Every Friday night, the far right takes over downtown Chemnitz. It started in August, when a German man was stabbed to death here. The alleged killers were two refugees from Iraq and Syria. Since then protesters have returned every week. We came here to understand why there’s so much anger, and to see how the rise of the far right is disrupting the liberal values that have defined Germany for decades. Chemnitz is a city of about 250,000 people. Foreigners make up only 8 percent of the population. And yet it’s here that the far right is turning a simmering anger into real violence. Shortly after we arrived, we learned of an attack on a Persian restaurant. That’s a swastika in red spray paint. We met the owner, Masoud Hashemi, recovering in a local hospital. Masoud moved to Germany five years ago, before the wave of migrants. In 2015, Chancellor Angela Merkel welcomed in hundreds of thousands from war-torn countries. The world hailed Germany as a leading force for good. But at home the decision became a rallying point for the far right. It divided the country, and has drained Merkel of her power. She announced recently that she will not seek re-election. Meanwhile, a far-right party is the main voice of opposition in Parliament. Suddenly, Germany’s role as the defender of a liberal, tolerant Europe is in question. Migrant arrivals have dropped off dramatically since 2015. But some people still struggle with the memory of that time. Katrin Ebner-Steiner is from Deggendorf, a wealthy town near the Austrian border. We met her there while she was campaigning for a seat in the Bavarian State Parliament. Ebner-Steiner’s bid was built on that growing sense of unease towards foreigners. She represents the Alternative for Germany, a far-right party also known here as the AfD. The AfD has only been around for five years. But it’s already achieved stunning success with a central message: Foreigners don’t belong here and Islam is alien to Germany. For Ebner-Steiner, the message is working. She won her race a few days after our interview. That’s Björn Höcke, an AfD politician. He’s talking about the Holocaust memorial in Berlin. Breaking taboos like that keeps the AfD in the spotlight. We talked to Franziska Schreiber a former member of the AfD. After four years of backing the party’s inflammatory speech, she left. “It felt like a lot of politicians in the AfD would just say provocative things to get that level of support.” So are extremists now feeling emboldened? We decided to ask them. “I guess I’m curious, who — who designs the T-shirts?” “First, the shirts are in my brain.” “So you’re writing most of these phrases, yes?” “Yeah.” “O.K.“ Tommy Frenk owns a gift shop and inn called the Golden Lion. Tommy insists anyone is welcome here. But he created this inn for a minority of like-minded people: people who dismiss mainstream politics. But they tell us that the AfD’s success has energized them. The AfD is now Germany’s third-largest party. But many are coming forward to confront the far right. The divisions are visible in the streets. And the next few months could be crucial in determining how this struggle plays out, whether the far-right vision will stay at the edge of German society or pull the center along with it.