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He arrived from India in 1973 to the German Democratic Republic (GDR), trained as a physician in Altlandsberg, and in 1993 became the first German mayor of Indian descent – and the first “dark-skinned” mayor in Germany. Ravindra Gujjula (*1954), a longstanding SPD member and still active in local politics, recounts a journey paved by the maxim: “Impossible does not exist.” In this interview, Gujjula reflects on the formative influence of his years in the GDR, offers insights into the secret of effective action, and reveals how, against all odds, one can accomplish initiatives that genuinely improve people’s lives: through close engagement with citizens, tireless effort, and grounded pragmatism. He emphasises the crucial struggle against right-wing extremism and for democracy, calls for greater political involvement from those with migration backgrounds, and urges the SPD to communicate its successes more effectively. A conversation about belonging, responsibility – and the art of winning hearts without compromising oneself.
Mr. Gujjula, how did you originally come to Germany?
Almost half a century ago, in 1973, I arrived in the former GDR to pursue medical studies. Each year, the GDR offered a limited number of places to foreign students, and I had also applied to programmes in England and Russia. Yet, as I had always aspired to become a physician, I chose this country – then still very unfamiliar to me – the GDR.
Did you already speak German at the time?
No, I arrived in the GDR completely unversed. Upon my arrival, I first had to spend a year and a half learning German, so as to master all the technical terminology. It was only in 1975 that I was able to commence my medical studies in Greifswald.
I was fortunate, however, in that nearly all my friends and fellow students were German. If I wished to communicate, I had no choice but to speak German.
From 1993 to 2003, you served as mayor of Altlandsberg, becoming Germany’s first mayor of Indian descent — and its first “dark-skinned” mayor. What motivated you at the time to run for this office? Did your experience in the GDR influence your commitment to democracy?
I must begin with a little background: I come from a politically active family in India. My father served as a legislator for twenty years, which profoundly shaped me. My mother, until her passing, was the General Secretary of India’s largest women’s association. From the outset, I was oriented to the left and grew up imbued with socialist ideals.
In the GDR, I engaged, for instance, in advocating for Mandela’s freedom and opposing apartheid — political activities that were tolerated there.
My formal political engagement began shortly before the fall of the Berlin Wall. A new GDR law permitted foreigners, after five years of residence, to participate in municipal elections and even to stand as candidates. The hospital union proposed me for the district council. The district election official asked how many Indians lived in Altlandsberg. When I replied that I was the only one, he wanted to know whose interests I would represent. Three days later, I received a letter thanking me for my willingness, but stating that my candidacy would not be accepted.
This was the first significant contradiction I encountered in the GDR: if elections are meant to be free and candidates may stand independently, how could they deny me the right to run? No reason was given. I therefore wrote a letter to the GDR election official, Egon Krenz, who shortly before the Wall’s fall became the last SED party chairman. Seven days passed with no response — instead, I was dismissed from the hospital.
I remained unemployed for some time. I travelled with my son to India and worked in a hospital there. Yet I observed the unrest in the GDR, the increasing number of people fleeing. It was clear: this system could not survive much longer; the Wall would fall within the year, or the next.
After four months, I returned to the GDR, partly because my wife and daughter had remained. I reapplied to the same hospital and was welcomed back — there was a shortage of physicians. My “fortune” was being assigned to the outpatient clinic, almost as a minor punitive measure. There, I engaged directly with the people who worked tirelessly each day. Speaking with them profoundly changed me. I joined demonstrations at Alexanderplatz, participated in actions in Berlin and its surroundings — and eventually, the Wall fell.
The elections I had been barred from were annulled. Following the Wall’s fall, free elections were held in the GDR. I submitted my candidacy again; this time it was accepted. I was elected to the Altlandsberg city council with the second-highest vote count, becoming a legislator without prior political experience.
From 1991 to 1993, I gained my first political experience. In 1993, the first municipal elections under West German law were held, requiring German citizenship. I therefore abandoned my initial plan to return to India, applied for naturalisation, and received my German passport just in time. On the application form’s question about why I wished to become German, I wrote: “I am a legislator in Altlandsberg and wish to run for mayor. This requires German citizenship.”
In 1993, I ran as an independent against candidates from the CDU, SPD, FDP, and another independent. In the first round, I led with 43 percent; the CDU incumbent received 25 percent. In the runoff, I won with just under 62 percent — unexpectedly becoming mayor.
This was a remarkable journey: one does not simply decide to become a mayor or a physician. It requires immense effort, and yet I assumed office with limited knowledge. I understood the problems, but how to address them in a united Germany was a profound challenge.
