1. The Hidden Hand in Germany’s Election
In the months before Germany’s 2025 federal election, something strange was happening beneath the surface of ordinary political life. A sprawling and shadowy influence operation, known among researchers as the Doppelgänger network, had quietly woven itself into the country’s public conversation. This network, which is widely believed to be linked to Russian disinformation efforts, operates through a constellation of fake or lookalike websites that mimic legitimate news outlets. To an average reader scrolling through social media in a hurry, these pages could pass for genuine journalism. But behind the familiar layouts and bylines lay a coordinated attempt to shape political reality. The websites repeatedly covered one party in particular—the far-right Alternative for Germany, or AfD—and even displayed one of its campaign banners in the run-up to the election. That might seem like a small detail, but it was a sign of something more deliberate. Earlier leaked documents, reportedly from inside the operation, confirmed that one of the key groups behind Doppelgänger, the Social Design Agency, was actively working to increase the AfD’s popularity. This was not a coincidence. It was a strategy. The leaked files offered a rare glimpse into the mechanics of modern influence operations, showing how carefully the network chose its targets, shaped its content, and sought to amplify certain voices while drowning out others. For ordinary Germans, the implications were unsettling: the effort to win their votes had been infiltrated by actors thousands of miles away who did not wish them well, but simply wanted to destabilize trust in democracy. The election was no longer just a domestic contest between parties. It had become a battlefield for external interference, and the AfD was, whether knowingly or not, a favorite in that battle. The story that follows is not a abstract case study. It is a human story about politicians, journalists, and the quiet, uncomfortable ways that disinformation reaches real people.
2. A Chorus of Willing and Unwitting Voices
At the heart of this story are at least ten current and former AfD politicians who gave interviews that were later published on Doppelgänger outlets. Some of them may have had no idea where their words were going. Others may have been perfectly happy to cooperate. The distinction matters, because it changes how we understand their responsibility. In total, the network managed to gather a surprising number of voices from the same party, weaving their comments into articles that served a broader narrative of distrust in German institutions, the European Union, and the West. That these politicians gave interviews is not necessarily surprising. Politicians often talk to journalists from strange outlets, especially if they think the interview might reach new voters. But the scale and consistency of the Doppelgänger approach suggested something more than a few one-off conversations. These interviews were published on sites that were designed to deceive, often using stolen or slightly altered names of real news organizations to look credible. When the journalists at the Organized Crime and Corruption Reporting Project, or OCCRP, reached out to the politicians involved, only two of them were willing to respond. That silence is telling. It hints at embarrassment, complicity, or perhaps just a wary sense that anything they said would only make things worse. The two who did respond, however, offered a fascinating glimpse into how politicians think about the media and their own reputations. One of them was Gunnar Lindemann, an AfD member of the Berlin House of Representatives since 2016. Lindemann said he gives interviews to all journalists, both domestic and international. That sounds simple and even admirable. But in the context of a network that spreads disinformation, his response left many questions unanswered. Did he ask where the interview would appear? Did he vet the outlet? Or was his willingness born of a sincere belief that all media should be treated equally, no matter how dubious their provenance?
3. The Defiant Defense of Gunnar Beck
The other politician who answered the journalists’ questions was Gunnar Beck, who served as an AfD member of the European Parliament from 2019 to 2024. Beck’s response was more detailed and more defensive. He said he shares his opinion on current events “with anyone who is interested and asks me serious questions, regardless of their ideological orientation or national affiliation.” That almost sounds like a noble principle: a politician who refuses to live in an echo chamber, who welcomes scrutiny from all sides. But then Beck added an important clarification. He said he is no longer active in German politics. And when asked specifically about the websites where his interviews were published, he said, “I have never knowingly spoken with journalists or representatives of these organizations.” He also insisted that he had never received money or benefits in kind for any media contribution or interview. That last point is significant, because it speaks to one of the darker possibilities of such influence operations: that politicians might be paid, directly or indirectly, for their participation. Beck’s denial was firm, but it did not erase the fact that his interviews had become part of a disinformation campaign. Perhaps he was simply fooled, like many others. The Doppelgänger network was not crude. It did not introduce itself as a Russian operation. It approached politicians as if it were a legitimate news outlet, with plausible names, professional-looking websites, and questions that sounded like normal political journalism. A busy politician might not have time to investigate every outlet that requests an interview. But the result is still troubling, because every interview, no matter how routine, lends credibility to the platform that publishes it. In that way, the network used the politicians themselves as cover, turning their words into a kind of counterfeit legitimacy that could then be used to deceive readers who had no idea they were consuming content from a malicious source.
