'Reichsbürger'
Shooting
An
Anti-Government Group Turns Violent
After
a series of increasingly violent encounters between German
authorities and Reichsbürger, a group that rejects the legitimacy of
the German government, officials are concerned that they are
radicalizing -- and turning from a nuisance into a threat. By SPIEGEL
Staff
October 25, 2016
06:00 PM
The employees at
Georgensgmünd town hall first noticed that something wasn't right
with Wolfgang P. in January. That's when he visited the building's
ground floor, accompanied by two other men, and placed his passport
and identity card on the counter.
"What's on the
ID doesn't suit me," he said, according to the staffer on duty
at the time. He no longer wanted to be a German citizen, and said he
had brought witnesses to corroborate his statement of intent.
"We confirmed
their receipt but wrote that he remained a German citizen," says
Ben Black, mayor of the Bavarian town, located around 30 kilometers
from Nuremberg. He's used to handling this kind of difficult
clientele - members of the anti-government Reichsbürger movement who
claim they are establishing their own sovereign state akin to pre-war
imperial Germany.
"Supporters of
the Reichsbürger movement typically want an official document in
their hands that proves they've distanced themselves from the state,"
he says.
The surrender of
Wolfgang P.'s passport was the most visible sign of the 49-year-old's
rapid alienation from the German state. But there were others: He
also unregistered his residence, refused to pay motor-vehicle taxes
and threatened his community with contractual penalties. More than
once, he rudely threw public officials off of his property.
Then last Wednesday,
a police special task force stormed his home to confiscate 31 pistols
and rifles that the district administration had declared the hunter
and sport shooter was no longer fit to possess. But when four police
officers entered his home, P. opened fire. One 32-year-old officer
was hit three times, and died of his injuries the next day. The three
other officers were wounded.
The shootout seems
an unlikely event in the picturesque Bavarian town of just 6,600,
with its half-timbered houses and small Jewish museum. But it marks
Germany's worst ever confrontation with a member of the Reichsbürger
movement, which essentially refuses to recognize the existence of
modern Germany. They claim the continuation of the old pre-World War
II German Reich, with its 1937 borders. Supporters often refuse to
pay taxes or obey official orders, and engage in a fluid exchange of
conspiracy theories and far-right extremist ideology.
And according to a
response to a parliamentary query by the far-left Left party, the
German government cannot rule out that the "activism and
aggression in the Reichsbürger scene could intensify and result in
radicalization."
Rapid Radicalization
P. apparently
belonged to one of the more esoteric branches of the fragmented
movement. His cult-like group, which may have stemmed from Austria,
refuses to use traditional surnames, referring to members by their
first names, though only in lower case. Or they call each other
"brother," "sister," or simply "human."
Members also engage
in an initiation rite called a "life message," which P.
posted on Facebook and as an ad in the local paper, the
Roth-Hilpoltsteiner Volkszeitung on Jan. 25. "I hereby declare
that I, a lively, spirited and self-confident man of flesh and blood
... was born on the 13th day of September in 1967 ... actually on
this planet called Earth, and am physically, spiritually and mentally
fully present," he swore. "I'm still alive and not on the
high seas or lost anywhere in the universe."
Twelve witnesses
attested to the statement with their fingerprints in blood-red ink on
the paper. Shadowy groups with names like the "Commonwealth of
Austria" offer the certification for such announcements for
around €10 ($11).
Wolfgang P. also
posted a photo of the Nuremberg trials with Chancellor Angela Merkel,
Vice Chancellor Sigmar Gabriel and President Joachim Gauck
superimposed as the accused. The heading read: "Guilty - hang
them!"
He marked his
personal state territory with a line of yellow paint along the edges
of his property, posting a sign that said, "District Wolfgang -
my word is law here." While the neighbors demonstrated their
loyalty to the FC Bayern soccer club with a flag in front of their
home, P. designated his duplex as extraterritorial.
The police officers
must have known that they were in danger when they stepped onto his
property. According to the ongoing investigation, he shot a
semiautomatic pistol 10 times through a closed door in the entryway,
hitting one officer's helmet, arm and just outside his protective
vest. One bullet pierced his lung, and he died the following day.
P. was apparently
expecting them. His weapon was ready at hand, and he wore a
bulletproof vest. He submitted to arrest after the shots were fired.