In 1998, I ran again and was re-elected with 81 percent. After three elections, I had learned that dedication prevails, that one must knock on doors and engage directly — and by then, I was known far beyond Altlandsberg. International media reported on me, from the New York Times to Japanese television teams.
This visibility granted me access to state politics. I received support from the Left, the SPD, and even the CDU — I was independent. Eventually, the question arose whether I should run for the district or state parliament, but balancing this with my medical practice proved difficult.
Altlandsberg later merged with several municipalities. Former mayors became honorary mayors and later local chiefs. I served ten years as directly elected mayor, five years as local mayor, and two further terms as local chief. After 25 years, I stepped back — I had, as the saying goes, “had enough” (laughs). Interestingly, my wife is now the local chief.
I continue to stand in municipal elections and have been a district council member for over 25 years — always with strong results. I could have become a full-time mayor, but I chose to retain my medical practice. This allowed me to engage in the community, support local associations, and maintain direct contact with people.
To this day, I remain deeply committed to voluntary work. Parties eventually invited me to join, but my choice was clear: after my second mayoral election, I aligned with the Social Democrats.
Since then, I have represented the SPD at the state level, while maintaining my independent stance locally — which arguably made me the most popular politician in Altlandsberg.
After a brief tenure in the state parliament until 2009, I ran once for the Bundestag and narrowly lost, and twice narrowly missed election to the state parliament.
What motivated me? Above all, the people and social injustices — then in the GDR, and still today across Germany. Many suggest that one should step back with age, but I say: as long as I am working and interacting with people, I will continue to stand for office. This is why, in the most recent municipal elections, I was again elected to the district council and city parliament.
You have been actively engaged since your arrival in the GDR. Was that the key to winning the hearts of the people?
I would put it this way: I have always been very close to the citizens, addressing everyone on a first-name basis. I was present in the pubs, at every community event, in the church — simply everywhere. I founded numerous associations: immediately after my first election following the fall of the Wall, I established the Business Development Association and the Local Heritage Society, both of which remain highly active to this day. I also revived and supported sports clubs, and I am an honorary member of both the Altlandsberg Shooting Club and the Men’s Gymnastics Association.
This grassroots approach to politics was decisive. No grandstanding, no empty promises. We achieved everything step by step. When I began, unemployment stood at almost 18 per cent and there was a severe housing shortage. Today, while there are still too few homes, every resident of Altlandsberg can find an apartment or a house. We have restored many dilapidated buildings in the historic town centre and allocated them at modest rents to elderly citizens. These are tangible achievements that people do not forget.
In recent years, a great deal of funding has flowed into Altlandsberg. In Brandenburg’s funding league tables, we consistently ranked among the top. We became very adept at “door-to-door lobbying” — securing resources to double the population, build new schools, and construct a new sports and multipurpose hall. These are all priorities for ordinary citizens. These are the initiatives through which I earned the people’s trust.
And most importantly: despite my dark skin, the people do not see me as an outsider. To them, I am one of their own — sharing a similar life story, having lived seventeen years in the GDR. That shared experience allows us to discuss the same concerns and aspirations.
Were there experiences or values from your Indian heritage that you brought into your work in local politics?
Yes, many. Above all, the ability to listen to people. Not to gaze impatiently and think, “How long will this take?” One must empathise, ask questions, and immerse oneself in the matter at hand. This approach helped me to be a good physician in the sense that people learned to trust me.
Secondly, when people come with problems and I offer solutions, it becomes evident that even with the modest resources available to the mayor of a small town, one can work effectively in the interest of the people and achieve tangible results. I believe this mindset comes from India: the capacity to listen, to be curious, and to discern the challenges people bring.
And one more thing: the ability to remain calm, even in serious situations, and to reflect on solutions. This certain Indian temperament has helped me draw closer to the people.
…And improvisation as well?
Yes, improvisation existed both in India and in the GDR. When a machine broke down, one had to improvise, for spare parts were often unavailable. You know the saying: “Impossible does not exist.” One must assess the resources at hand, for nothing is truly unattainable. There is always a way — one simply has to find it.
When we wanted to build the new sports and multipurpose hall, many laughed: “We do not even have money for housing; where will the funds for a hall come from?” Yet we built it — and today it is indispensable to community life. The same applies to the high school: many doubted it, and now, since last year, we have one of the most modern gymnasiums, costing 64 million euros — a facility that is rare even in large cities. I am immensely proud that we were able to fight for it and make it happen with the necessary strategic planning.
Such examples demonstrate that there are, in truth, no limits — one must simply dedicate oneself to the effort.
Have you leveraged your extensive practical experience in German local politics for a form of knowledge transfer to India? Do you maintain exchanges with colleagues there? And how do you assess the potential for municipal cooperation between India and Germany?
