As Russian oil flow ends, a German refinery town rethinks its future
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Isabelle de Pommereau Contributor
| SCHWEDT, Germany
Since 1963, crude has flowed uninterrupted from Russia to the German refinery city of Schwedt, providing jobs for thousands whose salaries in turn fuel businesses from bakeries to the theater. But that is now about to change, with Berlin set to embargo Russian oil in January in response to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.
The threat to the refinery has drawn protesters brandishing peace flags and anti-sanctions banners to Schwedt’s streets. But inside the Uckermark Theater, another group is engaged in a different exercise in participatory democracy.
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onIn eastern Germany, residents have felt historically overlooked by Berlin, and see it happening again as sanctions against Russian energy threaten their livelihoods. In one town, they’re trying to use dialogue to take back control of their future.
In one of a series of public discussions organized by theater director André Nicke, residents are not just voicing their displeasure with government policy, but are discussing their distress and questions about their town together with experts and key decision-makers.
“People are fighting for their existence once again,” Mr. Nicke says, adding that the socialist years and the upheavals of reunification left many feeling deeply mistrustful of authorities and unused to the ways of representative democracy.
So as the Russian war in Ukraine plunged Schwedt into yet another crisis, he launched Future Now – public debates open to everyone – as a way to turn that stress into something constructive. “If you want to know what the future holds, you have to shape it yourself,” he says.
On a wintry evening in late November, protesters gather in the plaza outside the Uckermark Theater to demonstrate against government plans to cut off the supply of Russian oil to the PCK refinery, located just a mile up the road.
It’s a critical issue, and not just for locals. Ural crude has flowed uninterrupted from 3,000 miles away since 1963, providing Berlin, eastern Germany, and part of Poland with almost all its gasoline, jet fuel, and heating oil, plus jobs for thousands whose salaries in turn fuel businesses from bakeries to the theater. So the threat to the refinery has drawn protesters brandishing peace flags and anti-sanctions banners into the cold night.
But inside the large, blocky theater, a bigger group is engaged in a different exercise in participatory democracy. In one of a series of public discussions organized by theater director André Nicke, residents are not just voicing their displeasure with government policy, but are discussing their distress and questions about their town together with experts and key decision-makers. In doing so, they are formulating plans for their town’s future – particularly a future that doesn’t include oil.
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onIn eastern Germany, residents have felt historically overlooked by Berlin, and see it happening again as sanctions against Russian energy threaten their livelihoods. In one town, they’re trying to use dialogue to take back control of their future.
“I want to give you courage and confidence,” Mr. Nicke tells the gathering. “This transformation could be a win for the region.”
A refinery town
Schwedt owes much to the PCK refinery. After the Red Army’s advance decimated Schwedt in the last days of World War II, workers who built the refinery helped it rise again, transforming the village into a model “socialist city.” After painful restructuring in the years following German reunification, the resulting leaner, more modern refinery helped the fragile region regain stability and self-confidence.
But in recent years, Russian energy giant Rosneft has taken an increasingly large ownership share of PCK, becoming its main shareholder after the annexation of Crimea in 2014. That set off alarm bells in Brussels and Berlin when Russia invaded Ukraine on Feb. 24 of this year, as what had been a symbol of the ties between Russia and the former East turned into a dangerous dependence that Berlin sought to cut.
Berlin’s decision to align with the European Union’s Russian oil embargo stirred up resentments that had been lurking in the former East Germany since reunification, as Schwedt residents felt their well-being was being sacrificed for others’ benefit once again – this time, for Ukrainians and a war they didn’t want. In June, 4,000 residents swarmed Schwedt’s old city in protest.
Berlin in September pledged help to PCK workers with a two-year job guarantee for the 1,200 refinery employees and a generous “future package” for the city and the region. But street protests continued, often evolving into a more diffuse anti-government, pro-Russia movement of discontent.
Mr. Nicke, who grew up in the town of Bautzen in the former German Democratic Republic, says he understands the anxieties that Schwedt residents feel. “People are fighting for their existence once again,” he says, adding that the socialist years and the upheavals of reunification left many feeling deeply mistrustful of authorities and unused to the ways of representative democracy.
