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German schoolchildren face online hate after singing political rock anthem

What started as a creative school project turned into a digital firestorm. Now, educators and musicians are defending the children caught in the crossfire of online rage.

The image shows a poster with text and images that reads "Do the Poor Need Their Children's Help?"
The image shows a poster with text and images that reads "Do the Poor Need Their Children's Help?"

German schoolchildren face online hate after singing political rock anthem

A Moment That Could Have Been Beautiful—Until Easter Sunday

It could have been a beautiful moment—for around 50 third and fourth graders from Scheeßel Elementary School and the rock band Madsen. The children had practiced the chorus of "Auf die Barrikaden" ("To the Barricades"): "Alle sind gleich, keiner bleibt allein / Keine Macht dem Hass, das ist unsere Zeit" ("We're all equal, no one stands alone / No power to hate, this is our time"). The filming day just before Easter was an unforgettable experience for everyone involved. Then came Easter Sunday.

A short clip of conversations with the children was posted on Facebook and TikTok, among other platforms. In it, four kids talk about what makes them angry. "When a light-skinned child insults a Black child," one says. Another adds: "It makes me angry when people tell those seeking help from other countries, 'We don't want you here.'" Within hours, the comment sections exploded—threats, insults, accusations of indoctrination. The attacks weren't just aimed at the band but at teachers, parents, and the children themselves.

The song calls for open borders, reproductive autonomy, queer visibility—and explicitly opposes the nationalism that Madsen says the far-right AfD party has "made socially acceptable." Frontman Sebastian Madsen puts it bluntly: "When they say, 'This country belongs to us,' we naively say: no."

The chorus inspired him to involve children in the project. What he witnessed during filming left an impression: One child explained democracy using art class as an example—if one person decides what everyone has to paint, that's unfair. "They put it in simple, vivid terms that we can all learn from," Madsen says.

The Attack Reaches a "New Level"

Madsen and his bandmates are no strangers to hate comments. For 21 years, the indie rockers from Lower Saxony's Wendland region have been writing political songs. He knows the usual patterns: insults, dismissal, accusations of being "system lackeys." But this time was different. "This reached a new level for us."

Band manager Benjamin Mirtschin counted 2,000 comments across all platforms. What disturbed Madsen most was the refusal to acknowledge the children's right to their own opinions: "Most of those leaving hate comments probably never even engaged with the video's actual content."

Much of the hate wasn't even real. The band had the profiles analyzed—and the results were clear: AI-generated accounts, bots, coordinated amplification. "The far right uses bots to make themselves seem bigger than they are," Madsen says.

"In many cases, you can't easily tell whether a comment comes from a real person or is artificially generated," explains Benjamin Winkler, a sociologist and project lead for anti-right-wing extremism education at the Amadeu Antonio Foundation. "Anything that triggers outrage and emotional reactions goes viral, and algorithms spread it even faster."

Meike Nerding-Ehlbeck, the principal of Scheeßel Elementary, rejected the indoctrination claims in an interview with Kreiszeitung: "Elementary school children have opinions of their own." She noted that the song's lyrics had been discussed with the students in an age-appropriate way beforehand.

The school has since deliberately moved on. "Our daily routine continues with new projects," the principal said tersely to our website. "We're closing this chapter with good memories."

Social Media Posts Deleted, Police Report Filed

After consulting with the school, the band took down the social media posts featuring the children's interviews—once a mother expressed discomfort with the content. "We didn't want to drag others into this, especially not kids," Madsen says. With support from HateAid, a Berlin-based organization combating digital violence, the musicians filed a police report. A spokesperson for the group says they're currently overwhelmed with requests—their capacity is stretched to the limit.

For Winkler, the case highlights a broader issue: "Schools are under real pressure right now when democratic values are discussed. There's quick outrage over alleged indoctrination." He understands why parents want to protect their children. "But it's also a shame because we want kids to grow into informed citizens who engage politically and express themselves."

The key point, Winkler argues, is that schools must invoke the legal framework. "Every state's education law includes, under its educational mandate, that students should be taught to question prejudices and stand against discrimination." When children speak out against racism, they are acting in full compliance with school regulations. "No one should take issue with that—unless they want to out themselves as a racist." Schools should not react defensively, Winkler emphasizes, but instead stand firmly behind such actions. What they need: support from education authorities to clarify the legal position and provide guidance.

The German government aims to crack down on deepfakes and online hate with its "Act Against Digital Violence." However, the advocacy group HateAid criticizes the fact that victims pursuing legal action are currently required to disclose their private addresses to perpetrators—a security risk that discourages many from coming forward.

Winkler also pins hopes on the EU level: the Digital Services Act could hold platforms accountable. Sebastian Madsen, the 44-year-old bandleader, likewise demands that platforms finally take responsibility. "It's like real-world violence. We urgently need to get this under control."

When it comes to the consequences, Winkler is unequivocal: "If nothing is done, we'll see right-wing extremists increasingly dominating public discourse—and fewer people willing to engage." Studies confirm a chilling effect: many reduce their public involvement out of fear or because they cannot withstand the pressure.

The online backlash aimed to silence the "No Power to Hate" campaign—but ultimately achieved the opposite. After Madsen's statement on the removal of the children's video, hundreds responded with expressions of support, solidarity, and encouragement. Winkler calls this a "lovestorm"—digital civic courage as an antidote: "We must stand protectively behind those who put their faces to the fight against discrimination. They need to know: they are not alone in this."

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