Spahn can – nothing! A politically well-oiled total failure in 10 billion pieces

ens Spahn coined a phrase that could be plastered across a billboard for this republic: “We led Germany well through this difficult time.” That was in 2025. By then, he was already head of the CDU/CSU parliamentary group, responsible for nothing, in charge of everything, surrounded by yes-men with career ambitions. It was the same Jens Spahn who, in 2020, with foaming urgency, purchased 5.8 billion masks – for a country that needed just 275 million. No matter. When the state places an order, it can be seven times too much. As long as no one notices right away. But the taxpayers eventually noticed – namely when Spahn's masks rotted in warehouses, stored too warmly, poorly manufactured, bought at inflated prices. Some FFP2 masks cost up to 6.35 euros each – even though internal recommendations capped them at 3 euros. The additional cost? Around 470 million euros – which, with a bit of luck, could still be filed under “Spahn’s leisure budget.” And these luxury masks weren’t bought on the open market but rather through Spahn’s private network: Emix Trading, Fiege Logistics – companies whose only qualification seemed to be knowing the right first name. Professional objections? There were plenty. The Interior Ministry warned, the procurement office shrugged, experts protested. But Spahn had long since tuned out. Fiege got the contract anyway – without a tender, without review, without shame. It all boiled down to a sentence Spahn is actually said to have uttered: “Contracts with people you know often work better.” Mafia, take note: the state is speaking.

And then came the great silence. When special investigator Margaretha Sudhof submitted a report on the mask affair, it was initially redacted like an NSA file. The unredacted version was later published – and it spoke a clear language: lies, abdication of responsibility, ignorance, self-preservation instead of public duty. Spahn did what he does best: sit it out. And the CDU/CSU? They preferred to block a parliamentary investigation – in favor of an inquiry commission, the parliamentary equivalent of “Let’s talk about it calmly once the dust has settled.” The list of embarrassments was long: A villa in Berlin-Dahlem for 4.125 million euros, financed through a savings bank whose board Spahn had once sat on. A failed Austrian loan through a Raiffeisen bank. A lawsuit against journalists who had the nerve to look up the land register. And in the end, the quick resale at a loss – because even Spahn eventually had to admit that corruption doesn't qualify as a capital investment. And as if that weren’t enough, there was the Burda deal. Half a million masks from his husband’s employer – delivered without a tender, straight to the ministry. No, Funke had “nothing to do with it,” they said later. Just like Emix, Fiege, Drägerwerk, and the Pope. Speaking of Dräger: according to unofficial sources, 90 million euros in option premiums were paid – for ventilators that were never delivered. Officially? Not a word. But the Federal Audit Office named another figure: 2.3 billion euros in legal risks from Spahn’s time in office. In words: two point three billion for mistakes no one admits to.

And Spahn? Stayed. Stayed as parliamentary leader, stayed as the face of a party that likes to present itself as technocratic when convenient, and populist when it suits them better. In a 2024 speech, he suggested that AfD politicians could chair parliamentary committees – as long as they appeared “moderate enough.” The same Spahn who publicly compared a female SPD politician to Hermann Göring. The man has taste. And connections. For example, to America. To Richard Grenell, Trump’s diplomatic club-wielder in Berlin. Or to think tanks closely aligned with Project 2025 – the ultra-right blueprint for restructuring the U.S. state. In Berlin, Spahn was a welcome guest at “The Republic,” a network of CDU hopefuls and U.S. conservatives, where they daydream about a world in which government is once again an authoritarian male fantasy. Even rhetorically, Jens Spahn has set standards. Not in terms of clarity or integrity – but in terms of political dialectic, where every word is a smokescreen. Credit where it’s due: the man knows how to stage himself – with phrases that are both banal and disturbing.

“We led Germany well through this difficult time,” he says – as if the biggest mask waste in the history of the Federal Republic hadn’t just been exposed. “The AfD is just another party,” he claims – as if there were no domestic intelligence reports, no far-right networks, no open threats to democracy. “Contracts with people you know work better” – a line ripped straight from the user manual for cronyism. He sees “no reason for a parliamentary investigation” – even as the evidence piles up to the ceiling. He says, “I have nothing to hide” – while suing journalists who report on his real estate deals. “I wasn’t responsible,” he insists – even though his signature is on the billion-euro contracts. The CDU, he says, must “become clearer again” – meaning: veer even further to the right, even closer to the political stormfront where the AfD has long taken up position. “I stand for honesty in politics,” he says – and he says it precisely in the week the unredacted Sudhof report is published. And then: “Corona has shown how capable our system is.” Presumably he means the Spahn system. A system in which 7 billion euros evaporate in a mix of overconfidence, favoritism, and non-responsibility. “We must not let ourselves be divided,” says the man who reaches out to the AfD – and slaps the constitution in the face.

Spahn can – nothing!
No. Jens Spahn can do everything a democracy doesn’t need. He can distribute what doesn’t belong to him. Obscure what he doesn’t like. Sue those who expose him. And suppress what might convict him. He is not the accident – he is the system.

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