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The refugee integration crisis in Europe: it is not culture, it is the state 

A left-wing critical reading in the context of rising anti-immigrant right-wing discourse


25/03/2026

A line of Syrian refugees crossing the border of Hungary and Austria on their way to Germany. Hungary, Central Europe, 6 September 2015.

In the midst of the current European political landscape, the question of refugees and integration dominates public debate across many countries, from Germany and France to Denmark, the Netherlands and Sweden. Most political parties, including some centre and centre-left parties, tend to explain the success or failure of integration through cultural, religious or ethnic factors, as though these were the decisive determinants of the matter. There is no doubt that religious and cultural factors play a role in certain aspects of integration, yet this role remains limited and insufficient to explain the phenomenon at its core.

The debate across most of Europe, particularly within right-wing and far-right parties and occasionally in some circles that consider themselves part of the left, revolves around language, dress, religious values and what is called “culture”. This narrow focus deliberately or inadvertently conceals the deeper social, economic and political factors, reducing a profoundly complex issue to a simplified electoral slogan that serves the agenda of voter mobilisation more than it seeks to understand the problem or offer realistic and just solutions.

Rather than approaching integration as a complex social and historical process in which structural, psychological and economic factors intertwine, it is reduced to simplified cultural and religious slogans deployed to stoke fear and mobilise voters. Some of this discourse goes beyond the rights-based values enshrined in European constitutions and international human rights instruments, effectively treating European citizens of immigrant origin—particularly those from majority-Muslim countries—as though they were suspects required to continuously prove their innocence, despite the fact that the vast majority of them work, contribute and integrate actively into their societies.

Yet a deeper question is rarely raised in public debate: what does the state mean to those who have spent a large part of their lives under a state that represses and plunders? And how does this deeply ingrained experience shape their relationship with any other state? The matter is not confined to the first generation alone, as this image of the state may pass indirectly to the second generation through the everyday language of the home and the way institutions, authority and law are spoken about. A child who grows up in an environment that views the state with suspicion and fear may inherit that outlook before having any personal experience of it, making the addressing of this psychological and historical dimension a necessity that touches generations, not merely individuals.

The state as they knew it: an apparatus of repression, not a public institution

Many refugees from the Middle East and parts of Asia and Africa have spent most of their lives under corrupt authoritarian states. For them, the state was not a public institution serving society and protecting the rights of its members. In their daily experience, it was a repressive power apparatus working in the interests of a narrow elite at the expense of broader society, bound up with systematic corruption, bribery, security services dominating public life, and bureaucracy unaccountable to the people. It was in most cases an unelected authority or one that resorted to sham elections serving as nothing more than a facade of legitimacy for an already entrenched rule, treating people as submissive subjects rather than citizens with rights.

This deeply rooted experience with falsified elections—or their complete absence—explains an important part of the lower electoral participation rates among European citizens of foreign origin compared to native-born citizens, something researchers observe across many countries. Electoral participation is not an innate behaviour; it is an acquired practice built on a firm conviction that one’s vote makes a real difference. Those who have known nothing in their lives but ballot boxes that change nothing or are used to falsify the popular will need time and tangible experience to be convinced that things are different here.

More importantly, these states in many cases did not arise in a vacuum. They took shape and consolidated power through a close alliance between political rulers and local and global capitalist elites. These were states that frequently received political, military and financial support from Western international powers under the pretext of regional stability and combating extremism, while simultaneously crushing civil society and preventing any form of independent democratic or trade union organisation. The Western societies that today ask why integration is so difficult bear at the same time a considerable degree of historical responsibility for sustaining the regimes that produced these refugees and created within them this deep relationship of suspicion and fear toward the state.

In such repressive and corrupt systems, it becomes entirely natural for people to try to circumvent the state rather than cooperate with it. They avoid official procedures, find ways around laws and avoid paying taxes, and rely on personal and family networks rather than public institutions that no one trusts. This is not an inherited cultural trait in any simple essentialist sense. It is in most cases the logical outcome of a long historical experience with a state that made a practice of repressing and plundering society rather than serving it.

A model born of class struggle

When these refugees arrive in Western Europe, they find themselves confronted with a model entirely different from anything they have known. Although the modern state remains part of a class-based social structure within the capitalist system, most Western European states rest on democratic institutions, free elections, relative institutional transparency and legal rules applied to a large degree equally to all.

Yet this model did not emerge spontaneously, nor was it a gift from the state or the ruling bourgeois class. It is the product of a long and arduous history of class struggles by the labour movement, trade unions, and left-wing and social movements that managed, through collective organisation and sustained political work, to gradually impose a wide-ranging system of social rights. Free public education, universal healthcare, the social security system and workers’ protection laws were not born with the modern European state. They were wrested away through decades of struggle between labour and capital.

