For the past quarter-century, Werner Küppers has been the driver of the Omnibus für Direkte Demokratie in Deutschland [Omnibus for Direct Democracy in Germany]. Enno Schmidt spoke with him about his experiences with people on the street, about responsibility, power, and social practices that grow out of real democratic processes.
For 25 years, Werner Küppers has been driving a Berlin double-decker bus across Germany. A shiny golden brass strip runs around the white bus above an inscription in large green letters: “OMNIBUS FOR DIRECT DEMOCRACY IN GERMANY.” Küppers fell instantly and hopelessly in love with this white beauty and its golden belt in the fall of 2000, during the “Mehr Demokratie in Thüringen” [more democracy in Thuringia] referendum—the first referendum in one of the then-new federal states of Germany. 363,123 citizens demanded that the thresholds for statewide referendums be lowered. Claudine Nierth, from the association Mehr Demokratie, had gotten the second bus of this kind on the road. The first (blue) Omnibus for Direct Democracy was created through the initiative of Brigitte Krenkers. She traveled in it for seven years, setting off in 1987 next to the first and last trees of Joseph Beuys’ art project, the “7000 Eichen” [Oaks] tree-planting initiative at Documenta 8 in Kassel. After the campaign in Thuringia Küppers took up the wheel of the second bus—the “White Whale.” He not only drives but also lives in the bus and visits about 100 cities a year.
In keeping with the literal meaning of “omnibus,” which is Latin for “for all, with all, by all,” Küppers has spoken with countless people about direct democracy over the last 25 years of his travels. One could say that his work with the Omnibus is also in the spirit of Beuys’ “expanded concept of art” as a practical contribution to the work on “social sculpture.”1 Since 1949, Article 20, Paragraph 2 of the German Basic Law has stated that we exercise our state authority through elections and referendums, but only elections are regulated by law. The Omnibus carries a legislative proposal to regulate referendums with more than a million signatures in support of its implementation. At its core, the aim is to ensure that every person has the opportunity to participate in shaping the community in a legally binding and peaceful manner.
Werner Küppers: If we want to talk about democracy at all, then we have to recognize that we are all responsible for all. By handing over our vote as a blank check to political parties, we outsource our responsibility. That outsourcing can only go awry. A prerequisite for emancipation is a sense of personal responsibility, but one where responsibility isn’t viewed negatively as a kind of burden—as something we dread and want to avoid whenever possible. But that is exactly what we’re doing when we cast our vote: we’re outsourcing our responsibility. Yet responsibility is wonderful! Responsibility means we face reality. We face the present and engage openly with it. Not with concepts, but with the trust that life itself will show us the way.
Enno Schmidt: Through a process of dialogue . . .
Küppers: Yes. And dialogue isn’t about Person A talking while Person B can hardly wait for the other to stop talking so they can present their counterarguments. Dialogue means being able to first listen actively, not accepting any hierarchy, and not following any gurus or authorities in any way—only following oneself.
Is that the actual beginning of democracy? The difference between parliamentary and direct democracy is that the latter includes every human being.
Every human being. How do we manage our affairs peacefully and collectively? When Quakers face a social problem, they sit together in silence until the solution emerges. There you have those qualities of patience and fundamental trust in the social process, not a speculative attitude of “The people have no idea; they aren’t capable of doing this.” Or: “I’m not smart enough.” In any case, there is no such thing as a “state” of democracy; rather, it’s a process that we, as a collective, are responsible for. It’s not like there are any experts on democracy, anyway.
And what about you? Are you an expert on democracy?
I’ve changed a lot over the years. I don’t argue anymore, and I don’t get into verbal debates. For every person who comes to me, I have to create a complete blank and not judge or condemn anyone—not even based on anything this person or that person might say. I haven’t consumed any media for years, and I’m only exposed to the news indirectly through the people I talk to. For example, at one moment suddenly everyone’s in a frenzy because, supposedly, some guy—probably with an immigrant background—stabbed somebody. That was on the news. To me, it comes across like they’re just grumbling. First of all, they can’t even verify if it actually happened. And second, there’s nothing they can do to change it. So, what exactly is interesting about that? I just let those things go by. I look at the person and ask myself, “What do we have in common? We have, I’d say, 95 percent shared interests. “Divide and conquer” is the trick used to block that. In that sense, it’s a labor of patience just to begin to introduce a calm thought. For someone to actually think—and think: “Aha!” Sometimes it can take a whole day for a person to form just one new thought.