Up until that
moment, P. had never been a violent offender. For 15 years he ran a
martial arts school, first in Georgensgmünd, and since the beginning
of this year in the neighboring town of Roth. He taught the
300-year-old Chinese tradition of Wing Chun, which prioritizes
self-defense.
Ironically, the man
who killed a police officer was trained in violence prevention. He
used Wing Chun to teach children coordination and self-control. On
the evening after the shooting, he was supposed to lead a martial
arts group. Dozens of participants had gathered on the light parquet
floor of the gym. But none of them could have imagined that P. could
commit such an act, say the two trainers who are now substituting for
him.
P. had rented the
space together with another coach to save money. His co-renter N.
says that he viewed his colleague as a "sun child" who was
more of a "hippie with a flower wreath in his hair that a
violent Reichsbürger." But in the last year, P. had told him
about ordering a bailiff off of his property for failing to present a
valid legal basis for his request.
As his political
leanings were apparently intensifying, his financial situation seems
to have worsened as well. Under his name there are online listings
for "financial consulting." But at these addresses,
including a rundown apartment building in Georgensgmünd, there are
no corresponding mailboxes or company signs.
The day after the
deadly shooting, the Nuremberg district court issued an arrest
warrant for murder, attempted murder and aggravated assault. P.
declined to comment on the charges. When asked about his personal
information, he said: "I am the beneficiary of the person, but
not the trustee."
'Visions of Doom'
To honor their
fallen colleague, Bavarian police officers are wearing mourning
bands. Federal Interior Minister Thomas de Maizière has meanwhile
described the increasing number of attacks by extremists on police in
Germany as "intolerable and unacceptable."
But fellow members
of the Reichsbürger movement have defended P.'s actions. "Today
a good friend, who wanted only to live peacefully and as a free man,
was assaulted by armed riot police," wrote one of his Facebook
friends online. "Now he is being vilified, disenfranchised,
dishonored and disgraced as a Reichsbürger - just because he
resisted." He continued: "Everyone has the right to have
weapons to defend themselves."
A few months before
the deadly incident, Bavarian domestic intelligence warned that a
group within the Reichsbürger scene was recruiting for new followers
in the southern German state in a targeted fashion. This "government
in exile" was trying "to strengthen fears of foreign
infiltration and to stir up visions of doom," they said.
The group, which is
also active outside of Bavaria, is a spin-off of another that calls
itself the "Exiled Government of the German Reich." At a
gathering in September, they allowed a glimpse into their thinking.
Just six people show up at the pub in the northwestern German city of
Hildesheim to meet with Norbert Schittke, who goes by the pre-war
title of "Reichskanzler," or "chancellor of the
realm," and his "minister without a portfolio," Gunter
Bornholdt.
Normally around 20
to 30 people attend such meetings, but word spread that a journalist
would be present. No one in the group has anything good to say about
the press, says 74-year-old Schittke, a retired marine engineer.
Before discussion
begins, participants must hand over their mobile phones. Otherwise
the Central Intelligence Agency might listen in, they say. Schittke
wears a black uniform, white gloves and a golden sash because he's a
knight, he says. In front of his sword on the table sits a small flag
of the former German Empire. When anyone fails to pay attention or
chats with their neighbor, he slams a gavel on the table.
Talk centers on what
these Reichsbürger adherents believe, which is mainly conspiracy
theories. These include the idea that Germany is an "American
colony," and their belief that the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001
were targeted demolitions perpetrated by the US government. Or that
Republican candidate Donald Trump has long since been chosen as the
next American president and the elections are just for show,
something Schittke says he knows from a reliable source.
As for the
right-wing populist party Alternative for Germany, or AfD, it was
established by Chancellor Angela Merkel to pacify her critics, he
says. As evidence, he cites an AfD "founding document" --
one, though, that was published by the satirical website Postillon.
Schittke also openly
reviles Chancellor Merkel. "The most highly distinguished Jew,
Ms. Merkel, is doing everything possible to continue sucking the
German Reich dry," he says, calling most refugees criminals and
trained mercenaries who will bring war to Germany.
