Guide to German Politics

The Reichstag in Berlin.

The German federal election is this Sunday, so for all those readers abroad who wonder how the German government works – don't lie, you know you've thought about it – here is a quick guide to Germany's political system.

On the surface it might be tempting to compare the German political system to the Canadian system. They're both federal systems with power devolved to provinces or states, but in Canada it's that way because of size. 

In Germany, this system comes from history. Before there was a Germany, there was a bunch of small countries and kingdoms and dukedoms of German-speakers. Bavaria was a kingdom. Hamburg was an independent city-state for centuries. Hesse was a country whose chief exports were cuckoo clocks and mercenaries.

If they weren't completely independent, they enjoyed a certain level sovereignty within the Holy Roman Empire and, later, the German Confederation. Even when Prussia (another German-speaking country) absorbed them all into the German Empire, they were granted a great deal of autonomy.

How today's federal government functions is dictated in Basic Law, Germany's constitution. Rules around institutions can be changed, but not easily. Sections around individual and human rights can never be changed because some assholes in the 1930s did exactly that.

It's worth mentioning that Basic Law's articles were written based on the hard lessons learned from the National Socialist dictatorship and the political deadlock of the Weimar Republic that lead to it.

Bundesrat

This is Germany's upper house, like Canada's Senate. Unlike Canada's Senators, who are appointed by the prime minister, members of the Bundesrat are sent to Berlin by Germany's 16 states.

They're chosen based on the party composition of their state's assembly, or Landtag, which itself is partly based on proportional representation. States get a base number of delegates, which rises based on population – more people, more votes.

In Canada, the Senate was once considered the sober second thought, above the partisan House of Commons. Germany's Bundesrat is more of a check on federal power. It offers a state perspective on issues and acts as a brake on the federal government's powers over the states.

The Bundesrat doesn't usually propose legislation but it must pass all legislation before is becomes law and has the power to veto bills from the Bundestag.

If the Bundesrat vetoes a bill, and the Bundestag doesn't agree, then it goes to a compromise committee formed of members from both houses, which makes, you guessed it, a compromise. When a compromise is reached, neither Bundesrat or Bundestag can change it.

You can bet there was some hard lessons led to that idea.

Chancellor

Chancellor Angela Merkel is Germany's prime minister. She, along with the cabinet she selects, is the executive branch of the German government. Yes, there is a German president, but he is mostly a ceremonial head of state who signs laws, waves to crowds from balconies, and cuts ribbons.

The Chancellor is the head of the largest party of the Bundestag, or the largest coalition of partners. She and the cabinet proposes legislation. They are the initiators in the law-making process. Ultimately, they hold the real power.

Interesting aside: Chancellors cannot call snap elections and cannot be removed with a No Confidence vote unless a successor has already been chosen. Germany learned the hard way in the Weimar days that a hamstrung parliament just begs for a dictator 'to get things done.'

Bundestag

This is the lower house and will be elected directly by the people this Sunday. They represent the people of their districts and act as a check on the executive – holding question periods, scrutinizing legislation, broaching constituent concerns. In Canada, that's usually the mandate for the Opposition, but in Germany there is no Official Opposition – it's everyone's job.

Voting is a mixed-member proportional system. I can sense your eyes are starting to glaze over, so hold on.

Half of the Bundestag (299 members) are elected directly by their constituencies in a first-past-the-post race. They become the representatives of their specific districts, like an MP in Canada representing their riding.

Now for the proportional representation vote. Hey, don't open another tab! Stay with me!

On the other half of a voter's ballot is a box to tick for a political party. Voters choose their party of choice, which is counted as a popular vote. A percentage of seats are then allocated based on that vote, which is tallied nationwide. This sends a total of almost 600 members to the Bundestag.

This election, Germans get to vote twice: for the person they want to represent their district and for the party that aligns with their political desires.

Political parties must earn at least five percent of that popular vote or win three districts to get earn popular representation seats – again a leftover from the lessons of the Weimar Republic to keep the crazy political fringes from hijacking the Bundestag.

Some words about this election...

Currently, four parties hold seats in the Bundestag – Anglea Merkel's ruling Christian Democratic Party and its Bavarian sister party, Christian Social Union (CDU/CSU), the Social Democrats (SPD), the Left Party, and the Greens.

The right-wing CDU and the left-wing SPD have been in a ruling coalition together and, in compromising with each other, have both drifted to the centre. Many of their traditional supporters look likely to vote for more extreme parties on the left and right. 

The Alternative for Germany (AfD) and the Freedom Party (FDP) have put their immigration and economic policies, respectively, to the right of the traditionally right-wing CDU. Their polling numbers hover at around 10 percent a piece. 

The coalition was more costly for SPD. Despite an energized beginning to the campaign with a new leader, polls now suggest they're in for a big loss. The Left, the Greens have benefitted from the SPD's listless campaign, and are both sitting at around 10% of the popular vote. They might also be losing vote to the AfD too. 

You might not like what they have to say, but parties were sent to the Bundestag by the people who voted for them. That's the beauty of the proportional party vote, it opens up the Bundestag to more parties and more views. Plus, that five percent threshold keeps the crazies out, like the Pirate Party (sounds funny, I know), or the NPD (the not so funny neo-fascists).

This also makes it difficult to predict how the next government will look because the winning party needs to form a coalition with other parties no matter what. The CDU looks likely to win, but with no majority will it seek support from the SPD again? Or will it lean to its right, towards the Freedom Party? Or with the Greens, who are open to a coalition with the CDU?

For those of you who made it to the end of this post, I think we can agree: This is exciting stuff!

What's Between Points A and B

The windmills of Kinderdijk.

