. And if there is no offer that satisfies us, and this fact makes us angry, really angry, then we have to take action ourselves. Then we have a responsibility to get involved. And it doesn’t have to be in a political party right away, it can also be an association or an initiative (or a theatre group). Or a demonstration. But it has to be democratic. And – and this also needs to be said very clearly: there are no easy solutions. We can forget about that – and that’s fine, because we’re still doing theatre here. And that brings us back to the conspiracy theories.

I would like a happy ending.

One of the main arguments put forward as to why people can get lost in conspiracy theories is the explanatory patterns they offer: simple solutions to complex problems. And that is always a mistake. Even if it is easier to follow the simple solutions offered – in politics and in the world of fairy tales – the paths we must take to move forward in our society and, above all, to stay together are long and arduous. That’s how it has to be; that’s democracy. But I don’t want to end this interjection on that note. That’s a terrible ending: the right path is the one that annoys us the most. I’ll take another run at it and try this: You are at a symposium on conspiracy narratives, which I have conceived with great pleasure because, for years, I have had colleagues and allies in the theatre collective Pièrre.Vers who are committed to a democratic society through artistic and, in some cases, activist means. They have decided that art can mean something, can have meaning, without forgetting that political theatre is still just theatre. And they are not alone. With your presence – yes, yours, dear audience – this theatre evening becomes democracy in action. Just as this text here is democracy in action. That sounds very grand for a single theatre evening, but democratic life begins in small ways, begins with us, between us, with us. And that’s where you can feel it. And however you feel about this text and this evening, one thing you will know for sure: if you want democracy in this country to survive the current turbulent times, then you are not alone. We are with you and you are with us. And that is the much better ending to this interjection.

Amazingly hopeful in the end,
Yours, Juliane Hendes