What is it that we have in common?
That we actively care for the area, for the city or the neighborhood where we live, and want to solve its problems step by step—no matter how small they may be—and that we want to do so peacefully. We have no reason to be proud of anything we do if we are not able to get along peaceably with one another.
So, your light shines on the free human being who works with others to get things done?
I can’t approach people on the street with overly abstract concepts and ideas, but I can connect with them on a heart level. This applies to all kinds of people. They tell me stories from their lives that I can draw on for weeks to come.
You have a real interest in people?
That’s where it all starts. I love human beings and I’m interested in them. I don’t judge them. I don’t pigeonhole them. I don’t say, “I won’t talk to him or her.” Of course, there are tense situations sometimes, but that generally doesn’t change my position.
What do you do when you hear arguments like, “Referendums are dominated by demagogues.” Or: “Then the death penalty will be reinstated.”
When I used to argue and debate, those things always came up. Now they don’t come up at all. I have a different aura about me.
In the past, people used to encounter someone who advocated for direct democracy. Who do they encounter now?
Now they’re encountering someone who actually embodies it. Someone who doesn’t even have to explain why or what the specific issue is, but who stands as the embodiment of the principle itself. Stories start popping up, the ones from yesterday’s news, about how terrible the AfD [Alternative für Deutschland] or Putin is. They explode into the conversation like hand grenades. You have to be really skilled to keep it together, to make sure it doesn’t completely derail. When topics like that come up, I try to explain that democracy isn’t a quantitative issue, where “the majority beats the minority”—which, after all, is just a metaphor for war—and that I can’t imagine casting my vote for a party that then just ends up doing whatever it wants anyway. To me, everyone who does that is the same. I see no qualitative difference between a Green Party voter and an AfD voter.
So, the question isn’t about whether to vote for the Greens or the AfD?
And not about being to the right or to the left.
Is it part of your nature to break down such categories and get down to specifics?
Yes. And also to take seriously Joseph Beuys’ oft-quoted phrase: “Every person is an artist”—and to put it into practice.
In a human encounter, something new is created that can’t be predicted. And it doesn’t serve any predetermined purpose. Except, you are also collecting signatures to introduce popular votes at federal level.
There are two levels, one is quantitative. In every conversation, I do also ask about money. That brings every conversation to the level where it absolutely belongs. The more intelligent conversation partners end up bringing this question up on their own: “But how are you even doing this? A bus like that must cost a lot of money.” Or they initially assume that I’ve been put there by someone who’s paying for everything, as if I’m a “propagandizer” in the pedestrian areas, and then, in the evening, I go home or to a hotel. The moment they realize that I live in the bus and how long I’ve been doing this, they don’t ask me any more questions like that. There are the most hardened types who say, “Everything’s going down the drain here. I’m getting out of here. I’ve got enough money, anyway.” But they still tell me I absolutely have to keep going.
Why?
Because they can tell I’m hitting a nerve. And because they can tell I’m not just somebody babbling on. I don’t try to persuade them; I don’t try to talk them round.
So they’re not saying, “Keep going! Then we’ll have direct democracy, and everything will get better.” But they’re saying, “Keep doing this. Not because it’s going to change the whole world on a grand scale, but because what you’re doing already is a change.” It’s a fundamental human transformation. You once said that one must discover what the other person’s question is. So, the process is that the other person gets to ask their question?
That’s why there’s a golden question mark on the front of the bus.
I’ve seen for myself that when people hear the term “referendum,” a vote by the people, they quickly start sharing their life experiences and problems, pouring their heart out, because they feel they are personally addressed by this topic.
There is such a tendency—because loneliness and depression are the most terrible and widespread ailments. In such situations, I’ve gotten better and better at steering the conversation toward our actual work and, in the best sense of the word, being bold—that is, not feeling ashamed to say, “Hey, Omnibus, that means for all, with all, by all. And without you, that isn’t going to work! So please take this to heart.” Otherwise, it rarely happens that people actually feel addressed. This all brings it to the point where they understand, “Hey! He really means me!” With my own plans about what I want to say and preconceived ideas about other people, I’m just getting in the way. What it actually comes down to is not starting from myself at all, but rather starting from the other and approaching everything I learn about them with genuine interest. Only then do we step onto common ground.
