Saxony: What do MPs do if they are voted out of office?

Dresden/Leipzig. What follows a political career? Anything is possible. Consider, for example, Monika Lazar, a Green Party member of the Bundestag from Leipzig, who sought a job in a bakery. Detlef Müller, a member of the Chemnitz SPD, announced his intention to return to work as a train driver. Anyone who surrenders their parliamentary pass—whether voluntarily or because they were voted out—suddenly has a lot of time on their hands. Here, nine members of parliament from Saxony who recently left the state parliament or the Bundestag talk about what they're doing now. They were interviewed by colleagues from our partner editorial offices, the Sächsische Zeitung and the Leipziger Volkszeitung .

Whenever possible, Matthias Rößler cycled the approximately 10 kilometers from his house in Cossebaude to the state parliament. He turned 70 at the beginning of the year.

Source: kairospress

34 years in politics: "Half a lifetime!" says Matthias Rößler with a laugh. Saxony's former state parliament president just turned 70. And now, in the autumn of his life, he has to relearn a lot of things. For example, driving a car. "If you have a driver your whole life to get things done in the back seat, you forget how to do it," he says. In the Rößler family, it's now a given: his wife sits behind the wheel. Instead, he now rides his bike with her more often. He's covered an estimated 30,000 kilometers on his Diamant, bought 18 years ago. Always from Cossebaude to the state parliament and back. Now he's thinking of other destinations along the Elbe.

But it's not just Rößler who has to get used to the new situation – his voters do too. Since reunification, Rößler has served in the state parliament, always elected by the people of Meissen with the first vote. And so it is that even in 2025, a voter occasionally pulls him aside on the street because he has a concern. And how does the retired politician react then? "I listen for a while," says Rößler. Then he explains. "But most people don't mind that I'm nobody anymore." And sometimes, says Rößler, when he can, he gives a tip.

Geert Mackenroth remains Saxony's Commissioner for Foreigners. He surprisingly supported his party in the election campaign via TikTok.

Source: Ronald Bonss (Archive)

Thomas de Maizière's successor, Geert Mackenroth, previously a judge and public prosecutor, became Saxony's Minister of Justice in 2004. Twenty years later, still a mere member of parliament and 74 years old, he did not run for re-election. Was it difficult for him to retire? "I know colleagues who are suffering greatly from it," he says. "I see it more as a sporting matter: You have to finish the season fairly." The CDU politician says that he has enjoyed the last few years the most. "As a minister, you function; as a judge, you make sure you get through the day," he says. Life as a member of parliament, on the other hand, is "exciting and thrilling – that's where you can make the most difference."

Two years ago, when Mackenroth announced his departure, he sounded different, almost disappointed: "When substance is replaced by empty phrases, when pictures on Instagram and Facebook count more than arguments, then politics loses too much of its credibility." But then the Kiel native suddenly appeared on the social network TikTok, trying his hand at being a pithy commentator on political debates at the end of his political career. "Boom, boom, boom, they've done it again," he said of the firecracker ban. Is he now continuing what he can no longer get off his chest in the plenary hall? "No," says Mackenroth. The TikTok clips were more of an experiment in the election campaign. Nothing that really interested him.

His schedule would probably be too full for that: He wants to go on a Baltic Sea cruise with his wife, then to India in March, and then to Gran Canaria in the winter. "Maybe Verona or Sylt," says the retired civil servant. "Depending on where the grandchildren are." But the Kiel native wants to remain loyal to his adopted home of Saxony, despite the difficult battle his party is currently fighting there against the AfD. "When it comes down to it," he says, "the Saxon acts responsibly."

He has some advice for the politicians who will now succeed him: "Dear successors: Don't just do social media, you also have to be good at it, have a good focus on content, be close to the people, be taken seriously, and work 60 hours a week, at least."

He'll still be able to give the tip himself in the state parliament corridors for a few more weeks: As Commissioner for Foreigners, Mackenroth will continue to attend every plenary and parliamentary group meeting. So, until a new one is elected, his political career will continue for the time being. Until when? "I don't know," says Mackenroth, laughing. But it should be after the summer break at the latest.