Yet these gains are not permanently secured. They are always vulnerable to erosion and circumvention whenever the left and trade union movements weaken and their presence in the public sphere recedes. The history of capitalism demonstrates that capital does not voluntarily surrender what has been taken from it, and that every retreat in the power of collective organisation opens a window for rolling back these rights under ever-renewed pretexts. This is what makes the preservation and development of these gains dependent, in every generation, on the vigilance of progressive movements and the continuity of their organisation and active political participation.

These states also rest on a legal framework grounded in human rights principles, including legal equality between women and men, the separation of religion and state, the protection of children’s rights, and the right of all citizens and residents to education, healthcare and human dignity. For many refugees coming from societies where these rights do not enjoy adequate legal protection, absorbing these rules and understanding their logic is not merely cultural adaptation. It is an essential part of understanding the nature of the secular democratic state itself.

The vast majority of refugees gradually adapt to this model. They learn to trust public institutions, enter the labour market, pay taxes and participate in community life. Yet there remains a small minority that stays captive to the old experience of the state, engaging with the European system through the logic of what they knew in their previous country—working outside the formal framework, circumventing legal procedures, or relying on personal networks rather than public institutions. Among the manifestations of this is also the persistence of certain patterns of patriarchal authoritarian thinking in the management of family affairs, a pattern produced not by culture alone but nurtured by decades of the absence of laws protecting women and the dominance of the logic of force in societies that never knew a state of citizenship.

Integration policies and the problem of understanding the state

The integration difficulties of this minority are most often interpreted as a deep cultural or religious problem requiring more restrictions, tests and conditions. The more precise explanation is that the issue in many cases is a difficult transition from a deeply ingrained conception of the state as an apparatus of repression and corruption to a fundamentally different conception that sees it as an institution of social solidarity worthy of trust and participation.

Current European integration policies do not adequately address this essential dimension. Rather than focusing on explaining the nature of state institutions, how they function and the history of struggle that produced them, integration policies have accumulated under growing pressure from the right and far-right, shifting toward tightening laws, expanding value-based tests and imposing increasing restrictions on residency and social rights. These are policies that proceed from a prior assumption that the refugee is a problem to be contained, not a human being carrying a complex historical experience that needs to be understood.

This approach does not merely fail to achieve integration. It may reinforce in some refugees the old image of the state as a hostile entity lying in wait for them—precisely the opposite of what declared integration policies claim to seek.

What genuine integration requires is a clear explanation of how state institutions grounded in the principle of citizenship actually function, the organic relationship between taxes and public services, and the role of trade unions and labour laws in protecting workers. Learning the language is undoubtedly necessary, but it is not sufficient on its own to understand society.

Genuine integration: a social experience and a shared responsibility

Integration policies can incorporate practical and concrete examples: explaining how schools and hospitals are funded through taxes and how workers obtain their rights through formal employment contracts and trade unions. This understanding can be further reinforced by encouraging refugee participation in political, civic and trade union life and in local associations.

When people see how democratic institutions function in daily life and how labour and trade union movements have wrested broad social rights through collective organisation, integration becomes a genuine social process rather than a mere administrative obligation or a values examination.

Integration also rests on a shared responsibility involving multiple parties. The host society and its institutions bear a responsibility to explain the nature of the state and its history of struggle. The media bears a responsibility to focus on the many positive aspects of the integration journey rather than amplifying certain wrongful practices that remain exceptions rather than the rule.

For their part, the minority that still views the state through the lens of previous experiences is in genuine need of reconsideration. The state in Western Europe, despite its shortcomings and class contradictions, is not an apparatus of daily corruption and repression as many knew it in their previous countries. It is to a significant degree a public institution that guarantees basic rights, provides extensive social services and upholds the law for all.

Respecting laws, registering work, paying taxes and engaging transparently with public institutions are not merely legal obligations. They are a form of genuine participation in a social solidarity system shaped over long decades of struggle by blue-collar and intellectual workers alike and by trade union and social movements.

Political participation: a democratic duty and an act of solidarity

From this very standpoint, participation in political life in all its forms—from joining trade unions and civil associations to taking part in protests and social campaigns, through to voting in elections—becomes an inseparable part of genuine integration in societies whose achievements were built on collective struggle. The electoral vote in a democratic society is a tool of real influence over decisions that affect everyone’s daily life, from the level of health and education services to labour laws and housing policies. European citizens of foreign origin who hold back from this participation due to an inherited distrust of political engagement leave the field open for voices that shape policies at their expense.