Living in Dusseldorf has its ups and downs. Among the ups is the Dorf's proximity to so many cool places – like The Hague, which Kata surprised me with a trip to for my birthday.  

And since I'm the one with the driver's license, she dropped a few not-so-subtle hints that I should rent a car for a destination unbeknownst to me until we punched the destination into the GPS. 

The 3-hour drive from Dusseldorf to The Hague was uneventful. It wasn't boring, there's just not much on the drive there. The land flattened out and widened as we drove northwest. The countryside's features changed as we neared the sea and dipped below sea level. 

This is where driving is different than flying. When you fly, you're whisked from one place to another. Other than the time spent in the plane and watching the land crawl by below you, you have no sense of the distance covered.  

To drive is to get a sense of where you are and where you're going. You watch the trees thicken as you leave civilization behind. You feel the air cool as you drive into the mountains. Details between point A and B form in your mind. The journey on the road builds a mental map of a place. 

The Hague was great. It's the Netherland's seat of government (not its capital, which is Amsterdam, which, I know, doesn't seem to make sense), so there are lovely old buildings and museums and squares, which turn the Dutch habit of drinking and snacking into an outdoor activity.

Some Mondrian on The Hague's city hall.

A few more things about The Hague. It's artsy. Piet Mondrian is hometown hero. He's the guy who painted the rectangles with the colours. M.C. Escher also lived in The Hague. We went to the museum, which used to be a royal palace. It's a lovely building with a great collection of Escher's hits. Also, there are North Sea beaches a bus ride away in The Hague.

Parking isn't so simple, or inexpensive, and you have to keep your head on a swivel to watch for cyclists wheezing past you on either side of your car. But that's the price you pay for driving in a bicycle country.

After two nights of beer, snacks, art, and history, we jumped into the car and began the journey back. But we had planned a few stops between The Hague and home. 

Delft was our first destination. It's now a suburb of The Hague, so aside from one instance where I mistook a streetcar-only way as an entrance to a parking garage, the drive went smoothly. 

Amsterdam is the prime destination in the Netherlands, but if you ever have the opportunity, I recommend a side trip to Delft. It's smaller than Amsterdam, more compact, yet also less touristic and tawdry.  

Welcome to Delft. Home of the tough-ass Delft Blue pottery..

There was a flea market in the main square, and as we browsed we got the sense we were surrounded by locals out for a Sunday stroll downtown. At one point the sky opened up suddenly and it began pouring rain. Everyone hid under the awnings and tents of the flea market's vendors. They knew this would be a quick rain shower. Within ten minutes, the rain stopped and everyone was back to browsing again.

This being Holland, canals cut through the city's centre and there were plenty of cafes to sit out and enjoy a frosty chalice of Belgian beer. The town is known for its Delft Blue pottery, which is the white ceramics painted with blue designs. We bought some handmade specimens and got back onto the road. 

There is no simple way to reach Kinderdijk. It's at a confluence of rivers, so we had the choice of taking a ferry or going out of our way to cross a bridge. We crossed the bridge, and drove down a winding narrow road, past narrow high-roofed Duch houses, shipyards, and dikes.  

There is no train line here. I didn't see any buses. To get there you just drive, winding your way to Kinderdijk, which is a field with seventeen 300-year-old windmills standing idle on the reclaimed marshland where the two rivers meet. 

The beautiful cliches of Kinderdijk

There's a postcard quality to this place: marsh reeds blowing in the wind with rows of windmills receding into the background.  

But there's something stunning underlying that. You come to Europe and look at cathedrals and palaces, which, by their very nature, are decorative and not completely necessary.  

Kinderdijk isn't decorative, but functional. These windmills are monuments to land reclamation, farming, engineering – not a ruler's vanity or a religion's glory. That's not to knock on cathedrals and palaces, they're incredible too and offer a window into history. But Kinderdijk is different in its scale, its purpose, and its dominance over the landscape and the environment itself. 

Our last stop on the road to the Dorf was for dinner in Nijmegem. It was brief. We had dinner at a restaurant called Nibbles, where you order shareable plates of delicious food. It was the only place we could find that was open, but we highly recommend it. 

The old town was closed, so we walked through its deserted pedestrian streets to find Nibbles. We passed far too many clothing stores with creepily realistic-looking mannequins. I was thinking about taking a photo or two to share, but then I decided that I didn't want a The Ring situation – creepy store mannequins crawling through the screen and killing me – so you'll have to use your imagination. 

We will return for Nibbles, but will avoid eye contact with Nijmegen's unnecessarily eerie mannequins. 

Even on a grey day, the North Sea is quite a thing.

Oh... hi, Delft!

Working at a Strange, New Workplace

Four months ago I was laid off along with my entire team. It's never easy being laid off, but when you work in advertising you get accustomed to the knowledge that it's a possibility.

I joined my first agency in a recession, watched it grow, then departed as clients left and employees were shed. A few years later, I watched another agency gradually lay off colleagues and close down as the sole client shifted business elsewhere.

Stints at ad agencies are often short — clients and employees move frequently from agency to agency as budgets rise and fall — so I was happy to stay at my most recent agency for as long as I did. I made the acquaintance of some great people, did some good work, had a few laughs, and learned a few things along the way.

But all things must come to an end – it's the only way other things can begin.

I've started at a new agency, with new people, new clients, and new challenges. This is the first job I've had in almost five years where I didn't relocate to another city to start work. So while the excitement and nervousness is there, its amplitude is turned down from Life-Changing-Big-Step-Culture-Shock to Oh-a-Different-Commute-to-a-New-Office-With-New-People's-Names-to-Remember.

What a lovely, yet strange feeling to not have to turn your life upside down for a new job.