Kerstin Köditz's husband calls the live stream from the state parliament – ​​which she sometimes turns on – "methadone for former politicians."

Source: Dietrich Flechtner

"Yes, please?" Birds chirp in the background. "That's what it's like when you open the window," says Kerstin Köditz. In her 23 years in the state parliament, the former state parliament member rarely sounded as relaxed as she does today. Most of the time, she dealt with difficult topics: extremism, Reich Citizens, neo-Nazis. Now she has a completely different list to work through, she says: swimming, mini-golf, a French class at the adult education center. And, yes, some things are different now. "I used to just water the flowers, now I also pick off the wilted leaves."

Does she miss her old life in parliament? Only at the beginning, says Köditz, did she sometimes sit in front of her laptop and tune in to the live stream of the plenary session. "My husband calls it methadone for former politicians," she says. She just doesn't want to call herself a pensioner yet. Although, in a way, she is. Köditz served in parliament so long ago that she's already receiving her pension now, at 58. Today's MPs can only dream of that.

Marco Böhme's political career ended for the time being – also because an organization with a lot of money interfered in the election.

Source: Christian Modla

Marco Böhme would have liked to remain in the state parliament. "I had a realistic chance," says the 35-year-old. He probably would have made it: Nowhere in Saxony did so many people vote for the Left as in his Leipzig constituency. However, even more followed a recommendation from the left-wing association Campact, which interfered in the Leipzig election campaign by sending hundreds of thousands of letters and recommended the Greens. Marco Böhme was kicked out. And he enrolled at university again: for a master's degree in urban planning. Which he doesn't think is such a bad thing now. "Another five years and I would have been 40 – I probably wouldn't have gone back to university."

He doesn't want to return to parliament. "Every failure is also an experience that makes you stronger," he says. "Parliament is also a real hamster wheel." But he won't let go completely. Next weekend, he's running for state chairman of the Left Party, and his chances are good. He's also kept his office in Leipzig-Lindenau – with the help of donations and thanks to a grant from the Campact association. "A small compensation," says Böhme.

During the refugee crisis, democracy teacher Frank Richter sought positive conflict with the Saxons – but as a politician he was unable to prevail.

Source: Claudia Hübschmann

Perhaps Frank Richter has learned something about himself in his five years in the state parliament. That he can achieve a lot on his own. That he functions less well in groups – in politics, they also say, in circles of power. "It was clear to me that I was not a party soldier," says the 65-year-old looking back. "I never belonged there and never made my way through." It was a minor coup when Martin Dulig persuaded Richter, a long-time CDU member and GDR civil rights activist, to enter the state parliament for the SPD in 2019 and to join the party shortly thereafter. After all, Richter is a household name for many Saxons, perhaps even a role model: As director of the State Center for Political Education, he mediated between concerned citizens and politicians even before the refugee year of 2015, taking many people and their opinions seriously from an early stage.

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In politics, he was unsuccessful: He narrowly missed becoming mayor of Meissen in 2018. And the SPD decided not to nominate him for state parliament a second time. He would have wanted to. "Then I was told that things weren't going to continue," he says. "My departure was melancholy." Richter then moved from Saxony to Merseburg. His wife works in Halle. He now regularly gives tours of Merseburg's town church. And he wrote a book: "23 Oases in the East," from the Baltic Sea to the Ore Mountains.

He's staying in the SPD – or is he? Richter considers it. "My stomach ache is getting worse," he says. He talks about the current asylum policy, which his party also supports, and the suspended family reunification. "But I'm staying," says Richter. "I'm not doing it that quickly."

With Nadja Sthamer, Leipzig has lost its only SPD member of the Bundestag. She hasn't yet revealed what her future holds.

Source: SPD Leipzig

Nadja Sthamer's biggest regret is being less "effective" without her Bundestag mandate. That always worked well, she says, when she, as a member of parliament, advocated for issues that Leipzig residents had brought to her at the Citizens' Office. But then she quickly thinks of things she doesn't miss. "Marathon sessions until three or four in the morning," for example. For the mother of two, that always meant being well-organized. There was no time for hobbies, like her theater group.