In the face of the rising right and far-right across Europe, a clear stake is on the line: preserving and developing the social gains wrested by the historical left, or allowing the ongoing process of their gradual erosion to continue. In this context, the social and environmental left forces that reject racist discourse toward migrants and demand integration policies grounded in equality and human dignity represent the political framework closest to the principles of social justice that produced the European model itself.

There is a question that cannot be bypassed in this context: how do we call on the migrant to integrate into a society we simultaneously describe as a capitalist class society? The answer is that this society, despite its class character, is not a homogeneous bloc. It is a terrain of struggle in which the left and labour movements have, across generations, wrested real and substantial social rights. The integration intended here is not submission to the existing order but active engagement in that very struggle. The migrant who pays their taxes, joins their trade union and participates in political life acquires the tools of collective struggle and becomes a partner in the ongoing effort to transform society, not merely a beneficiary of its achievements.

And those who have long lived under a state that stole their votes and criminalised their political work now have a real opportunity: for their political participation in all its forms to become part of safeguarding and strengthening this model. Integration and the struggle for a more just society are two sides of the same coin.

Trump’s thirst for dominance

The administration’s threat to “take Cuba”


24/03/2026

The United States has economically and diplomatically isolated communist Cuba for longer than any other country.  Following Castro’s revolution in 1959, the Caribbean island has suffered a constant embargo, experiencing recurrent phases of deep crises, for instance during the “Special Period” that followed the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. During Obama’s administration, diplomatic and economic ties between the two countries were partially restored, in an effort from Washington to repair bilateral relations with Havana. The election of Trump and the death of Castro in 2016, however, marked a renewed deterioration in relations between the two countries. Trump began reversing Obama’s policies on Cuba, increasing travel and financial restrictions on the island. The situation did not change significantly with Biden, who corrected some of Trump’s measures without lifting the embargo. 

The situation escalated significantly as on the 29th of January this year Trump signed an executive order that authorises tariffs on goods on countries that sell or provide oil to Cuba, imposing a de facto naval blockade. In fact, after the successful kidnapping of Maduro, Trump has now turned his attention to the government of Havana, whose supposed “malign influence” he is determined to counter. In an escalation of threats and hostile statements, Trump said last week that he’ll have “the honor of taking Cuba” soon and that he can “do whatever he wants” with the country. The president has not articulated what this would entail, but Washington appears likely to be planning its umpteenth regime change operation.

As we juggle with Trump’s — apparent — erraticism, let us now focus on the current naval blockade. In March, Cuba saw a total collapse of the supply of oil, food, and other goods, with no foreign tankers arriving in Cuba and only three container ships from China, India, and the Netherlands listing the island as their final destination. The temporary easing of sanctions on Russian oil by the Trump administration, aimed at increasing global oil supply amid skyrocketing prices due to Iran’s closure of the Strait of Hormuz, does not apply to Cuba. However, the country is now expecting two vessels — one sanctioned by the U.S. and carrying 730,000 barrels of fuel — to arrive in the coming days with Russian fuel. Additionally, 650 delegates from 33 countries and 120 organizations began arriving in Cuba on Friday, the 20th, aboard a flotilla called Nuestra América Convoy, carrying over 20 tons of food, medicine, solar panels, and other supplies. 

While we hope to see more oil-carrying tankers reaching the country and humanitarian efforts increasing in the coming weeks, the naval blockade is, at the moment, tragically affecting every aspect of 11 million Cubans’ lives. The country, one of the most oil-dependent in the world for electricity generation, produces barely 40% of the oil it needs to meet its energy needs. Not having electricity means no water reaching homes, as many water systems depend on electricity to operate their pumps. Cubans also started relying on wood-burning stoves for cooking due to the absence of liquefied gas. 

Cuba’s healthcare system, which, despite leading in medical innovation and international health solidarity, was already in a constant state of stress due to the embargo-induced lack of supplies and staff, is now on the brink of collapse. Without fuel, ambulances cannot respond to emergencies, and vital supplies do not reach the Island as airplanes are not able to refuel at its airports. For all the 5 million Cubans who live with chronic illnesses – including 16,000 cancer patients requiring radiotherapy and 12,400 needing chemotherapy  – this means that their treatments will be severely affected.  Another dramatic statistic underscores the gravity of the situation: until 2020, the survival rate for children with cancer was 76%; today, it has dropped to 60%. More than 32,880 pregnant women and their babies are similarly at risk: care for extremely severe maternal morbidity and critical neonates is lacking, children do not receive their vaccines on time, and home ventilation, mechanical aspiration, and air conditioning are critically lacking.  This is just a small glimpse of the embargo’s impact on the country, which is also affecting the education system, one of Cuba’s most famous prides. Since January 3, schools have been operating on reduced schedules, while the university system has been reorganized, and science programs, which require supplies, equipment, and electricity, are now struggling to continue with their daily work.