We have cultivated very strong partnerships with several Indian municipalities. This began in 2004, following the tsunami: I went public and appealed for assistance. Within twenty-four hours, €54,000 was raised, and subsequently, with additional funding, we were able to invest nearly €900,000 in India. With these resources, we built six primary schools in villages that had none, and 250 houses for fishing families — all on a self-help basis, working in close collaboration with the local communities and the Indian government.
From these contacts, a programme has emerged in which groups of young people from our district spend four to six weeks annually in India, supporting solidarity-based projects. Conversely, politicians from India, for example from Vijayawada, visit Germany regularly.
I also maintain friendships in India — legislators, ministers, and secretaries of state — with whom I discuss topics such as renewable energy. The exchange is vigorous, but it is primarily grounded in personal relationships.
When you look at your hometown of Altlandsberg today — where the AfD has now become the strongest political force — how do you assess this development? And how do you view the political situation in Germany overall?
What we are witnessing in Germany today is, in many ways, not surprising. This trajectory was already apparent twenty years ago, and it became even clearer a decade ago that developments were moving in a particular direction. I harbour doubts as to whether Germany has ever truly sought to combat right-wing radicalism and extremism. Those in power who proclaimed, “We will tolerate no anti-Semitism and no xenophobia,” had the capacity to act — to enact laws, to implement measures. Yet, beyond lip service, little was accomplished.
The AfD is, in many respects, a by-product of the broader political landscape in Germany. People do not vote for the party out of trust, but as a form of protest. Early last year, news of a meeting of right-wing radicals in a Brandenburg hotel spread through the media. At the time, there was outrage; today, it barely raises an eyebrow — and “remigration” has become an official component of AfD policy. Despite this, the party receives over twenty per cent of the vote.
What saddens me is this: in India, illiteracy is widespread and votes can be bought. But in a country like Germany — where everyone can read and write, where citizens are well aware that both the First and Second World Wars originated here, costing millions of innocent lives — these lessons seem to hold little sway. I am astonished that more than twenty per cent of the population now supports a right-wing extremist party, despite knowing where such a path can lead.
It is important to note that not all AfD voters are ignorant or extremist. Yet to vote for the party merely as a form of protest — I can scarcely imagine a less rational choice. There are countless ways to express dissent; one does not need to vote AfD to make a statement.
Most people do not even know the party’s candidates. No one can name the AfD’s parliamentary group leader in Brandenburg, yet the party has become the second-strongest force in the state, after the SPD. I believe the situation can improve — perhaps after one or two election cycles, when the AfD’s extremism becomes undeniable and people realise: the more extreme the party becomes, the tighter the scrutiny it will face. I await that day.
At present, reasoned, moderate discourse — the kind one could engage in twenty, thirty, or forty years ago — seems to fall on deaf ears. Today, people demand extreme statements and confrontational debate. Whether I have the inclination to stoop to that level, I do not know. Fundamentally, this is a development affecting the entire Federal Republic. One must watch carefully where it leads. There are initiatives against right-wing extremism everywhere — but, to date, they have yielded little effect.
For thirty years, one has heard the cliché that East Germany is particularly marked by right-wing extremism — terms like “nationally liberated zones” have circulated for decades. Would you say that the current establishment of the AfD in the East was structurally prepared by the NPD and other far-right organisations, so that the population was, in a sense, already primed for this ideology? Or is that more of a cliché?
During my time in the GDR, as a foreigner I could go to the pub or walk the streets at night — I never felt threatened. The dictatorship deployed its full power to suppress right-wing tendencies. After the fall of the Wall, however, this control vanished: suddenly, anyone could say whatever they pleased — a misunderstood, misapplied freedom of speech.
Shortly after the elections, it became clear: where a dictatorship had previously prevailed, anarchy could follow — everything had to reform. This was true in Russia, in other socialist countries, and in the GDR as well. Many people were left behind in the process. Some who had once been Socialists became Nazis. They were seeking a new platform.
The old far-right parties — the Republicans and others — could not gain traction, because anyone supporting them was immediately branded a right-wing extremist. The AfD was different: it was not founded by Nazis or “Faschos,” but by intelligent individuals. Initially, their focus was not on “Germany for Germans,” but on the currency question — “We want our Deutsche Mark back.”
That this evolved into the AfD as we know it today is because the platform was exploited very skillfully. Today, statements are made that are essentially illegal, but phrased just within the bounds of acceptability. People are drawn in and go along with it. “Remigration” — what does that even mean? It does not exist. There is simply migration. The AfD invents terms to steer people in a particular direction.
