ICE in USA vs Krampus in Germany: Two Very Different Scare Tactics

While America debates immigration raids, a Town in the Federal State of Bavaria in Germany literally imported demons to chase families through Christmas markets. Sounds crazy? Wait until you hear the logic behind it. Claudia Koestler, co-host of the podcast ‪@OverHereOverThere‬ witnessed the Krampuslauf firsthand and discovered something about human nature that explains both German Christmas demons AND American ICE raids. This isn't just about folklore - it's about how societies choose their monsters. You won't look at either country the same way again.

See more of our episodes here, and please don't forget to like, subscribe, share and comment. We look forward to hearing from you!

Chapters

• 0:00 Intro - Protest Sounds, Prelude and Music
• 1:00 The Duality of Fear: Chosen vs. Imposed
• 6:02 Cultural Expressions of Fear: The Krampuslauf
• 12:03 The Reality of Fear: ICE Raids and Their Impact
• 14:00 Outro - music, credits and motion graphic

Transcript

Masked figures move through the streets in coordinated groups. Families with children scatter in terror. People are grabbed, kids pursued, women struck with switches, boys dragged away. The sound of chains fill the air as these uniformed enforcers spread fear.

Children cry. Parents try to shield them. Some people run. Others stand frozen, unsure whether they're safe or if they'll be next.

You're probably thinking I'm talking about ICE raids in American communities right now. The Immigration and Customs Enforcement sweeps that are tearing families apart, creating climate of fear in neighborhoods across the United States.

But I'm not.

I'm talking about the Krampuslauf in Bad Tölz, a town in the Federal State of Bavaria in Germany – a Christmas tradition where people dress as demons and terrorize crowds for fun.

Welcome to "Over Here, Over There“, your podcast across borders. I'm Claudia Koestler, and today I’m exploring two very different kinds of organized fear – the kind we choose to experience, and the kind that's forced upon us.

So let me take you along of what I just described. It's December in Bad Tölz, a picture-perfect Bavarian town that looks like it was designed by someone who really, really loved Christmas movies. Cobblestones, warm light spilling from market stalls and impressive historic houses, the smell of roasted almonds, Bratwurst and mulled wine in the air.

And then, on a Saturday when the sun had set and the fog crept in, hell literally broke loose.

Dozens of figures in very scary, hand-carved wooden masks, massive horns and animal furs came charging through the Christmas market in the historic Market Street. These weren't Halloween costumes – we're talking about artistic masterpieces that can weigh up to 40 pounds each, carved by craftsmen and handed down families for generations.

The Krampuses carry chains that they rattle and drag across the cobblestones. They have cowbells – not the cute little decorative ones, but massive Alpine bells that create a sound like thunder. And yes, they carry birch switches, and yes, they use them.

Children scream – some in delight, some in genuine terror. Parents laugh nervously while pulling their kids closer. Teenagers dare each other to get close to the demons. The whole thing is chaos, noise, primal fear, and somehow... joy?

This is the Krampuslauf – the Krampus run – and it represents something fascinating about human nature: the need to experience fear in a controlled environment.

But here's what makes Bad Tölz's version particularly interesting: this isn't actually their tradition. The Krampus belongs to Austria, to South Tyrol, to the heart of the Alpine regions. Bad Tölz is a very beautiful city and the gateway to the Alps, but is just far enough north that historically, they only had one Krampus accompanying Saint Niclas or Santa Claus in some sort of good cop, bad cop routine when visiting children at home, but they never had this custom of a run of many Krampusses.

So in 2017, they imported it. They literally decided, "You know what our Christmas market needs? Demons."

To understand why anyone would voluntarily import a tradition involving masked figures terrorizing crowds, you need to understand what Krampus represents in Alpine culture.

Krampus is the shadow of Christmas – the dark twin of Saint Nicholas. While Saint Nick rewards good children, Krampus punishes the bad ones. But this isn't just about naughty-or-nice lists. Krampus represents something deeper: the acknowledgment that darkness exists, that winter is harsh, that not everything in life is warm and cozy.

In psychological terms, Krampus might serve as "benevolent scariness" – controlled exposure to fear that actually helps people, especially children, process anxiety and build resilience. Think about a cultural vaccination against real terror.

The masks themselves are works of art. Carved from wood, painted with intricate details, fitted with teeth and hair. A single mask can take months to create and cost thousands of Euros. The costumes include hand-stitched leather, real sheepskins, and those massive cowbells that are tuned to create specific harmonics.

The people inside these costumes – they're athletes. Running in 40-pound gear, maintaining character for hours, creating genuine theatrical experiences.

And in a way, it is religious. The Krampus tradition predates Christianity – it's rooted in ancient winter solstice rituals, in humanity's oldest attempts to make sense of darkness and cold and the fear that comes with both.

But now let's talk about the other kind of organized fear – the kind that's happening right now in American communities.

ICE raids don't happen on scheduled Saturday evenings with advance publicity and security guards. They happen at dawn, without warning, in neighborhoods where families have built lives for decades.

The fear isn't theatrical – it's existential. Children don't scream in delighted terror and then go home to hot chocolate. They go to school wondering if their parents will be there when they get back.