This increasingly untenable situation has brought people to the streets to protest against the government, something which rarely occurs in Cuba. While these protests stem from the immediate hardship caused by the lack of essential goods, they appear to be taking on an increasingly political dimension. Last week, protesters attacked and tried to set the headquarters of the Cuban Communist Party in the municipality of Morón on fire. While it is true that some people are attributing the responsibility for the current situation to the government, especially among younger generations, others tie it to the current naval blockade, and many look at a possible US military intervention with fear and opposition.  Be that as it may, authorities are slowly undertaking initiatives to ease the island’s economic dire straits. Cuba’s president Díaz-Canel has recently called for “the most urgent and necessary transformations to the economic and social model”, primarily regarding “business autonomy” and “the resizing of the state apparatus”. For instance, while residents were significantly limited from starting private businesses until 2021, the government is now planning to allow members of the Cuban diaspora, including those living in the U.S., to invest in the island.  

Acknowledging the Cuban people’s resentment, or the current government’s willingness to partially reduce state control over the economy, does not imply that the country will accept whatever diktats Washington might impose on its political system. On Monday 16 the New York Times reported that talks appear to be underway between Washington and Havana aimed at removing the country’s elected president.  However, on Friday, Cuba rejected the idea that its government, president, or institutions were up for negotiation. Contrary to the Trump administration’s assumptions, Cuba is not Venezuela; you can’t arrive overnight, kidnap the president, and expect everyone else to fall in line. The country’s revolutionary process has been ongoing for 77 years, profoundly transforming people’s consciousness and institutions. Without delegitimising the current protests, Cuba’s achievements in many sectors cannot be denied: Cuba’s education, healthcare, and civilian production systems have, for decades, and despite the hardships caused by the U.S. embargo, rivaled those of the world’s largest countries. President Díaz-Canel, in a social media post published in January, has made it perfectly clear that they will not give up their political and economic sovereignty to please Trump’s thirst for dominance: “Cuba is a free, independent, and sovereign state—nobody dictates what we do,” he said, further stating that “Cuba does not attack; we have been the victims of U.S. attacks for 66 years, and we will prepare ourselves to defend the homeland with our last drop of blood.” 

All eyes on the Ulm 5

Lawyers, families and investigators call for scrutiny on the case of the five activists who remain in pre-trial detention and face up to five years in prison after targeting an arms manufacturer linked to Israel


Siblings and Elders,

We are the Ulm 5, and we are currently being held in five different prisons in South Germany, awaiting trial for resisting the manufacturing of arms and military technology used in the Israeli genocide in Gaza and the military occupation of Palestine as a whole. Your solidarity has kept us waking up with a strong and steadfast spirit. So thank you for taking precious time to visit us in our cells through letters of solidarity. Thank you for breaking the repressive tool of isolation.

While Germany continues to arm and advocate for the genocidal Israeli state, let us be clear that no severity of repression can break our solidarity with our Palestinian siblings. That no severity of repression can break our solidarity with our siblings surviving occupation, colonial and neo-colonial rule all over the world. 

While protecting profit and private property connected to manufacturing genocide remains more important than preventing the greatest crime against humanity, it has been clear for all too long that “nie wieder” is an empty promise.

Germany, you have made your position very clear: international law, human rights and basic decency do not concern you, as long as you are able to secure your geopolitical and economic interests. You will not stop short of aiding barbaric military violence and unthinkable semantic violence in executing and justifying the unjustifiable – genocide.

Now it is time for conscious people of Germany and the world to make our position clear – a position we must make clear day in and day out. We shall not be complicit or satisfied in a system where every tool available is used to legitimise colonialism and occupation and their result – unbelievable suffering. It is our duty to interrupt and disrupt until the narrative is set straight and justice is served. 

To resist through anti-colonial struggle is not just justified, but necessary.

Free Palestine. ! فلسطين حرة

This is the joint statement by the Ulm 5, read at yesterday’s press conference addressing their case – five Berlin-based activists who have been in pre-trial detention for six months, following a non-violent direct action targeting Elbit Systems in Ulm, Germany. 

The press conference, chaired by Nehal Abdulla (Cage International), brought together the defence attorneys Nina Onèr and Matthias Schuster, mothers of Daniel and Zo from the Ulm 5, and investigator Andrew Feinstein (Shadow World Investigations). The speakers framed this case as part of a larger effort to crack down on political dissent in Germany and highlighted how it may be designed to make an example out of the activists.

The case

Daniel, Zo, Crow, Vi and Leandra were arrested on 8 September 2025, after participating in a direct action targeting Elbit Systems in Ulm, Germany, aimed at disrupting the flow of arms to Israel and stopping the genocide in Gaza. Ever since, the activists have been held in pre-trial detention in prisons across south-west Germany – despite this timing violating the principle of expedition in detention matters – and face a potential sentence of up to five years in prison. 

