🇩🇪 Deutsch | 🇬🇧 English
On May 13, 2026, I was officially given a farewell after serving for 24 years as mayor of Dettingen an der Erms, a municipality in southwestern Germany. I had taken office on May 15, 2002.
Of course, I knew back then that being a mayor meant taking on responsibility. But when you set out on a journey like that, you cannot really know what that responsibility will do to you, how profoundly it will shape your life, or how deeply connected you will become to the community you serve.
Twenty-four years are not just a passing chapter. They are a substantial part of a lifetime.
During those years, Dettingen was much more than the place where I worked. The community, its people, its conflicts, its hopes and worries, and the changes it went through all became part of my own life story.
I have no intention of presenting a conventional record of achievements.
Not because there would be nothing to report.
A great deal happens in 24 years. A community changes. Responsibilities grow. Expectations shift. Crises arise. People leave, and others step forward to take responsibility.
But my purpose here is not to list projects or once again put myself in a favorable light.
Anyone who has served as mayor for a long time knows that whatever has been accomplished was never the achievement of one person alone.
Without the municipal council, the administration, local residents, clubs and associations, churches, businesses, volunteers, and countless dedicated individuals, none of the things that sustain a community would have been possible.
A mayor is often the person out front.
But a community is carried by many shoulders.
Close to the People
Being a mayor is one of the most direct forms of political office our democracy has to offer.
At the local level, politics is anything but abstract.
It has faces and names. It has streets, kindergartens, schools, cemeteries, fire departments, water pipes, building plots, sports facilities, community festivals, family histories, and sometimes very personal emergencies.
It is precisely this closeness to people that makes the office so special.
In Dettingen, people don’t encounter one another only in meetings or through official correspondence.
They meet on the street, while shopping, at the weekly market, at community celebrations, birthday parties, funerals, and opening ceremonies.
They meet in conversations squeezed between appointments, and sometimes at moments when someone simply doesn’t know where else to turn.
I have always regarded this closeness as one of the great strengths of local government.
You cannot hide behind a large bureaucracy.
If you are the mayor, people approach you.
They praise you, criticize you, ask questions, sometimes put you under pressure, and sometimes simply need you.
That can be exhausting.
But it is also what lies at the heart of the job.
Responsibility Is Personal and Concrete
I studied journalism and communications, law, and politics.
Perhaps it was precisely this combination that shaped my approach: the importance of language, respect for the law, and the need to weigh competing political considerations.
As mayor, these three elements come together every day.
You have to be able to explain things.
You have to act within the law.
And you have to make political decisions.
That sounds straightforward enough.
In practice, it often isn’t.
Because responsibility in local government is not abstract.
It concerns real people, property, fees and taxes, building plans, jobs, childcare, community organizations, roads, employees, budgets, and sometimes individual lives and destinies.
Money is limited.
Staffing is limited.
The law imposes limits.
And sometimes equally legitimate interests come into conflict.
A mayor can offer advice, listen, mediate, and explain.
But sooner or later, a decision has to be made—or a decision made by others has to be defended.
And that ultimate responsibility can never be shared entirely.
Not Everything Is Within Your Control
Serving as mayor for a long time teaches you humility.
Not everything that goes well is entirely your achievement.
And not everything that goes wrong is a personal failure.
A community is a living organism.
It is shaped by economic developments, social change, legal requirements, financial circumstances, personal relationships, and chance.
You can help shape its future.
But you cannot control everything.
That is an important lesson.
It protects you from overestimating your own influence.
And it helps you deal with disappointment.
An honest assessment of your years in office cannot consist solely of successful projects.
It must also include what you have learned along the way.
Criticism Is Part of the Job. Personal Abuse Isn’t.
Anyone who seeks public office must be prepared to face criticism.
That goes without saying.
A community is not a group of loyal followers. It is a democratic space.
Citizens have every right to disagree.
Elected council members have a duty to scrutinize the administration.
Government action must be transparent and lawful.
Without criticism, there can be no healthy democracy.
But there is a line.
Criticism of decisions is necessary.
Personal humiliation, unfounded accusations, constant insinuations of wrongdoing, or attacks on someone’s private life and family are not.
Over the past few years, the tone of public debate has changed.
Not everywhere, and certainly not among everyone.
But the change is noticeable.
Social media, instant outrage, growing distrust of institutions, and an increasingly harsh public discourse do not stop at the doors of town hall.
I don’t want to complain.
Anyone who becomes mayor cannot afford to be thin-skinned.