The uniforms aren't hand-crafted artistic expressions – they're government-issued symbols of state power. The masks aren't carved wood and animal hair – they're the bureaucratic anonymity that allows people to separate families while telling themselves they're just doing their jobs.

And unlike the Krampuslauf, which lasts for one evening and then everyone goes back to normal life, ICE enforcement creates a permanent state of fear in targeted communities. The terror doesn't end when the performance is over because the performance never ends.

This is the difference between chosen fear and imposed fear, between cultural expression and state violence, between theater and trauma, terrorism or tourism.

But here's where the comparison gets more complex and more disturbing.

Both traditions – Krampus runs and immigration enforcement – are rooted in the same human impulse: the need to identify and punish the "other," the outsider, the one who doesn't belong.

In traditional Krampus folklore, the demon doesn't just punish bad children randomly. He targets specific types of badness – disobedience, disrespect for authority, failure to conform to community standards. Krampus is, in essence, a tool of social control disguised as folklore.

Similarly, ICE enforcement isn't really about public safety or national security – it's about maintaining social hierarchies, about defining who belongs and who doesn't, about using fear to control not just immigrant communities but anyone who might sympathize with them.

The difference is that Krampus is honest about what he is. He's literally a demon. He doesn't pretend to be protecting anyone or making anything great again. He's the shadow, the dark impulse, acknowledged and contained within ritual.

ICE enforcement, on the other hand, wraps itself in the flag, claims to be protecting American families while destroying other American families, presents cruelty as patriotism.

Now, I need to be clear about something: the Krampuslauf isn't harmless fun. In 2019, Bad Tölz had its own reckoning when a woman was actually injured by a Krampus who struck her with a birch switch too hard.

Suddenly, this imported tradition that was supposed to bring excitement and tourism became a liability. City council members questioned whether they should continue the event at all.

The response was swift and decisive: new safety protocols, registered participants, security escorts, clear rules about physical contact. The community chose to preserve the - newly implemented - tradition while trying to eliminate the actual harm.

Contrast this with American immigration policy. When children started suffering in ICE custody, when families were separated at the border, when communities reported increased rates of depression and PTSD, the response wasn't to implement safety protocols – it was to double down, to make the cruelty more efficient.

What's most disturbing about the happenings on both sides of the Atlantic, is how they normalize violence through collective participation.

In Bad Tölz, thousands of people gather to watch demons terrorize crowds. They bring their children. They take photos. They cheer when someone gets chased or grabbed. The community consensus makes the violence acceptable, even entertaining.

In America, millions of people support immigration policies that they know cause suffering. They vote for politicians who promise to be tougher on immigrants. They share memes about deportation. They turn family separation into political entertainment.

The difference is that Krampus participants know they're engaging with something dark and potentially dangerous. There's an honesty to the transaction – you come to see demons, you might encounter something genuinely frightening.

American immigration policy, by contrast, is sanitized, bureaucratized, hidden behind euphemisms like "enforcement" and "border security." The violence is real, but it's made invisible, abstract, easy to ignore.

So what can we learn from comparing these two traditions of organized fear?

First, that humans have always created rituals around violence and exclusion. The impulse to identify outsiders and punish them isn't new – it's ancient, probably evolutionary, definitely dangerous.

But the way we handle these impulses matters enormously. Do we acknowledge them, contain them, make them safe? Or do we let them run wild, justify them, make them policy?

Consent matters. The people who attend the Krampuslauf choose to be there. They know what they're signing up for. The children in immigrant communities didn't choose to live in fear of government agents.

There's a reason why cultures around the world have traditions involving masked figures, controlled chaos, ritualized fear. These traditions serve a psychological and social function – they let us experience and process our darkest impulses in a contained environment.

The Krampus might be the demon we need – a way to acknowledge that darkness exists, that not everything is safe and comfortable, that sometimes we need to confront our fears to overcome them.

But ICE enforcement is a demon we've created – a way to channel our darkest impulses not into ritual but into reality, not into theater but into policy, not into temporary fear but into permanent trauma.

One tradition helps communities process anxiety and build resilience. The other creates anxiety and destroys resilience.

In Bad Tölz, families can plan their trip to the Christmas market, knowing they might encounter demons but also knowing they'll be safe. In American communities, families are making different kinds of plans – emergency contacts, legal documents, conversations with children about what to do if the authorities come.

The question isn't whether we'll have monsters in our society – we will. The question is whether we'll choose our monsters or let our monsters choose us.

The Krampuslauf represents chosen monstrosity – controlled, contained, ultimately harmless, maybe apart from a bruise. ICE enforcement represents unchosen monstrosity – uncontrolled, expanding, ultimately destructive.

Both involve masked figures spreading fear through communities. Both claim to serve a social purpose. Both have the potential to cause real harm. But only one of them can be controlled by everyone involved. Maybe that's the most important difference of all: the ability to choose when the horror ends.

We all have demons. The question is: what do we do with them?

That's all for this episode of "Over Here, Over There.“ Please let us know what you think by commenting and support us by telling everyone about this podcast. Of course we’d appreciate it if you give us a like and subscribe. Independent media needs you more than ever. And do you know that you find tons of cool infos and merch at our website at overhereoverthere.org? Hear you on the next episode!