The charges against the Ulm 5 are of trespass, property damage and, most significantly, membership of a criminal organisation, under Section 129 of the German Criminal Code – which, historically, has been used as a tool of political repression. Its elements are so vast that almost any act can be interpreted as support for a criminal organisation. Previous instances where Section 129 was used “were always catalysts for infringing on the rights of the defenders”, lawyer Nina Onèr said. UN rapporteurs have previously criticised Germany for using Section 129 against climate action groups. 

This case needs to be understood in a wider context: Andrew Feinstein, director of Shadow World Investigations, stated that the large majority of genocide scholars consider Israel’s actions in Gaza to constitute violations of international law, and such military operations depend heavily on global arms supply chains. Elbit Systems is a key manufacturer in supplying military and surveillance technology, including drones and targeting systems used in Gaza and Lebanon. According to Feinstein’s team’s analysis of customs data, Germany exported substantial military-related items to Israel in 2024, with a notable share linked to the subsidiary through which Elbit Systems operates in the country. 

Faced with a legal system that fails to address such injustices, direct action and boycott play an important role, as they did in apartheid South Africa, Feinstein said. He added that “the German legal system should trade its focus on those arms companies that continue to enable and facilitate this genocide”, adding, “it is those complicit in genocide that should be on trial, not these five courageous, principled individuals. They should be released immediately”. 

The defence team is seeking to introduce this argument into court, arguing that by acting to disrupt the supply chain linked to unlawful violence against Palestinians, the Ulm 5 acted in defence of others under international law. However, establishing Elbit Systems’ direct involvement will be legally complex to prove, and the defence’s requests for the prosecution team to investigate the company’s role have gone unanswered so far. 

The trial will take place at Stammheim, a maximum-security prison in Stuttgart associated with the Red Army Faction trials in the 1970s. The defence claims this choice might indicate how this may be a “show trial” and that the prosecution is trying to paint a picture that these are “high criminal people, which we strongly oppose”, Onèr said. Besides, the state’s Higher Regional Court (Oberlandesgericht) stated that the five were unlikely to receive a sentence at the lower end of the scale, and that any sentence was unlikely to be suspended – this before the trial even began. 

The detentions

The Ulm 5 are all being held in separate prisons across southwest Germany. According to the lawyers and families, they are facing restrictive conditions and, in some cases, violations of their human rights, such as prolonged solitary confinement of up to 23 hours a day, alongside restricted visits, restricted phone calls, restricted mail, inadequate medical care, and degrading treatment (one of the detainees was stripped naked and kept in a diaper for six hours). 

Beyond this, there have been barriers to preparing a coordinated defence. Appeals against their detention have been repeatedly rejected, and the court has yet to provide clear reasoning for dismissing the defence motions.

Nicky, one of the mothers, recounted how her child struggled to access basic healthcare in prison – or, in the “human dustbin”, as Zo baptised it. Zo’s mother shared how they took on a prison cleaning job, paid at 1,04€/hour – which translates to 15 hours of work to afford a 30-minute call. Beyond their own inhuman treatment, the activists report being traumatised by bearing witness to the treatment of other prisoners – in particular, people of colour. “These are young people who acted without violence,” one mother said, “yet they are being treated as high-level security threats before their trial has even begun.” 

What happens next 

The trial is scheduled to start on 27 April in Stuttgart. For the defence and families, the case could set an important precedent for how political activism – especially Palestine solidarity – is treated in Germany.

The proceedings will be held publicly and include two lay judges, though it remains unclear what influence they may have on the outcome. Lawyers and supporters have emphasised the importance of transparency, calling for strong public and media scrutiny as well as the presence of trial observers to ensure accountability and the protection of fundamental rights. Nehal Abdulla, in her closing remarks, described the case as “not just a legal matter, but a political one,” adding that it will serve as “a test for the integrity of legal and democratic institutions”. 

The demands for this specific case are clear: the immediate release of the Ulm 5, an investigation into Elbit Systems, and justice in the courtroom. But the stakes extend far beyond them, and it should concern and worry us all. In Nina Onèr’s words, “this specific case is a demonstration, and maybe a preview, of what we are to expect in the future from this government towards politically undesirable actors in general, and Palestine solidarity in particular”. 

As of now, court dates are scheduled from the end of April to the end of July (27 April; 4, 6, 11, 20, 22, 29 May; 15, 19, 29 June; 1, 3, 22, 24, 27, 29 July). Possibilities of arranging group transport from Berlin to the court are being discussed.