4. The Strange Case of Frederick Broßart
The Doppelgänger network did not stop with AfD politicians. It also reached across the political spectrum, seeking out voices that could help it sow division and distrust. One such figure was Frederick Broßart, a local politician in Lower Saxony who represents Sahra Wagenknecht’s left-wing party, the BSW. Wagenknecht is known for her idiosyncratic politics: she combines left-wing economic views with a strong critique of military spending and a willingness to question Western narratives. That made her party an attractive target for influence operations seeking to undermine support for Ukraine and NATO. Broßart, it seems, was caught in that trap. At least four articles published on Militärblatt, one of Doppelgänger’s German-language sites, featured his interview segments. In those segments, he criticized the conservative government led by Friedrich Merz, as well as Germany’s military spending. Those critiques were not necessarily unreasonable; many politicians in Germany question defense spending. But the way they were packaged and deployed by the Doppelgänger network turned a legitimate political opinion into a tool of foreign influence. Broßart told OCCRP that he was not aware at the time that there might be a connection to the Doppelgänger network. He said he was contacted in a private message over X, the platform formerly known as Twitter. A journalist, or someone pretending to be one, reached out to him directly, and he agreed to answer their questions. It is easy to imagine how that conversation went. A local politician receives a message from someone who appears to be a journalist. The questions seem thoughtful and relevant. The politician is flattered, perhaps, that someone wants his opinion. He answers, and then moves on with his day. He does not think to investigate the outlet. He does not run a background check on the interviewer. He simply assumes that anyone asking serious questions is acting in good faith. In his case, that assumption was wrong.
5. A Personal Awakening
Broßart’s reaction to learning about the Doppelgänger connection is one of the most human moments in this entire story. He did not become defensive. He did not lash out at journalists for exposing him. Instead, he said something remarkably honest: “This experience led me to rethink my approach.” That one sentence carries an enormous weight. It suggests that he felt used, embarrassed, and perhaps a little naive. He had given his words to someone who turned them into propaganda. What made it worse was that his criticism of military spending and the Merz government was not something he had invented for the occasion. It was his genuine political view. But after the Doppelgänger network got hold of it, those words were no longer just his own. They became part of a larger campaign to weaken public trust in Germany’s democratic institutions and to push the country away from its Western allies. Broßart’s experience is a cautionary tale for every public figure. It shows that even a local politician in a small part of Germany can be targeted by international influence operations. You do not have to be a chancellor or a foreign minister to become a useful asset to a disinformation campaign. You just need to be willing to talk. The moment you do, you lose control of your words. They can be clipped, edited, recontextualized, and placed into an article that makes you look like part of a coordinated movement, even if you have never heard of the people behind it. Broßart’s decision to rethink his approach is exactly the kind of reflection that more politicians should undertake. In an age of digital manipulation, the simple act of granting an interview has become a calculated risk.
6. The Wider Lesson for Democracy
The story of the Doppelgänger network and its interactions with German politicians is not just about one election or one country. It is about the vulnerability of democratic systems everywhere. The network’s goal was not necessarily to make the AfD win outright. It was to make people distrust the system so deeply that they would become alienated from politics altogether, or turn to extreme parties that promised to tear it down. The leaked documents about the Social Design Agency’s efforts to boost the AfD are a reminder that influence operations are not subtle. They are aggressive, targeted, and willing to use anyone they can. The ten AfD politicians who gave interviews may not have been paid. They may not have known about the network. But their participation, however innocent, helped the operation look more legitimate. And that is the most dangerous part of all: the line between genuine political engagement and unwitting collaboration is almost impossible to see from the inside. A politician in Berlin or Brussels or Lower Saxony is just trying to share their views. An influence operation is trying to weaponize them. The only defense is awareness, skepticism, and a willingness to ask difficult questions before answering any others. Broßart learned that lesson the hard way. Lindemann and Beck continue to insist that they did nothing wrong, and perhaps they are right. But the rest of us must understand that the environment in which we consume political news is no longer pure. Some of the websites look like news but are not. Some of the interviews look like journalism but are not. And some of the voices we hear are not speaking freely. They are being used by forces that care nothing for democracy, but only for chaos. The 2025 German election came and went, but the Doppelgänger network did not disappear. It simply moved on, looking for the next country, the next party, the next politician willing to talk. The best way to resist it is not silence, but transparency: journalists must keep exposing these networks, politicians must keep asking about the outlets that approach them, and citizens must remain skeptical of everything they read. Democracy has always depended on trust. The Doppelgänger network wants to destroy that trust. So far, it has had some success. But stories like Broßart’s, where a person looks back at his own actions and says, “I need to rethink my approach,” show that it is still possible to learn, to adapt, and to protect the fragile institutions that keep our societies free.