The 35-year-old still doesn't want to give up politics: She simply loves debating and arguing. Sthamer plans to run for the state executive board in May and continue volunteering until then. However, she hasn't decided what her future career will be. For now, she's planning a break: two weeks on the Silk Road in the Middle East. She's just set off on this journey – all alone this time. Perhaps the political science and religious studies graduate will return with ideas for her own future.

Ivo Teichmann was previously a member of both the SPD and AfD, and now he's a member of the Alliance Germany. He has become estranged from the AfD.

Source: Egbert Kamprath

When Ivo Teichmann became estranged from his party, he was in the intensive care unit of a university hospital. The AfD member had coronavirus and reported his illness on Facebook. Teichmann has suffered from a congenital neurological disorder since childhood, and a severe course was foreseeable. Ultimately, he was even put on a ventilator. This, however, was of less interest to his party colleagues, as he explains. "I hope you die," someone he knew well from the party wrote to him. "This is all a government invention," another wrote. "I became more sensitive in the hospital," says Teichmann. In 2022, he announced his resignation from the party. "However, the AfD has not succeeded in becoming a genuine alternative to the policies of the old parties in the sense of the necessary course correction," he also wrote at the time.

Two years later, Teichmann ran for the "Alliance Germany" – with less promise. Now he's back working for his old employer: the state of Saxony. A graduate in public administration, he works in information security at the Ministry of Economic Affairs. "For example, it's about ensuring all data is preserved in case Russian hackers attack," he says. So Teichmann is still at the center of politics. But he also has to take care of himself. He's currently renovating his house, which he plans to make accessible. In case the disease progresses, the 57-year-old says, his next step will be sowing grass on his property. Then he'll head off to rehab. "And when I come back, I want everything to be nice and green."

Mario Kumpf: He achieved a strong result for the AfD, but the party still dismissed the trained chef.

Source: Rafael Sampedro

Mario Kumpf answers the question about his future after leaving politics in writing. Perhaps because his exit wasn't entirely easy: At the beginning of 2024, his party spontaneously dismissed the trained chef, who had won the direct mandate in 2019, and nominated another for the state election. Shortly thereafter, Kumpf became estranged from his party and ran for mayor of his hometown of Ebersbach-Neugersdorf – albeit not for the AfD. And ultimately, to no avail.

How does one recover from such setbacks? Kumpf describes the topic of politics in his life as a "construction site" and writes of "negative stress, such as one experiences daily as a member of parliament and official of a party." Kumpf, born in 1986, remains involved in local politics as a city councilor and Görlitz district councilor – and does so "without the ideological blinkers that would be characterized by party discipline."

Merle Spellerberg was committed to disarmament – ​​now she has become a mother.

Source: STEFAN_KAMINSKI

For Merle Spellerberg, her time in the Bundestag comes abruptly. She campaigned until the last day before the election. In 2021, at just 24 years old, she slipped into the Bundestag, coming third on the Saxon state list. Now she is one of the 33 Greens who must leave Germany's highest house. "I'm leaving with mixed feelings," she says. "The mandate also comes with high personal costs." Business trips, late nights in Berlin meetings, party conferences on the weekend, and other appointments.

And Spellerberg speaks of personal hostility. She has filed complaints several times over the past four years for insults on social media platforms. She is now continuing her studies in "International Relations" at the Technical University of Dresden. Perhaps, she believes, the topic could be linked to a return to politics in the future. In the Defense Committee, she dealt with disarmament. Now it seems as if the topic has fallen out of date.

Like every member of parliament, Spellerberg now receives three months of transitional allowance for each year she serves in the Bundestag. After that, she plans to take two months of parental leave: The Westphalian, who came to Saxony to study, has just become a mother. The time with her child also helps her distance herself from everyday political life. "But I won't stop being a political person without my Bundestag mandate," she says.

This article first appeared in the Sächsische Zeitung - partner in the Editorial Network Germany.