For all enquiries, write to ulm5media@proton.me. 

“Most of the time, reality isn’t balanced. Truth is rarely in the middle.” 

Legs, heart and a spine: Interview with Nadja Vancauwenberghe about journalism’s must-haves, and why she believes in teaching the skills to match


You’ve got quite a backstory. Can you walk us through how you ended up in journalism?

It wasn’t planned really. I left France 30 years ago to teach sociology at Moscow University. That’s where I discovered journalism. A quick detour through London and I was back in Russia, this time at the Agence French-Presse [AFP] bureau, the news agency. So I started with news, and soon enough, war reporting. Putin had invaded Chechnya, and much like Gaza now journalists were denied access. So I smuggled myself in and reported undercover. I came back in one piece, which retrospectively was lucky, but it earned me serious trouble with the FSB [Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation – the successor to the KGB]. Long story short, that’s how I ended up in Berlin, as a black-listed exile (laugh). And that’s also how I ended up co-founding Berlin’s English language magazine. I was Exberliner‘s editor-in-chief for 21 long years…

Can you tell us a bit about Exberliner?

It was a totally independent monthly, with serious journalism ambition and bite. We had no investors to please, so we could focus on political stuff and be as inquisitive and critical as we wanted, something our new owners would later dismiss as “being negative”.  After I left, the new owners renamed it The Berliner. Which is good because it is a totally different magazine now. Another good thing is that after 20 years I could finally do what I always wanted to have enough time to do, which is long-formats and investigative articles. I was longing to get back to reporting.

What kind of investigation are you currently working on? You took a strong stance on Gaza, which The Left Berlin published when taz decided not to. How do you reconcile journalism work and your convictions?

In this case, they perfectly align. As a foreign journalist living in Berlin when October 7 happened, I was shocked by the German media, and I’m not just talking about just the Springer guys, but how the full spectrum of the German media aligned to produce one narrative, you know, all in the name of Staatsräson and unconditional support to Israel, etc. I knew mainstream journalism wasn’t doing great, but here it was spectacular: it felt like my colleagues had suddenly all lost their professional bearings. I guess that’s when I started involving myself with the topic. Since last year, I’ve been coordinating a transnational team of data journalists and researchers working on the media coverage of Gaza in France, Germany and Italy. We’ve just finished our first big investigation on the death of Hind Rajab, how it was reported, or not, in mainstream European news and in the US. It’s going to be published in April in France first. Next to that, I used my platforms, film evenings at Lichtblick Kino, panel discussions, to address and challenge the collective silencing of the Palestinian tragedy. So it’s been a lot of Gaza in the last two years. But mostly from a critical media perspective, a journalist’s perspective. 

What about the Berlin Journalism Academy?

In parallel, I started giving journalism workshops, and mentoring. It developed step by step. We’ve set up a small team supported by a collective of international journalists. The ambition, in the long run, is to build a proper academy, where journalists from all fields, media and parts of the world will teach what I like to call “no-nonsense” journalism. For now we mostly focus on short, super practical courses. But it’s all linked: whether you’re investigating state corruption or reporting on a new dog-grooming parlour, it’s the same job. First-hand investigative reporting is the heart of the work!

Teaching is something that I really enjoy, sharing my experience, showing the ropes, helping people develop their journalism voice. I did a lot of that as an editor-in-chief, training new recruits, mentoring junior journalists, editing writers. That’s also when I noticed that Berlin was missing practical journalism training in English. You have a lot of creative writing groups. But journalism is a different craft.

What is your philosophy of journalism? Tina Lee made a recent presentation at the Left Berlin’s Journalism Day School where she argued there is no such thing as objective journalism.

Um, big question. The sociologist in me would say, sure, we all are the fruit of our own socialisation and it comes with biases. As journalists, we should be extra aware of this and try to challenge them. The reporting practice, to be in the field, is a good way to do just that. But saying that “objectivity doesn’t exist” should not be an excuse for lazy journalism. Some facts are objective and we should report them as accurately and fairly as we can, even if we don’t like them. Otherwise, it’s just flawed journalism. Or propaganda. 

Another problematic notion these days for me is this imperative of “neutrality” and balanced coverage. That’s the kind of bullshit that has been plaguing Western mainstream media coverage, something we caught a lot in our investigation on Gaza: editors asking reporters to “balance” their copy about Palestinians as if reality on the ground was balanced, and truth right in the middle. Fact is: most of the time, reality isn’t balanced. Truth is rarely in the middle. In a conflictual situation with opposing parties, truth isn’t necessarily equally shared. To say both sides suffered isn’t the same as to say everyone’s suffering equally.