You once said, “An omnibus is like an apparition—and it’s most beautiful when you least expect it. All of a sudden—there it is.”
Yeah, like it’s from another planet. And I’d say that wherever the bus goes, the place becomes different. But the bus doesn’t just sit there—it’s really installed in the place because it also relates to its surroundings. I get it into place inch by inch, so everyone’s wondering, “What is he doing?” Or they say, “Why don’t you just park it at an angle like this?” And I say, “No, no, an angle just won’t do.”
It’s an installation in architectural, social, and temporal space. First, the invisible comes: its arrival, anticipation, a space of foreboding. Then it’s there: wonder, a space of encounter, a space for thought. Then, it’s gone, but something’s left behind, something, again, invisible. A lingering echo of the figure, the experience, the spirit that was there. And that’s nourishing. The work is not some big bell, “Direct democracy is great—someday!” But rather, “It’s already happening now.” The now is the reactor of this field of democracy. That is its flash point.
Yes, I think “flash point” is a good way to put it. Then you get down to the individual person. What is a human being? We haven’t really answered that question yet. True democracy means taking responsibility, creative curiosity, and an interest in everything—especially an interest in other people—as well as a delight in mysteries and a sense of awe for creation.
From where do you derive your work? What’s its source? It doesn’t seem to be so much a political or even moral imperative—but rather, a life-giving source.
Yes, giving life, vitality—and trust. A sense of life implies that the individual feels addressed and included as a human being. My image of society is like “Bolo’Bolo.” [Bolo’Bolo is a book by Swiss author P. M., which outlines a plan for utopia.—Note by Schmidt.] It’s a model of cells, communities, and regions distributed across the planet like honeycombs, interconnected, and operating under a system of delegation all the way up to the global level. At the level one stage up nothing can be decided about the level below; instead, everyone must first reach agreement at their own level. In my view, the most important thing is to discuss factual issues at a certain level to prevent everyone being forced into an ideological straitjacket. How are we going to learn how to do this, except through practice? There is, of course, the so-called principle of subsidiarity. It says that solutions must be found and financial resources provided where the problems exist. But the federalism in Germany is exactly the opposite. Here, the federal level dominates everything; only crumbs trickle down to the municipalities. I travel from place to place and always have an unbiased view of each location from the outside. There actually is already a great deal of direct democracy. 9,000 citizen initiatives in cities and municipalities means—since you have to collect an average of 3,000 signatures per citizen initiative—that millions of people have already had practical experience with what it feels like to engage with their fellow citizens on real issues. An incredible amount is already happening at the local level. That’s where we also have the greatest democratic leeway, even without direct democracy. But you can’t get to the really important issues.
That would require nationwide referendums. Your honeycomb model is the opposite of a one-world government, in which the world’s population is reduced to nothing more than a guided, controlled, and diminished mass. Your goal is to revitalize politics and the community through self-governance based on equal rights. You also told me about your exploration of your microbiome—your fellow living beings—and how you haven’t been sick for the past 25 years. You said you’d come to realize that health is something subjective, that your health is different from my health. But I also remember the time before you joined the Omnibus. Back then, your life had hit a dead end.
I’d reached the point where I was completely bored, found everything around me awful, and couldn’t see a way forward. I was so at the end of my rope that I actually sent out a cry for help to Michael von der Lohe: “Can you come pick me up here?” That was a real breaking point. But I also had to jump ship. On the one hand, there was a cry for help; on the other, I had to leave everything behind. Now, I no longer have a home in one fixed place. I’m always in the bus, on the road. That is simply existential. If you want to do work like this, you have to put your life on the line. When I say “put your life on the line,” I really mean life—not just survival. Above all, it’s about opening all your senses and being fully present. And then you can find beauty and connection everywhere.
Your work constantly revolves around moments of intense crises, what’s called the zero point or a threshold, the passage through nothingness. You put your life on the line in such a way that, as you said, you lay yourself bare before everyone, set aside all your own certainties in regard to judgments and arguments, and stand present as a human being, starting out from the side of the other person and letting them arrive at their own question. So, you never know what comes next.