So as the Russian war in Ukraine plunged Schwedt into yet another crisis and people vented their anger on the streets, he launched Future Now – public debates open to everyone, held on the stage of his theater – as a way to turn that stress into something constructive. “If you want to know what the future holds, you have to shape it yourself,” he says to the attendees that November night.
“It is us talking with Schwedt”
Seated in chairs in front of the stage or around small tables, roughly 250 residents listen to, and ask questions of, the invited guests, who have ranged from academics to activists to politicians. Tonight, the lineup includes Schwedt’s mayor, the CEO of the refinery, officials from the state and federal government, and one of the organizers of protests in Schwedt.
Mic in hand, Mr. Nicke as moderator goes from guest to guest with questions: Would the refinery work at full capacity after Jan. 1? When would the research for “green” hydrogen actually start? Residents too could vent their concerns via a mic passed around the theater. Past sessions had seen lively discussions and shouting matches, but today, it is mostly concrete, constructive themes that prevail.
People point out Schwedt’s assets beyond the refinery: a national park on the Oder River, a paper factory, and plans to turn the oil refinery into a “green refinery” using green hydrogen.
“The worst in a crisis situation is to be left alone with your fears,” says Sasha Kunkel, a young engineer. “Here, it’s not others talking about Schwedt, it is us talking with Schwedt.”
Anke Grodon, the head of the town museum, pleads for understanding toward older generations, who make up a significant portion of the protesters’ ranks. She says residents often attend protest rallies “because they don’t know how else to express themselves.” Creating alternatives is good, but “you can’t reset yourself with the click of a mouse.”
Meanwhile, resident Konstanze Fischer relates how she and her husband helped save a dilapidated music school from demolition after reunification by creating a citizens initiative – and how that experience motivated her to organize street protests in June.
“We saw that when you get involved, you can shake things up,” she says. When news of the oil embargo came, “we instinctively felt that we had to get involved.”
Here, at Future Now, she praises those who came forward. “I feel we’ve achieved something,” she says.
Fighting mistrust with dialogue
If Schwedt was in more progressive southwest Germany, a gathering like Future Now would be nothing unusual. But, in Germany’s eastern half, where 30 years after reunification, civic involvement remains comparatively rare and protest is often seen as the “best-known, strongest, most trusted form of political articulation,” the forum is breaking new ground, says Steffen Mau, professor for macrosociology at Berlin’s Humboldt University.
The socialist and reunification years left people “change resistant” and mistrustful of authorities, putting local personalities like Mr. Nicke who can articulate a vision for the future and “make the transformation their own” into a crucial role, says Dr. Mau.
But among the small businesses that make up the bulk of the region’s economy, skepticism about the power of dialogue runs deep.
“Talking makes sense as long as both sides are willing to dialogue,” says former Schwedt theater director Reinhard Simon who organized a protest by small-business owners a few days earlier.
Wenke Möllenhoff, who runs her family’s farming business and was a speaker at the small-business demonstration, says that “although dialogue is the right way to go, we shouldn’t give up the pressure so that regular folks can express themselves.” Unlike in Germany’s western half, there is no real solid economic base in the east. “We in the East don’t have much to offer, that’s why people are so afraid,” she says.
Andreas Oppermann, a longtime public television journalist, sees the impending oil embargo as a catalyst for change, both of the economy and of mindsets, that should have started long ago.
After Russian President Vladimir Putin annexed Crimea in 2014, Mr. Oppermann says he tried to report on the dangers of letting Rosneft acquire even more refinery shares. “The oil and gas flew and nobody made a big deal about it,” he says. The region’s relationships with Russia are complex. Many of the engineers who built the refinery were trained in Moscow, and personal ties can be deep, too. The wake-up call is brutal, and dialogue is “eminently crucial, otherwise the mistrust will only grow.”
But Mr. Nicke believes that Schwedt can turn into a “prototype of successful green energy policy.”
“Let us look ahead and say, in 20 years, when we have managed this transformation, when Germany needs innovative technology in the field of green energy, it will be using made-in-Schwedt know-how,” he says. “What we need is to free ourselves from fear and have courage.”