This doesn’t just apply to war reporting. As an editor for a local magazine, I remember fighting with reporters who merely reported both sides of a dispute without trying to figure out where the truth stood, or at least checking if allegations were true or not. That’s just lazy. It’s giving up on the investigative, truth-seeking nature of journalism. I have a somewhat old-school idea of journalism, which is also idealistic.

What is old-school journalism for you?

For me journalism is a job, a craft you can and should learn if you want to do it well, professionally. Then comes the mission: to inform⸺on things people wouldn’t know if you didn’t report them. The means: first-hand facts. But then the way you select them and frame them, that’s when the problem starts. You must try to be as impartial as possible. In the polarised world we live in, it’s hard. Which doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try your best, no matter how elusive truth can be.

Ultimately, to these imperatives of “objectivity” or “neutrality”, I’d oppose a duty of fairness and honesty⸺to try to be as honest and as fair as possible in our drive to inform. Which comes with a little courage. Guts. A spine. As a journalist, you should be able to hold your ground against all kinds of pressures, be they from your editors or the State, mainstream ideology or even colleagues’ pressure. For me, a journalist is by default a dissident. Which isn’t the same thing as being an activist. Your compass isn’t your commitment to a cause, but to finding and reporting the facts, even when it’s uncomfortable. 

What would your advice be to a journalist who says, “I want to write this, but the person who is paying me is telling me to write something else”? Are journalists really free to write what they want?

Sure they are, at least here in Germany. In what’s left of our liberal democracies, we are lucky enough that no matter how bad things are heading, we can still try to report truth to power, and won’t end up in jail or with a bullet in the head. So no excuse not to. At least fight for it!

Let me contextualise. There is a journalist in Germany, who wants to write about Gaza. They are writing for a publication which says, if you write about Gaza, you must start with “but Hamas!” You must put it in a context which the journalist doesn’t necessarily agree with.

That’s such a good example, because in Germany especially, this has been used all the time as an excuse for not reporting adequately about what was really happening in Gaza. It was considered “too risky”. So journalists caved in and used euphemistic language or what not, out of internalised pressure. Self-censorship, essentially. And it’s a vicious circle because the more people conform, the more difficult it becomes not to; you know, collective pressure! 

Maybe I’m not entirely answering your question, but I get a little exasperated with cowardly Western journalists who always say “it’s too dangerous”. Maybe it’s because I was lucky enough to meet people like Anna Politkovskaya, or to befriend amazingly courageous reporters, or just because I dealt with the consequences of my reporting early in my career. Somehow it put things in perspective.

I remember when, last year, the entire French media organised a big die-in in front of the Bastille opera to show solidarity with our colleagues in Gaza. I was there and posted about it on my IG account. It was so interesting how German colleagues said “So amazing. If only we could do this here.” Why not? What’s gonna happen to you if you demonstrate in support of Gaza journalists? What’s the danger really? 

Take Daniel Bax. While taz did a very poor job on Gaza, Daniel always wrote what he wanted, challenging the main German narrative. What happened to him? Nothing.

I agree that Daniel Bax is an exception. We do translate some of his articles. But he will still get work because he’s Daniel Bax. Other journalists have a different power relationship to their bosses.

Okay, another example: While I was still the editor-in-chief of Exberliner and after we got bought out by the people behind tip, I cannot tell you how many times I was asked to fire a particular columnist because our top investor hated his lefty columns. Or to “unpublish” some stories. And you know what I did? I didn’t.

Many people are worried about their jobs. There’s a difference between what an editor can say and a random journalist.

Well not really. They ended up firing me out of the magazine I founded and led for 21 years!  

So I’m a bad example. 

But what I’m trying to say is that, ultimately, it comes down to your own personal ethic as a journalist. It’s a very individual decision. I understand it may be more complicated if you’re a foreign freelancer in a precarious visa situation, for example. But if you’re a staff writer in a big German media organisation, you’re not really at risk of being fired. It’s much too complicated legally.

Maybe this is the time to talk about The Berliner, the follow-up magazine to Exberliner. Most of the journalists went on strike. Some of them have now set up their own publication because of The Berliner‘s coverage of Palestine and some dubious sponsors. Presumably as the founder and former editor, you’ve been watching what’s happening.

When I heard about it, my first reaction was: wow, did it really take you two years? Two years to realise The Berliner did nothing to challenge the German media status quo on Gaza? To  cover the protests, condemn the police violence? To give a platform to critics, including all those international Jewish voices who were looking to be heard?

When I left the magazine in March 2023, it was very clear to me whom we were writing for and what was happening. So, yeah, I found it a little, um, perplexing that my ex-colleagues needed two years to speak out.

People often ask if I miss Exberliner. I say no, and I mean it. It was high time I moved on. But there is one thing I do regret. If I had still been editor-in-chief after October 7, there would have been one German media outlet that spoke up. That’s my only regret.