But democracy does itself harm when it treats those who take on public responsibility as fair game for personal attacks.
The Loneliness of Office
Too little is said about the particular loneliness that can come with being a mayor.
I don’t mean loneliness in one’s private life.
I mean the unusual position occupied by a directly elected mayor.
You are part of the administration, but not simply another member of its staff.
You chair the municipal council, but you don’t belong to a political group within it.
You are the person citizens turn to, but you cannot meet every request.
You are an employer, a public representative, a crisis manager, a mediator, and the driving force behind projects—all at the same time.
These multiple roles can be deeply rewarding.
They can also be exhausting.
Citizens expect accessibility.
Employees expect leadership.
Council members expect information and involvement.
Supervisory authorities expect compliance with the law.
The public expects explanations.
And when a crisis strikes, everyone expects reassurance and security.
There is no reason to complain about this.
It comes with the office.
But we should be honest about what it means.
There is no real clocking off from being mayor.
Even when the working day is over, the responsibility often stays with you.
When the Demands Become Too Much
Over those 24 years, I saw more than just the rewarding sides of being a mayor.
There have been mayors who became seriously ill, who resigned, or who reached the limits of their endurance under constant pressure, political isolation, family strain, public hostility, or conflicts with their councils and communities.
Some cases ended tragically.
I deliberately refrain from naming names.
My purpose is not to pass judgment on individuals after the fact or expose their private lives to public scrutiny.
But it would be equally wrong to ignore what happened.
These cases remind us that the office of mayor does not merely offer opportunities to shape a community.
It can also place a tremendous burden on the person holding it.
A democratic community should not wait until someone breaks down before showing compassion.
It needs safeguards long before that point is reached.
Clear responsibilities.
Reliable arrangements for deputies to step in.
Opportunities to seek advice from colleagues.
Protection against threats.
And a political culture that understands the difference between legitimate disagreement and the personal destruction of an opponent.
Gratitude and Disillusionment
I leave office with gratitude.
And that gratitude is genuine.
I had the opportunity to make a difference, to learn, to accompany people through important moments in their lives, and to share responsibility for a community over many years.
I experienced trust, support, loyalty, and countless forms of commitment.
Those experiences will stay with me.
But gratitude does not mean being naïve.
Anyone who looks back on 24 years and tells only stories about how wonderful everything was is not doing justice to the office.
Neither is someone who can only complain.
The truth lies somewhere in between.
Being a mayor is one of the most rewarding jobs a person can hold in our democracy.
But it comes at a price.
That price is not simply the long working hours.
It is the expectation of constant availability.
The scrutiny that comes with public office.
The personal vulnerability.
The legal responsibility.
The financial constraints.
The emotional strain.
And sometimes the painful realization that, however hard you try, you cannot please everyone.
What I Would Like to Pass On
If I were to offer some advice to younger mayors, or to anyone considering running for the office, it would be this:
Never lose your enjoyment of working with people.
Without that, you won’t get far.
Take care of your administration.
Good employees are not merely part of a bureaucratic machine. They are the backbone of effective local government.
Respect your municipal council.
It is not an obstacle to be overcome, but a democratic partner.
Explain your decisions.
That won’t necessarily make them popular, but it will make them easier to understand.
Seek advice before you reach your limits.
Strength does not mean enduring everything on your own.
It also means recognizing when the burden is becoming too great and being willing to accept help.
And above all:
Keep things in perspective.
Not every criticism is an act of hostility.
Not every conflict is a drama.
Not every defeat is a failure.
But neither must every unreasonable demand be endured in silence.
Knowing When to Step Aside
One of the lessons of public office is learning when to hold back.
That applies while you are still in office, but it becomes particularly important during a transition.
Especially toward the end of my term, I felt—and still feel—that my successor, Felix Schiffner, deserves the freedom to find his own way.
Anyone who takes over an office must have the opportunity to make it their own.
A predecessor should not continue governing from the sidelines, passing judgment or setting expectations before the new officeholder has had the chance to establish his own approach.
That, too, is part of leaving office properly.
Learning to let go without turning your back.
Sharing experience without telling others what to do.
Looking back with gratitude without standing in the way of your successor’s future.
This essay is a beginning.
In future articles, I want to explore some of these experiences in greater depth: the closeness to citizens and life in the public eye, the relationship between municipal councils and administrations, expectations and limits, personal pressures, and the question of what local democracy needs today.
Next in the series (in German): “Nähe als Geschenk und Zumutung” (“Closeness: Both a Gift and a Burden”)
Series overview: “The Best Job – and Its Price”
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