But Schittke denies
being a far-right extremist, despite the fact that his group's
website calls the Holocaust a "lie by the victors," or that
he was once a member of the Republicans, an anti-immigration party
formerly under observation by domestic intelligence.
Violence and
Harassment Increase
Ideas like his are
nothing new, though. The Reichsbürger movement emerged in the 1980s,
and has since become highly fragmented across the country. Even
before the police officer's murder in Georgensgmünd, Martin Döring,
the spokesman for the state of Saxony's state intelligence agency,
had warned that it was particularly active in former East German
states like his, and that "some of them are dangerous."
Other disturbing
incidents preceded the shootout in Georgensgmünd, too. In April, a
Reichsbürger supporter drove into a police officer who was enforcing
the speed limit, dragging him with the vehicle for several meters.
The driver said the officer lacked a legal basis for conducting the
traffic stop.
Then in August,
there was a shootout between police and a member of the Reichsbürger
movement in the eastern state of Saxony-Anhalt, former "Mister
Germany" winner Adrian Ursache. He had founded his own state of
"Ur" on his property in Reuden, which he and supporters
tried to defend when a bailiff and some 200 police officers arrived
to enforce his eviction. In the ensuing exchange of fire, Ursache was
injured and a police officer suffered a gunshot wound to the neck.
The right-wing
extremist Reichsbürger groups have also repeatedly sent "death
sentences" to intimidate officials. The decrees are issued by
fictional courts "in the name of the people." Daniela
Trochowski, state secretary for the state of Brandenburg's finance
ministry, received such a letter, though she didn't take it seriously
until one day a movement supporter suddenly appeared in her office.
"It was a dicey
situation, and since then I've been scared," she says. The
ministry is now testing an alarm button on computers so that
officials can warn their colleagues in case of danger.
The letters from the
conspiracy theorists are meant to paralyze bureaucracy, and they are
common. "There is hardly a head of any agency who hasn't had to
deal with the phenomenon of the Reichsbürger," reads a brochure
from Brandenburg's intelligence agency. These letters register
complaints about every possible decision, harassing officials with
pages of ideological statements.
And no matter how
absurd such letters might be, officials have to process them. "Many
local authorities are overwhelmed by the flood of letters," says
Döring. Internet forums offer sample letters and document
generators, which make it possible to send multiple letters with
minimal effort.
The efforts are
coordinated through the use of a notorious financial trick: Members
file high claims for compensation with officials they don't like,
which they enter into an online debt registry in the United States.
There, no one monitors their legitimacy. The demands are then
overwritten by a Malta-based collection agency run by Reichsbürger,
which legally arranges the payment. The process is valid in Germany,
and free of the typical court costs that would apply domestically.
Through this scam Reichsbürger recently demanded €7.5 million from
a district judge in Siegen, and some $100 million from a court
official in Augsburg.
Though none of these
demands have been enforced, they have become a problem for officials,
says Burkhard Lischka, the center-left Social Democratic Party's
spokesman for domestic policy. "The affected administrative and
judicial staff are deeply unsettled by this," he says.
The problem has
become so widespread that one municipal bureaucratic training center
in Dresden now offers a course in "legally handling the
administration of Reichsbürger." Some government agencies have
also issued brochures on how to deal with supporters, recommending
that officials refuse to engage in any discussion about issues they
raise, and report every threat to law enforcement.
After the fatal
shooting in Georgensgmünd, it has become clear that officials need a
new strategy, though. Brandenburg domestic intelligence spokesman
Heiko Homburg says that currently only Reichsbürger supporters who
were known to be active in the far-right extremist scene were under
surveillance by officials. Now, though, it could become standard to
view all Reichsbürger supporters as extremists, he said. Lawmakers
could make it a requirement that domestic intelligence be consulted
prior to issuing weapons permits -- and the agency could thus prevent
such people from owning weapons.
In Bavaria, where
the deadly shooting took place last week, the head of the state
intelligence agency, Burkhard Körner, says he wants to monitor the
movement "with even greater vigor." And that includes even
the non-extremist adherents, among whom "intense extremism can
develop."
Bavarian Interior
Minister Joachim Herrmann also announced plans to more closely
monitor the scene, with the aim of disarming all members.
By Anna Clauß, Jan
Friedmann, Dietmar Hipp, Martin Pirkl, Sven Röbel and David Walden
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