Kaput summary

For many, it’s a hard fact to stomach: the nation that once rewrote the rules of technological progress is now sabotaging its own future at every turn. In many ways, it’s quite ironic – from the printing press to the diesel engine, German ingenuity helped give birth to the very modernity it now systematically rejects. Yet, as the 20th century gave way to the digital age, Germany’s institutions – once the proud architects of industrial capitalism – began unraveling their own legacy. And this shift wasn’t accidental.

While there’s no single point when Germany’s trajectory shifted, 1973 marked a turning point. This was when Chancellor Willy Brandt had a committee draw up visionary plans for a nationwide fiber-optic network, infrastructure that could have placed Germany at the forefront of European digitalization. But in 1982, Helmut Kohl shelved the project, championing high-definition analog television instead. These deep-seated preferences tie in with what we saw in the last section – by foregoing digital in favor of analog, Kohl hoped to strengthen existing manufacturing capacities rather than embrace potentially disruptive technologies.

The roots of Germany’s reliance on Russian energy stretches back much further than Vladimir Putin’s rise to power. Its genesis lies in Chancellor Willy Brand’s “Ostpolitik” – his attempt to thaw relations with the USSR by increasing economic cooperation. In 1970, this diplomatic push led to two nations signing a historic natural gas deal. The idea was that by connecting Soviet gas fields to German industry, the USSR might soften their politics. And, at the same time, cheap gas would help keep German industrial exports affordable.

This strategy reached its peak after the fall of the Berlin Wall with Chancellor Gerhard Schröder. During his tenure from 1998 to 2005, Schröder infamously forged a deep friendship with a recently-elected Putin – he even celebrated Christmas at the Russian leader’s home in 2001. Then, barely weeks after leaving office, Schröder ascended to the chairmanship of Nord Stream AG, the consortium building gas pipelines from Russia to Germany.

In the 1970s, as Brandt pursued Ostpolitik with Moscow, cooperation with China was dismissed as a “sack of rice falling over in Beijing.” Today, that same indifference has metastasized into complex supply chain dependencies, with some German industries now entirely dependent on Beijing.

The story began after President Nixon’s landmark visit to China in 1972, which opened the door to global trade with the once-isolated nation. But while other Western powers moved quickly, German policymakers were slow to act. It wasn’t until the 1980s that serious engagement began – most notably when Volkswagen established its first joint venture in Shanghai. Today, China stands as VW’s largest and most important market.

It now seems undeniable: Germany has reached the limits of its postwar economic model. It’s not much of an exaggeration to say that the country is literally starting to come apart at the seams – signs of fragmentation are visible everywhere, from the country’s crumbling road and rail network to the hollowing out of its mainstream political parties. A closer look reveals a nation caught in a downward spiral of decline.

German bridges are a great case in point. Following years of diverting investment to industrial expansion instead of critical infrastructure, a key autobahn south of Dortmund was closed indefinitely after engineers discovered one bridge at risk of sudden collapse. Things went from bad to worse after subsequent inspections showed all 60 bridges along the corridor required urgent repairs. As of early 2025, the route has been closed for four years. And near Cologne a bridge on one of the country’s busiest routes was completely closed to trucks in 2016. Eight long years and countless massive traffic jams later, the bridge finally reopened to truck traffic in 2024.