–Analysis–
BERLIN — Bans are never popular in politics. Few accusations are graver in a democracy than being labeled “the party of bans.” In Germany, even whispering about restrictions on words, images, or ideas immediately evokes the shadows of the past — and not without good reason.
But what do we do when certain words become a threat to democracy? When sentences are blatant lies? When images are doctored fakes? In short, what happens when freedom of expression becomes a tool for manipulation?
That’s exactly what appears to have unfolded recently in the European Union. In Romania, an obscure far-right, pro-Russian politician unexpectedly clinched the first round of the presidential election. In hindsight, it seems Călin Georgescu had a lot of help — from bots on TikTok and Facebook. Russian bots, to be exact.
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What makes this scenario so dangerous is the stealthy power of algorithms. Georgescu clearly gained a massive reach and direct access to voters via social media, all while leaving his political rivals out in the cold, unable to engage with him or his ideas on equal footing. His campaign wasn’t fully out in the open.
Unlike newspapers (whose circulation figures are public) or TV stations (whose viewer ratings are measurable), social media reach can remain a closely guarded secret, hidden in the black box of the platforms themselves. This leaves the crucial questions — who’s lying, who’s cheating, and how often — unanswered. When pressed about this last week in the European Parliament, TikTok representatives ducked and dodged the questions.
It worked in the U.S.
A far-right politician sneaking into power with a helping hand from Russia and TikTok? Surely that couldn’t happen in our country, one might think.
But hold on — something eerily similar played out in the United States. There, social media, particularly X (formerly Twitter), played a major role in the election campaign. The country was hit with a tidal wave of fake news, and guess who’s cashing in on the chaos? X’s owner, Elon Musk, who is now set to work as an advisor to Donald Trump.
In the U.S., the debate over what governments should or can ban on the internet has effectively been settled. The verdict? Nothing gets banned.
But what about us here in Germany? What happens if, in the lead-up to the federal elections, a tsunami of disinformation crashes down on the frontrunners? What if lies about their policies or personal lives are cooked up — perhaps with the help of Russian bots, or maybe just courtesy of our own homegrown populist disinformation specialists?
Sure, we’ve got some defenses in place. The Federal Office for Information Security, the state centers for political education, and all kinds of private and non-profit organizations provide information on how to deal with fake news on the Internet. On the federal government’s website you can even test your “digital media literacy”.
And then there are the so-called “trusted flaggers,” whose job it is to report illegal content to the platforms, which are then supposed to act quickly, deleting the offending material. But, let’s be real — this is hardly a foolproof system.
Oh Lord, throw brains from heaven!
We all had a good laugh at Trump’s wild claims about dog-barbecuing migrants — until he actually became president.
In Germany, X is already playing with fire. Search for the term “migrants” today, and the platform will pair it with words like “hunting” and “hordes,” throwing up a cesspool of unchecked, malicious lies.
Over on Instagram, one wrong keyword can take you down a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories. Before you know it, you’re staring at a book titled Greta Mein Kampf in Sütterlin script (the historical form of German handwriting script), posts denouncing the “climate lies,” and a picture captioned with gems like: “Without the WHO, no pandemic. Without the WEF, no great reset. Without NATO, no war. Without the ECB, no inflation.” And all I can think is: oh Lord, throw us some brains from heaven!
No, Germany hasn’t yet reached Romania’s level. A recent study by the Otto Brenner Foundation confirms that elections here are still not won — or lost — on the internet.
But how long will that hold true? Just between July 15 and Sept. 1, 2024, the 25 most popular TikTok accounts belonging to right-wing populists and extremists pumped out nearly 600 videos, racking up almost 10 million views.
Yes, there is a right to freedom of expression in Germany — even for right-wing radicals and critics of democracy. And yes, that freedom is essential and worth protecting. But here’s the catch: it’s not unlimited. It operates within the boundaries of our Grundgesetz, our Constitution, as well as our media law.
I can write whatever I want in this column, and you can comment however you like, as long as neither of us crosses legal lines. If we do, I — and this publication, Die Zeit — can be sued and held accountable. That’s why my colleagues diligently delete insults and hate speech from reader comments. (Thank you for that!)
Yes, it’s censorship. As it should be.
So why don’t we apply this rule to X, TikTok and Instagram in Europe? After all, they are perfectly capable of filtering out posts of naked breasts using their algorithms. The same should be possible for insults, abuse and obvious hatred, right?
The counterargument is obvious: it’s censorship! True. But why should democracy protect the obvious lies and insults of those who want to get rid of democracy itself? In a democracy there is a right to express one’s opinion, but nobody ever said there’s a right to maliciously use algorithms, says Roger de Weck, the former editor-in-chief of Die Zeit.
This cuts right to the heart of the issue. Let’s stop mixing up freedom of expression (which is worth protecting) with the (non-existent) right to incite hatred. The German Constitution does not give Musk or Putin’s trolls the right to spread propaganda in this country. And TikTok also has no right to make young people dependent on its platform — and then to present them with right-wing extremist content.
If the platform operators can’t prove — and fast — that they’re tweaking their algorithms to curb the spread of hate and disinformation, the EU should restrict them.
The Digital Services Act of 2022 was a step in the right direction, but as the Romanian case shows, it’s not enough. Brussels needs to follow up with tougher rules — stiffer fines, enforced swiftly. Maybe even restrictions on platform use, like Australia’s recent measures targeting children and young users. And if all else fails, perhaps it’s time to put bans on the table.
The EU still has a narrow window to safeguard democracy in the digital age. It’s a tough fight, but one we can’t afford to lose. This battle will only become harder in the future.
