The charm of heather

From afar, the Lüneburg Heaths, a vast region between Hanover and Hamburg, resemble a postcard from Provence.
Looking closely, you realize that the purple dotting the fields isn't lavender: it's heather, the flower that gave its title to one of the most beloved Nazi songs of all time and symbolizes the relationship between German soldiers and their homeland. In her valuable investigative book, "La peste," Tonia Mastrobuoni, Berlin correspondent for Repubblica, reports that in these seemingly uncontaminated lands, families still live according to völkisch ideology.

Faced with the völkisch advance in the German countryside, there are many courageous individuals and associations fighting to offer their fellow citizens a democratic and convincing alternative. One example is the Beherzt group, founded in 2018 in Uelzen, Lower Saxony. We reached Martin Raabe, the association's president, via video call.
Raabe, 77, is a former Protestant pastor who, together with his wife, Ernestine, gave up a quiet life as a retiree to help his people rediscover the value of democracy.

One of the main activities is school meetings: "In our area, there are many students of non-German nationalities. As soon as they enter the classroom, we ask the children if they think any of them are more or less worthy than their classmates. This question directly concerns their lives, so it allows us to begin a discussion about mutual respect without descending into the abstract." Working with young people is crucial, especially considering that the neo-Nazi counterparts place great emphasis on the younger generations, who are entrusted with the task of pursuing the "long-term" dream of a Fourth Reich.
Every year, thousands of teenagers from völkisch families attend paramilitary camps, deemed illegal by the German state: "The leaders call themselves Lagerführer," Raabe explains, "just like the SS commanders in charge of concentration camps." The day begins with a salute to the German flag and the playing of the first verse of the national anthem, now banned because it contains the unfortunate verse "Deutschland über alles" (Germany above all). During the camp, the children are then indoctrinated in the theory of the Aryan race and learn to use air rifles.

During the interview, Raabe repeatedly repeats the word vernetzten, meaning "to network." "The völkisch have embraced a concept that was typical of the left a few decades ago: Graswurzelarbeit," he says. The word Graswurzelarbeit means "grassroots work": these are grassroots initiatives that start from the bottom with the aim of gradually changing social dynamics on a large scale. It is precisely according to this principle that the völkisch have chosen to live in the countryside, where it is easier to insinuate themselves into communities than in the big cities. And this is why Raabe and the other members of the Beherzt group understood the need to network with many people of good will to propose a viable alternative. When mayors call him to organize meetings, Raabe enlists the help of professionals from various fields—teachers, psychologists, lawyers, doctors.
In his view, democracy arises from an informed understanding of the aspects that affect citizens' daily lives, especially in an area where völkisch ideology is intertwined with denialist and conspiracy theories: "Just think, during the pandemic, some doctors in Uelzen had hung this sign in front of their clinic: 'Only unvaccinated patients are treated here,'" he says.

At the same time, those resisting are trying to find strength and recognize one another. Despite the threats, many citizens welcome Beherzt's proposal to hang disheveled crosses on their doors, as a counterpoint to the swastikas displayed by their völkisch neighbors. Collaboration with journalists is also very important: informing Germans about what's happening in those areas remains a priority, because "initially, residents of large cities like Berlin or Munich are outraged when they hear about the ideology and actions of the völkisch. But they quickly forget about it, believing it will never affect them. They don't realize that the entire country's democracy is at stake."

Today, Beherzt has 700 members and several groups throughout Germany. When asked if he's ever been tempted to quit, Raabe replies that there are many threats, but he knows he's in the right place. The motivation to continue comes from his grandchildren, to whom he would like to leave "a free and democratic country, where fear doesn't take over."
And it's precisely to the younger generation that he turns his thoughts, with a hint of healthy irony, when discussing Beherzt's future: "I hope that young people will soon take my place at the helm of the group. I wouldn't want to have to continue fighting for democracy from the bed of an ambulance."

Giulia Grimaldi
Focus
NP January 2026