On the bright side, a new independent publication is always great news! 

The BJA is offering workshops at the end of March. What can people expect from these workshops?

We have been test-driving quite a few workshops. The next one is focused on interview skills and pitching. It’s built around a very practical, real-life experience of a face-to-face live Q&A with a Berlin personality. I try to invite famous artists with a political edge. We had the Palestinian artist Steve Sabella, the feminist graphic novelist Ulli Lust. Our next guest is the photographer Miron Zownir. So it’s going to be another special treat, especially because his iconic Berlin Noir is being re-released soon with a big exhibition at Urban Spree in late April. So it’s actual publish-worthy stuff!

The Q&A lasts for one or two hours. Afterwards, participants get to work on their articles. We practise building an angle and pitching, which is an important skill for those who want to freelance. As a former editor who’d get many article proposals each week, I remember too well the importance of a strong pitch. That’s one module. For people who do the full module, then we go through the whole writing process and they get a one-on-one editing session. The final workshop is a publishing workshop. We have a little cherry on the cake: a talented designer that lays out your final article. So it’s a nice complete thing in four workshops. I think it’s a very efficient way to understand what journalism is.

Who are the workshops for? Is it more for people who are already journalists or those who want to start up as journalists?

Until now I’ve had a mix of international and German students and young freelancers ⸺they’re usually interested in professional pitching and practising how to build an angle. Then there’s the people who work in PR and want to pick up some journalism skills. Some get their companies to pay for the training. Photographers, film people, graphic designers. I regularly have writers who want to try out the journalism voice. But really, it’s all over the place. It ranges from a Chinese IT expert looking for a career change to a US novelist who wants to switch to feature writing. What they all have in common is that they’re looking for training that’s practical and efficient. Short but intense.

Before we wrap up, how can people enrol in the Berlin Journalism Academy, and what are the costs?

We have a sliding scale system to make it affordable for people who don’t have the means – or the parents or a boss, to pay the full fee! And we also have our “dissident discount”, aimed at people who want to improve their journalism skills for a good cause. I love the idea that nowadays anyone can bear witness and challenge media blockades or police cover-ups with their smartphones and report on social media, but I’ll always advocate for professional journalism. Our weakened democracies need trained journalists who have both the skills and the ethics. I always tell my students that unlike AI, journalists have legs and should use them. But they also need a heart⸺and a spine.

When do the spring courses start?

Friday March 27th, 17h at the Akiz studio on Alexanderplatz in Berlin. There’s more information at berlinjournalismacademy.de and @berlin_journalism_academy.

30 March 2018 – Great March of Return

This week in working class history


On 30 March 1976, there were demonstrations throughout Palestine against Israel’s systematic confiscation of Palestinian land. These peaceful demonstrations were accompanied by a general strike. Israel responded with extreme violence – Israeli troops killed four people and the police two more. Since then, 30 March has been commemorated by Palestinians and their supporters as Land Day.

On 30 March 2018, 30,000 Palestinians demonstrated at the Israel-Gaza border demanding the right of return for Palestinian refugees and an end to the economic blockade of Gaza. Israeli snipers responded by shooting at the peaceful demonstrations with rubber bullets, tear gas, and live ammunition. They killed at least 17 people – almost half of them children. The Israeli Defence Force proudly tweeted: “nothing was carried out uncontrolled; everything was accurate and measured. We know where every bullet landed”. 

In subsequent weeks protestors mobilised every Friday. The protests were originally intended to last until Nakba day, 15 May, but continued until December 2019. The protests were largely led by civil society and young activists known as the “Oslo generation”, independent of the Hamas government. Estimations of the numbers killed vary, but the UN body OCHA reported that between May 2018 and May 2019 Israeli forces killed 195 Palestinians and injured 30,000.  

Writing in Haaretz, Israeli journalist Gideon Levy said: “The shooting on the Gaza border shows once again that the killing of Palestinians is accepted in Israel more lightly than the killing of mosquitoes”. Amnesty International called for a worldwide arms embargo on Israel. And yet none of the protestors’ demands have been met. Palestinian refugees are still prevented from returning to their homeland. The blockade of Gaza has now been going on for 35 years while for the last 2 years, it has been accompanied by a genocide. 

When supporters of Israel ask why Palestinians do not demonstrate peacefully, the massacre of the Great March of Return shows what happens when they do. In the same way that  civilians paramedics, journalists and children are deemed legitimate targets in today’s genocide – so too were they following their peaceful protest in 2018. In its way, Israel’s actions in 2018 paved the way for October 7th 2024. Denied a way of fighting for justice peacefully, Palestinians chose the only way left open to them.