Certain words are so overused that they lose all meaning. No matter what I write about, somebody, somewhere writes to call me a socialist, a Nazi, a fascist, or a secular humanist. Without exception, the writers are incapable of defining the terms they bandy about.
If we call everybody a Nazi, this means that we don’t react when we learn there are REAL sneaky little Nazis—over two million of them—rapidly taking over Germany, spreading across borders and spilling into every bordering country. Eighty years after the end of World War II, these menaces have invaded both Russia and France.
To properly inform you about this new menace, I’ll start at the beginning.
Hermann Göring, the flamboyant Nazi leader, fancied himself a forest expert with a flair for the dramatic. Appointed Reich Master of the Hunt in 1933 and Master of the German Forests in 1934, he took these titles to heart, strutting through woodlands like a medieval lord. His passion for hunting fueled his self-image as a guardian of nature, and he instituted forestry law designed to create forests that would resemble the private hunting preserves of monarchs instead of natural forests.
Göring’s beloved Schorfheide Forest, where he set aside 100,000 acres as a state park, became his personal playground. There, he built Carinhall, a lavish hunting lodge, in which he hosted grand feasts amid the trees, cementing his forest-king persona. His aristocratic upbringing and love for pomp—think five daily uniform changes—fed his belief that he was destined to rule over nature itself. While his expertise was more theatrical than technical, Göring’s charisma and knack for self-promotion made him genuinely popular, convincing even himself that he was a woodland sage. In his mind, the forest wasn’t just trees—it was a stage on which his larger-than-life ego could shine.
This dream of royal hunting preserves led to Göring’s authorizing the release of raccoons in Germany, in Hesse. Yes, that’s right: Göring released turncoat American trash pandas into the wild in Germany, in 1934.
Ostensibly, this was to “improve the fauna” of the region. Translated from bureaucratic nonsense, Göring wanted something else to hunt. To be fair, the fur from raccoons was also in high demand for coats. Fur-farmers (Yes, that is the correct term for someone who raises raccoons, minks, or chinchillas for their fur) were already raising raccoons in Germany, so Göring authorized the release of two females, both pregnant, into the forests of Hesse. The idea was that it would be easier on the baby raccoons if they were born in the wild.
As you can imagine, Göring didn’t commission an environmental impact study before setting the little garbage gremlins loose…Not that the idea of turning critters loose on the countryside is all that strange: I live in a state where ibex, oryx, and Barbary sheep have all been released and are happily reproducing out in the desert somewhere. (And it would crack me up personally to see Red Kangaroo added to that list).
Since the only natural predators left in Germany at that time had shiny bumpers under the Mercedes Benz logo, these bin burglars enthusiastically multiplied. This one release was more than enough to set off a population explosion, but in 1945, when an Allied bombing raid struck a fur-farming facility at Wolfshagen, near Strausberg, just east of Berlin, at least 25 more raccoons escaped from stalag.
Today, biologists have taken genetic samples and the ringtails in the northern and western areas of Germany are descended from the 1934 release, while the bandits to the south and east are descended from the later escapees. Together, the two populations number between 1 and 2 million little Nazi bin burglars.
Over decades, these two separate populations have extended and met, and masked dumpster divers are now firmly established across much of Central Europe. They have been recorded in France, the Low Countries, Denmark, Poland, the Czech Republic, and beyond, as spillovers from the thriving German population.
There are now areas of Europe that have as many raccoons per square mile as there are in North America.
Germany views the little scramble squirrels as an invasive species that needs to be eradicated. With no natural predators and with a serious knack for mischief, these sneaky garbage snackers have thrived as they crash garden ponds, loot birds’ nests, and ransack attics like it’s their day job. Environmentalists worry they’re a disaster in a fuzzy disguise—devouring eggs, threatening endangered amphibians, and competing with native wildlife for snacks and shelter.
Meanwhile, the locals are torn: Some want to cull them, while others post raccoon selfies online. One pawed prowler in Berlin reportedly starred in a viral TikTok before stealing someone's currywurst.
Despite their cartoonish charm, these masked menaces are on the EU’s naughty list of invasive species. Think of them as cute ecological chaos with opposable thumbs. And while hunters now bag over 200,000 a year, since that number is well below the reproductive rate, the raccoons just keep coming. After all, in Europe’s lush new buffet of backyards, being a raccoon is a five-star experience.
Europe’s only hope of stopping this new masked menace is to get NATO involved.