Art is free. It has the right to say things that hurt, to point to painful truths, to provoke, to polarize, and even to call for resistance. It can play the role of a court jester—both warning and challenging society.
Art may do all that. But must it?
Does art always need to carry a political message?
Thoughts Are Free – But Only Through Dialogue Can They Be Understood
Recently, a diverse group of artists in our region came together. Many of us had never met before, yet we shared the same desire—to create art and to be seen. From this shared impulse, our group “Kunstschaffende Lindau” was born.
Within a short time, we transformed an empty shop on Lindau Island into a vibrant pop-up gallery. The trust of the owners, a four-member hanging committee, nearly a hundred works from twenty-six artists, press announcements, posters, social media coverage—everything came together. On the first day, we already had hundreds of visitors.
It was a small miracle, and everyone involved could be proud. I felt deep joy and gratitude. Many visitors praised the exhibition; the Lindau Department of Culture expressed appreciation. I thought: “Art connects and moves people.”
But I was wrong.
The trouble began with a sticker—a political statement against the AfD (Alternative for Germany). At first, it was placed on the shared information table where everyone’s artist bio was displayed. Later, it appeared on the CV of the exhibition’s initiator.
One participant objected to political messaging within our exhibition context. The atmosphere quickly turned tense—voices grew loud and emotional. Some asked, “Don’t you have a political stance?” Lines were drawn: whoever disagreed was seen as being “on the other side.” Attempts at mediation were dismissed as “esoteric self-reflection.”
At our next meeting, we discussed what had happened. “Art is free.” “Art is political.” “Freedom of expression.” These were the rallying cries.
But it was difficult to step back and reflect. We weren’t talking about the sticker itself anymore—but about the right to place political statements within a newly formed, non-political group exhibition.
I wanted to raise the question: Is it appropriate to make political declarations on behalf of a group without discussion?
To me, there’s a difference between political art—which engages with social issues—and a political statement by an artist made in a shared space. But the distinction got blurred. Expressing discomfort about the sticker was interpreted not as concern over process and context—but as political opposition.
I was unsettled.
Defending democracy, I believe, means being willing to listen—to stay open, to question one’s own assumptions.
Democracy is not about declaring absolute truths; it’s about dialogue.
Not “I’m right,” but rather “This is how I see it right now—though I may not see everything yet.”
Why do our opinions have to align perfectly?
Why can’t we accept that there are shades of gray between black and white?
Why is seeking nuance so quickly labeled as taking sides?
A Childhood in the GDR
I grew up in the GDR—a state that called itself a “democratic republic” but wasn’t one. From early on, I learned to watch what I said and to whom. Friends and relatives sometimes informed on one another. After our family applied to emigrate, we were under constant surveillance.
I remember setting small objects behind the living room door before leaving the house—just to check whether they’d been moved when we came back. My father was convinced our home was searched in our absence.
I was seven when I had to sign, in front of the school principal and a Stasi officer, that I truly wanted to leave with my parents. We waited four years—then were told to pack and leave within 24 hours. I saw neighbors dragged to the polls by officials to cast meaningless votes.
At eleven, I arrived “in the West.” For the first time, I experienced what democracy feels like: being able to speak freely, read uncensored news, form one’s own opinion. I am deeply grateful to live in a democratic country—even if it’s not perfect. Democracy means freedom of thought, equality before the law, freedom of the press, and the right to live without fear of repression.
Protecting democracy is essential. But it requires discourse—the willingness to listen to others and to seek understanding, not enemies.
As journalist Dunja Hayali said in her 2023 acceptance speech for the Blauer Panther Honorary Award:
“We need bridge builders, not fault finders.”
I wish our group discussion had taken that direction—not ending with “Art is political,” but beginning with “Must art be political?” That would have opened space for diverse perspectives.
Perhaps we could have explored the line between art that is political and artists who act politically—and whether that line even needs to exist.
I could have shared my view: that art can do many things—but it doesn’t have to be political. That I found the sticker action presumptuous, even intrusive. That after weeks of preparation, our exhibition suddenly became a platform for political debate rather than for art.
For me, art is a space of protection, not confrontation. That doesn’t mean I lack political conviction—but that I value art as a refuge where we can connect as humans first.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe art and politics are inseparable today. But that’s exactly the kind of conversation I wish we’d had.
Protecting Democracy: Being For Something, Not Against
I understand the impulse to defend democracy. But democracy is also defended by how we treat one another—by respect, humility, and dialogue.
It’s about thinking less in terms of “What do I get?” and more in terms of “What can I contribute?”
Democracy thrives on empathy—stepping into someone else’s shoes, listening without shouting, building bridges instead of walls.
It’s like any meaningful relationship: it survives only when both sides stay in conversation, even through conflict.
As my son once reminded me, there’s a difference between negative peace (the absence of war) and positive peace (the presence of justice and social harmony). Democracy, too, is not about being against something—but for something.
Freedom of speech doesn’t mean we must always speak. Silence can be strength, too.
As Jimi Hendrix once said:
“Knowledge speaks, but wisdom listens.”
Conclusion
In a recent talk about silence, I said that silence is necessary—to hear subtle things, to perceive nuances, to listen deeply.
Maybe my “quiet works” are a form of political art after all—without my realizing it.
Further Reading
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The Art of Silence – why we should make more space for quiet in our lives
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How I Handle Criticism – learning to endure feedback as an artist
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Is the World Falling Apart? – questioning the meaning of making art today
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Thomas Krüger (Federal Agency for Civic Education, 2019): How Political Should Art and Culture Be?
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Franz Josef Czernin (Matthes & Seitz Berlin): Is Art Political?
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ARTE Feature: “Twist – The Threat from the Far Right: Freedom at Risk?”
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Can Art Be Unpolitical? – turning the question around
Postscript: Reader Comment and Response
Reader comment:
“It would be a sad day for art if it had to be political. Art can and should be more. Our pop-up show was diverse and apolitical. Sadly, exclusionary reactions like the one you describe are common today. The motto seems to be: ‘If you’re not with us, you’re against us.’ I recognize this from the GDR. Even the word ‘democracy’ is being misused again. If wanting peace and self-determination is now labeled ‘right-wing,’ then so be it…”
My reply:
Thank you for your comment, though I find it difficult to follow. Let me address two key points.
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You write, “If wanting peace and democracy makes me right-wing, then I’m right-wing.”
That’s a paradox. Every democratic party—left or right of center—is bound by our constitution and by the UN Charter of Human Rights. But extremist groups—on either side—are not. The AfD, for example, tolerates members who publicly call for violence, discrimination, and the rollback of basic rights. Such positions are the opposite of democracy.
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You write, “If you’re not with us, you’re against us.”
That mindset, sadly, belongs to totalitarian systems—whether fascist or communist. And that is precisely the rhetoric the far right celebrates today.
Comparing people who defend equality and human dignity with those who seek to dismantle them is deeply misleading.
What worries me most is how normalized hate speech and polarization have become. Democracy depends on mutual respect and dialogue. When those foundations crumble, both freedom and humanity are at risk.
Art is free.
But freedom comes with responsibility—toward truth, toward one another, and toward the fragile fabric of democracy itself.
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