German-German history The remains of the border fence

How “East German” does the post-reunification generation feel 35 years after unification? Do young people see their future in eastern Germany – or are they drawn elsewhere? Artsy hipsters in a repurposed cinema and members of a Simson moped club in Saxony offer some intriguing insights. 

A story about Germany’s young East could begin in countless ways: at a bus stop where buses no longer stop, at a rave in a derelict factory or in a stadium where masked fans chant “East Germany”. This one begins with a Gulaschkanone, a wheeled stove traditionally used in Germany to cook large quantities of food, especially goulash. It’s midday on a Saturday in September, and such a stove stands outside a former cinema in Bitterfeld-Wolfen. It fills the forecourt with the aroma of pea soup. But here, it’s more than a cooking device – it’s a symbol. Today, a Gulaschkanone often signals far-right spaces, explains Leon, 28, who was born in Thuringia, grew up in Brandenburg and now lives in Saxony. “If the AfD rents a guesthouse, the Gulaschkanone is always parked in front of it.”

At the opening of the Osten art festival in Wolfen, the organisers have prepared tofu in the Gulaschkanone – a cultural gesture amid heated debates over vegetarianism, gender issues and migration. These issues are especially charged in Germany’s eastern states, as reflected in the electoral success of parties at the extreme ends of the political spectrum. They are also one of the reasons why people are talking about – if not badmouthing – “the East” again.

Thirty-five years of German unity should be a cause for celebration. Yet, looking at the present moment, questions emerge: How can differences between East and West still hold such weight? How does the generation that grew up in a reunified Germany view life in the East? In short: Just how divided is the country in the minds of young people? 

A different awareness of material things

Helene sits next to Leon in front of the cinema in Wolfen. It wasn’t until she went away to university that she realised just how different her upbringing had been to that of fellow students from West Germany, says Helene, who comes from the Baltic island of Rügen. “I wouldn’t say I’m an ‘Ossi’,” she explains, “Germany is too united for that”. But she does feel a little East German. “For example, we have a different relationship to material things,” she says – before Leon shouts: “Yogurt pots!” He bets that at least half of all people socialised in East Germany have a stack of rinsed-out yogurt pots in their cellar. And what are they for? To store things in, of course, explains Helene, as if this was the strangest question in the world. Leon insists that yogurt pots aren’t waste. “We just have a different awareness of material things,” he explains. “That’s how it is in the East." The youth club in Siebenlehn is a rough-plastered building at the end of a gravel road, behind an old GDR-era garage courtyard. With bricks stacked in front of the entrance, it usually looks like an abandoned construction site – but on this summer day, the space feels different. The party they’ve been planning for weeks is about to begin. Inside, Louis, 18, wires up the DJ controller – he’ll be on the decks later. Colourful spotlights already dance across the tiled room, while next door, a friend stocks up the bar with mixed beer drinks and schnaps.

Really apolitical? 

Siebenlehn is part of Großschirma, a small town in central Saxony that has been governed by an AfD politician since the summer of 2024. Louis says he likes it here. His friends all live in Siebenlehn; this is where he plays football, goes to the outdoor pool and tinkers with his moped. Like almost everyone in the youth club, he owns a Simson. “They just look better than those modern plastic bikes,” claims Louis.
But the GDR two-stroke mopeds are also closely associated with right-wing youth culture in eastern Germany. Simson events frequently make negative headlines as gatherings of the far right. In the youth club, however, politics don’t play a role, insists Louis. And the mayor? “At the end of the day, I don’t care if he’s from the AfD or the Greens,” he says. “As long as he does his work.” It’s like music, he argues – everyone has different tastes.

But music, of course isn’t always neutral. At another party, Louis recently played L’Amour Toujours, the same song that, over the summer, right-wing groups across the country turned into a soundtrack for xenophobic chants. So, are they really apolitical? Louis shrugs. “There are plenty of times we get labelled as stupid Ossis,” he explains. That label was part of the youth club’s initial reluctance to take part in the interview. A reluctance that never fully disappears during the conversation. The others snigger at Louis’ monosyllabic replies. For the photo, he and a friend pose in their club’s uniform-style T-shirts, while a third wears one from Alpha Industries – a brand favoured by the far right because its logo resembles the insignia of the Sturmabteilung (SA), the paramilitary wing of the Nazi party. Moving to a big city, let alone to the West, Louis adds, is out of the question. Then the friends disappear into the youth club. The party is about to begin.

Caught between self- and assigned identities

Defamatory reporting about “the East” is something many know well – including the youngsters outside the Wolfen cinema. According to Wenzel, who was born in Magdeburg in 1986, this also shapes the younger generation’s East German identity. “I think it has a lot to do with the post-reunification experience of being treated differently,” he says. A common reaction to this is to internalise what is perceived as different: “If you refer to us as the “others”, then we take on that identity,” he explains.
Has reunification created a web of self- and assigned identities that reinforce each other rather than foster harmony? Such patterns do exist, but they don’t tell the whole story.

That much is evident from hæßlig magazine, presented by Klara (26) and Lennart (25) at the Osten Festival. For its third issue, they collected smartphone photos that capture everyday life in eastern Germany. As you flip through the magazine, you see images of a refreshingly united country. Yes, there’s the soft ice-cream ad against a prefab concrete-block wall, a sight you would rarely see in the West. But the woman in the pink dress in front of a greenhouse is as unclassifiable as the sign that, in a display of general German grumpiness, warns: “Playing in the courtyard is verboten!”

Ongoing economic inequality

Lennart says his East German identity only began to develop after he met West German students at university. He realised that, while he had studied West German history at school, his peers from the West had been taught little about the East. But the sharpest dividing line, he says, is the deep frustration over ongoing economic inequality. Frustration that people in the East still possess far less wealth than those in the West, are underrepresented in top positions and many still live in homes owned by West Germans.

Stay or go?

A fire recently broke out at the cinema in Wolfen – one in a series of blazes that has kept the town on edge for weeks. Witnesses reported seeing teenagers fleeing from one of the fire scenes. This news seems to capture, in condensed form, the sense of hopelessness so often associated with the East. Yet, for this weekend at least, the old movie theatre promises a kaleidoscopic range of perspectives and possibilities.
Leon and Helene also plan to stay. Helene moved back to the East a year and a half ago – “partly because I felt it’s just not right if everyone my age moves away”. As she says this, the late-summer sun lights up the old cinema behind her. Soot still clings to its entrance.