When I ask myself who my customers are now—if I have any—they are, as they used to say, the “little people.” They are the ones who keep things running here. They run small enterprises; they’re workmen, nurses, farmers, or something like that. These are honest folk who are doing their best to raise their children properly and so forth. And an incredible number of them are appalled by Berlin politics. The potential for change lies in everyday life. I see potential points of connection everywhere, such as community-supported agriculture, self-managed schools, and neighborhoods where people take matters into their own hands. For example, I once stood in front of a huge prefab building in Berlin. It’s like a stacked village, but the people there don’t greet each other and don’t know one another. If they were to ask themselves, “Do we have a problem here, and if so, what is it? What can we do about it? Who wants to do this?”—then, something would start. If we have a shared practice, then we’re no longer manipulable. When something like that emerges you can build on the practical aspects to develop all sorts of things—and then opportunities arise. Everyday life is my playground. Everyday life is the present, the only time when anything practical can actually happen. The insight I’ve discovered from my work is that everyday life is truly interesting, everywhere. It all depends on how sharp your perception and observation are. I’m also interested in the history of places where I am with the bus, the urban planning, and architecture, and I try to take in as much as possible and explain to myself why people in this city are the way they are.
There’s also a film starring you in which you’re riding the bus down tree-lined avenues, describing the trees, and feeling completely at one with nature. Are you always in tune with what’s actually there?
Yes. And I never know what’s going to happen next!
And that doesn’t worry you either.
No. On the contrary, improvisation is the freest form.
Always in the present. When you’re focused on the here and now, you don’t feel the need to know what’s coming next, because you’re focused on the here and now, and isn’t that all that matters?
Yes, exactly. And that calls for endless patience and humility. The whole thing is like a never-ending learning process.
What’s it like when the bus stops somewhere?
We’ll be stationed in a pedestrian area or a market square for two or three days. The bus is open from 9:30 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. every day. In front of the middle of the word “Volksabstimmung” [Referendum] on the bus, we set up a table with four chairs in a semicircle along with a standing table in front of the rear axle. This setup has evolved organically—like a total work of art. If something is postponed, the negative effects are felt immediately. Two of us are supposed to stand in front of the bus, “proactively ready to talk,” and be open to everyone and every question.
You don’t run the Omnibus on your own; you have a constantly changing group of young people with you, whom you call your “band.” What’s the story with that?
Since the heart of our work is about developing one’s voice, I tend to use musical metaphors. Without my “bands,” I would have been dead long ago—they are my guardian angels. We live together in cramped quarters with no privacy, in constantly changing lineups, with an average age between 16 and 25. We have to find our own harmony each time—what you might call a “groove” in English. In order for our work with the audience to be successful, the band has to find its own groove first. And because one of my guiding thoughts is, “Always stay nice and relaxed,” I prefer syncopated, laid-back “music” for the band’s groove that improvises our shared and ever-changing daily life in a friendly and calm way. Social practice. I wouldn’t have been able to unfold at all without my “bands.” We empower one another through lively exchanges for the conversations that form the core of our work. The most beautiful analog symbioses emerge, ones that are far greater than the sum of their parts. I never would have dared to dream of such a thing.
The interview with Werner Küppers took place in June 2025 in Witten, Germany, as part of an assignment for Das Goetheanum. In August 2025 there was another young bus driver, the first time in 25 years: Elias Franz, 25 years old. He had been riding along on the bus from time to time for the past three years. Werner Küppers continues to be part of the routes. He has moved his seat from the driver’s seat to the upper level of the double-decker bus. On the upper level, he sits right at the front, gazing through the windshield at the landscape and reflecting on the experiences he had at his last stop, and writes in his blog.
More Homepage of the Bus for Direct Democracy | Werner Küppers blog | Video of the handover to Elias Franz
Translation Joshua Kelberman
Title image The “Omnibus for Direct Democracy” in front of the German Reichstag building. Photo: Michael von der Lohe.
Footnotes
- Beuys created the term “social sculpture” to express art’s potential to transform society. As a work of art, a social sculpture includes human activity that strives to structure and shape society or the environment. A social sculptor creates structures in society using language, thoughts, actions, and objects. —Eds. (Source: Wikipedia)
