By Justin Roy
Sunday, August 31, 2025
On August 31, 2015, Europe was on the verge of a refugee crisis unlike any seen since the end of World War
II. Growing numbers of refugees were heading toward Northern Europe along the
“Balkan route,” and there was no consensus on how to deal with the situation.
It was into this void, and on this day, that German Chancellor Angela Merkel
gave a speech that would help define her political career. Speaking to the
German people, she uttered a phrase that was a call to action: “Wir haben so
vieles geschafft — wir schaffen das.”
These words, which translate into English as “We have
done so much — we can do this,” epitomized the chancellor’s hope that Germany,
and possibly the European Union, could rise to the occasion and provide shelter
to a growing number of asylum seekers. Within a matter of days, tens of
thousands of refugees would begin arriving in Europe every day. This mass
migration would disrupt the politics of the EU and would rapidly give Merkel’s
words a life of their own on a rapidly polarizing continent.
The signs of political discord were there from the
beginning. The chancellor’s speech came a couple of days after her visit to a refugee center in the city of Dresden. This
visit was preceded by violent clashes in the state of Saxony as
demonstrators and the police scuffled in the streets. She was heckled at the
camp by locals: “Politicians, lowlifes,” they cried, and, “There’s money for
everything, but not for your own people.” In her autobiography published years
later, she claimed to have barely registered the deafening noise coming from
protesters.
What occupied her mind, blotting out the noise, was the
unfolding humanitarian crisis. The number of arrivals continued to grow, and
amid the political unrest, she was struck by the humanity of the refugees she
met in Dresden. Her thoughts deepened the next day, when 71 migrants were
discovered dead in Austria after smugglers packed them into the cargo space of
an airtight truck. In her autobiography, she would later write, “This message
made it shockingly clear that we were not talking about numbers, but about real
people and their fates.” Questions of policy and humanity circled in her mind.
Was it not a right enshrined in the German constitution that victims of
political persecution or civil war should be able to claim asylum? These events
and thoughts were louder than the hecklers in Dresden and eventually led to her
speech.
What followed was, at the time, the largest mass migration in Europe since the Second World
War. The International Office for Migration recorded over 800,000 arrivals to Greece in 2015 alone. Of
these new arrivals, the top three nationalities were Syrian, Afghan, and Iraqi.
They crossed over into Greece from Turkey via the Aegean Sea. Landing on the
Greek islands, they made their way to the mainland and traveled northward
through the Balkans to Germany, Austria, Sweden, or Finland.
The situation on the ground was pandemonium. I was a humanitarian worker in Greece, and it
was normal for the island where I served, home to only 50,000 residents, to
receive more than a thousand migrants in a single day. The local authorities
struggled to manage the situation in coordination with volunteers, EU
officials, and the United Nations staff. Meanwhile, the European Union, riven
by national interest and competing visions on immigration, was incapable of
developing a coherent policy to address the crisis. Hungary closed its borders
and threw up fences. Germany clashed with Eastern Europe and France over how to
distribute the new arrivals. The Balkan nations allowed migrants to pass
northward so long as Northern Europe wanted them. Each country was largely left
to deal with the crisis on its own.
This mass migration would rapidly divide politics and
society within Germany and the EU. Many embraced the spirit of Willkommenskultur,
or welcoming culture, and from Greece to Scandinavia, citizens took
extraordinary steps to try to help the new arrivals. However, as time went on,
a growing number of people expressed concern and started to push back against
the chancellor’s position. At first, the naysayers, even the unmalicious ones,
were met with scorn. After visiting the refugee center in Dresden, Merkel told
reporters, “We have no tolerance towards those who are not willing to help.”
But within a short time, the welcoming narrative shifted.
The political chaos and seemingly unending wave of migrants became a political
liability. The dam finally broke in March 2016 when the Balkan nations rapidly
closed their borders. A few weeks later, the EU-Turkey Deal was announced. This agreement allowed for the return of
migrants to Turkey and dramatically lowered the number of new arrivals.
Europe’s leaders hoped that these efforts would stabilize the situation.
However, while the number of arrivals in Greece and the
Balkans dropped sharply, the damage was already done. Tens of thousands of
refugees were stranded in Balkan countries that lacked resources and often the
political will to help them. Additionally, the refugee crisis triggered
political upheaval across Germany and the EU. Merkel’s ruling coalition nearly collapsed after a political standoff with its Bavarian
coalition partner over refugee policy. Additionally, it helped to feed the rise of Germany’s alt-right party Alternative für
Deutschland and helped drive the growth of populist parties across Europe.
So, ten years
later, was wir schaffen das true?
In one sense, yes. Europe has not collapsed despite the
strain. Germany absorbed hundreds of thousands of refugees, and many built new lives. Acts of extraordinary generosity, from ordinary citizens to
churches and nongovernmental organizations, proved that compassion was more
than a slogan. Merkel’s instinct to show mercy was a justified reaction.
But in terms of managing the situation, the answer was
no. The way the crisis unfolded was detrimental, for the EU and for the
refugees themselves. By opening the borders and allowing uncontrolled
migration, Merkel and others invited a humanitarian crisis they were unprepared
for, and one rife with abuse and exploitation. Additionally, high-profile
incidents, including terrorist
attacks by migrants, became flashpoints in public debate. Broader difficulties in integration— such as language acquisition, access to
housing, and finding stable employment — also fueled domestic tensions. These,
in turn, contributed to a documented rise in anti-immigrant violence.
Merkel herself would later reflect: “Should I really not
say that we can do this because those words could be misconstrued as implying
that I want to bring all the world’s refugees to Germany? That thought would
never have crossed my mind.” Yet many within Europe interpreted the ensuing
chaos as exactly that, a blanket invitation. By the end of 2016, Merkel conceded that her administration had lost control during
the peak of the crisis.
A decade on, migration remains a political fault line across Europe. The crisis
fractured coalitions, fueled anti-immigrant populism, and was weaponized by hostile states. Camps in Greece are still
overcrowded and squalid, as more migrants continue to arrive. Questions about European sovereignty,
integration, and values remain unanswered.
The truth lies in that tension. Wir schaffen das was
neither entirely true nor entirely false. Europe has endured the crisis thus
far, but it has not yet resolved it. For those of us who stood on the shores,
who saw human faces behind the headlines and broke bread with them, the
question lingers not just in politics, but in humanity itself.
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