But I do not believe this was all prepared in the East. Look at the figures in the AfD: Björn Höcke, for example, comes from the West. It was once assumed that in a prosperous state like Bavaria, the AfD could never gain a foothold. Yet today we see its strong presence in the Bavarian state parliament. This has nothing to do with East or West, but is a broader trend that became visible earlier and more clearly in the East. The ideas were imported from the West — they did not originate in the East, where people were raised from childhood with a certain principle of solidarity.
The new generation, however, growing up in the modern school system and often knowing little of the Second World War, votes differently than my generation. And we can already see how the AfD is gaining strength in western federal states as well. This shows the direction in which things are heading.
Should more people with a migration background take inspiration from you and actively engage in society and politics? What advice would you give to young migrants aspiring to enter political life today?
Without question — I have always advocated for this. As far back as 1993, my stance was not widely understood: “Why should we, as foreigners, be politically active? We came to study, we work here, we married here or were born here — we are ordinary citizens.” But I say the opposite: I urge them to engage.
Anyone whose life is centred here — not in Turkey, India, or Africa — should also participate politically in this country, rather than merely complaining later. Those who demand voting rights must also be prepared to stand for office and assume responsibility.
I was the first Indian mayor in Germany. Later, another example emerged in Saxony, though he resigned after six months. For a long time, there was no one else. Today, there are newer examples: in North Rhine-Westphalia, an African-born individual serves as a full-time mayor. Yet such cases remain rare. In the Brandenburg state parliament, I was the first dark-skinned legislator.
Today, we do see more state and federal parliamentarians with migration backgrounds. And I assert: it is an obligation. If our lives are rooted here, we must also care for the social development of our communities. We must not only vote, but also stand for election and assume responsibility. It is imperative.
I would not simply say, “I am of foreign origin, therefore I must act,” but rather: “I live here, my life is here, and I must contribute to the well-being of my society.”
“I — one of this place!” This sentiment must reside firmly in our minds.
I still observe, with concern, how some Indian families gather exclusively for traditional festivals — which is perfectly fine — yet, after many years in Germany, some still do not speak German, despite living here for the rest of their lives. Children may be born here but speak only Turkish, Arabic, or their parents’ language at home. For me, that is unacceptable. How can one fully participate in this country without speaking its language? Such isolation creates fertile ground for right-wing extremism.
I am firmly convinced that Indians, like all migrants, and their children, must engage with society. They must learn the language, understand the political landscape, participate in debate, and take an active role in shaping the future.
In your view, what must your party, the SPD, do differently or better today to win back more support?
Two things. First: the SPD is weak in the Bundestag, and also at the state level — even in regions where it was once the strongest force. Yet this does not mean the SPD has been inactive or abandoned its goals. Many legislative initiatives in recent years originated with the SPD, even when it was not the dominant party. Take the introduction of the minimum wage, for example. That Germany lacked such a measure for so long — one of the last European countries to do so — is, in itself, a scandal.
Second: the SPD may do the work, but its leadership is not sufficiently capable of communicating it effectively. A new generation must step forward — people who can explain policy clearly and bring citizens along.
We need figures whose names are synonymous with the SPD. Naturally, we cannot have a Willy Brandt, Helmut Schmidt, Egon Bahr, or Herbert Wehner every year. Yet these were the politicians who inspired me to join the SPD in the first place.
Consider the care sector: the introduction of the minimum wage has made the profession far more attractive. That is a significant achievement. Yet, even though the SPD, alongside the Greens and the Left, was the driving force behind this legislation, it seems that the message has not reached the public effectively.
Still, I am confident that it is possible to position these accomplishments positively once more in the future.
…One must not give up hope, then?
Absolutely not.
I am personally preparing initiatives once again to combat right-wing extremism. I served as chairman of “Brandenburg Against the Right” and organised numerous events.
I have taken students to Theresienstadt so that they can see for themselves: there was the Second World War, there were gas chambers, and there was the systematic extermination of the Jews.
In my time, every student was required to visit Buchenwald at least once during their schooling. Today, it is all voluntary. And when I see how little attention some schools give to subjects such as the Second World War, inhumanity, or xenophobia, it is deeply alarming. Many schools even host AfD student groups. Allowing this to continue is extremely dangerous.
For me, as a person who cherishes peace, the foremost goal is to combat right-wing extremism — by any means necessary, before it is too late.
…So, do you support a ban on the AfD?
Until now, I have always opposed banning the party, because I believe such issues must be resolved politically, not through prohibition. Where would the twenty per cent of people who vote AfD go otherwise? They would not disappear; they would simply seek another platform. There are many ways to address this challenge. However, should the AfD ever act against the state, then a ban would be necessary. To date, though, I have always opposed prohibition.
Mr. Gujjula, thank you very much for this conversation!
Foto: (c) SPD
