Imagine this: A 72-year-old professor, a year-old tweet, and four (!) police officers at the door. No, not a scene from "Aktenzeichen XY," but the new season of "Article 13 – Now Also for Easily Approved Access." The home as the highest form of protection? Those days are gone. Today: The scene of a deluxe evidence-gathering session, because a public prosecutor and a magistrate have apparently decided to consider the jurisprudence of the Federal Constitutional Court as mere decoration.
What was it all about? The groundbreaking question of whether the professor himself posted his tweet – from his own account, surprise: yes. Possible solutions: phone call, summons, two minutes of common sense. Chosen measure: a front-door appearance by a quartet. If the legal basis is already weak, at least the appearance has to be forceful. Symbolic politics can't replace the Code of Criminal Procedure, but it makes for good impression in the hallway.
Now for the boring but crucial part: the duty to object. Civil servants aren't mere enforcers with a parking ticket for their brains. They must object if a measure is clearly unlawful – first to their superior, then to a higher level. Four civil servants, four objections, four official notes: that would have left its mark – on the public prosecutor's office as well as the court. Instead: a collective "It'll be fine." Spoiler alert: It wasn't.
At the same time, reporting centers are flourishing for everything below the line of criminality – denunciation by subscription, state-co-financed, often disguised as an NGO. The result: anonymous clicks, data mountains, clouds of suspicion. Twenty reports without any actual crime? Someone will eventually say: "There must be something to it." Data protection? A feeling of the past, just like freedom of satire, which used to hinge on a simple boundary: criminal or not. Today: "below the line, but reportable." A Stasi-like atmosphere in pastel colors.
And yes, Corona was the dress rehearsal. From mask mandates and double standards at demonstrations to Pavlovian outrage on the bus: denunciation was socialized. Back then, anyone who remonstrated risked their career; those who carried out enforcement scored points. This runs deep—so deep that today a tweet is enough to open the front door for "evidence gathering." The rule of law as a mood-swapping device: dial to the left, fundamental rights down.
The guidelines have been clearly laid out for years: Article 13 of the Basic Law is not a wall sticker. Searches are a last resort, subject to strict requirements regarding suspicion of a crime, necessity, suitability, and the availability of less intrusive means. Particularly in cases involving media outlets, lawyers, or press connections, higher hurdles apply. Anyone who ignores this is not engaging in "creative interpretation," but rather a blatant breach of the rules. Party affiliation? Irrelevant. The standard? Law and jurisprudence. Period.
That police officers are caught in the crossfire between demonstration chaos, cell phone cameras, and political maneuvering is undeniable. All the more reason, then, for them to have backbone based on the law, not gut feelings based on weather forecasts. Legal certainty doesn't arise from restraint towards the wrong people and harshness towards the right ones, but from reliability. A "no" to an unlawful measure protects not only citizens, but also the officer themselves – both legally and morally.
The bottom line, without sugarcoating: The rule of law isn't about the art of beautifully opening doors, but about taking boundaries seriously. Prosecutors and judges, read the guidelines before you sign. Civil servants, raise objections if something smells fishy. Politicians, abolish denunciation portals that fall below the threshold of criminal activity. And citizens: Document, ask questions, and stand up for yourselves.
Four officers for one tweet isn't an isolated incident. It's a symptom. Anyone who normalizes this normalizes the state of emergency. End of search…

"Dravens Tales from the Crypt" has been enchanting for over 15 years with a tasteless mixture of humor, serious journalism - for current events and unbalanced reporting in the press politics - and zombies, garnished with lots of art, entertainment and punk rock. Draven has turned his hobby into a popular brand that cannot be classified.








