In a development that has sent shivers down the spines of polyester-suited populists everywhere, Budapest has just hosted its first Pride parade since the ignominious departure of Viktor Orban, the man who made ‘illiberal democracy’ sound like a flavour of ice cream you’d find in a particularly dystopian gelateria. The streets, once festooned with the grim visages of nationalist propaganda, now groaned under the weight of glitter, sequins, and the kind of exuberant defiance that only a people freshly liberated from the tyranny of ‘traditional values’ can muster.
Let us not mince words. The Orban era was a decade-long festival of bigotry dressed up in the language of ‘Christianity’ and ‘national sovereignty,’ a period during which Hungary became the test kitchen for every reactionary policy that would later blight Poland, Turkey, and the fever dreams of white supremacists in Virginia. The man himself, a sort of human weasel with a PhD in grievance, ruled with a combination of media manipulation, constitutional chicanery, and a wardrobe that suggested a fetish for cheap suits and even cheaper ideas.
But now he is gone. Poof. Like a bad smell dispelled by a particularly aggressive air freshener. And what takes his place? A Pride parade, obviously. Thousands marched, danced, and generally refused to apologise for existing, a act of rebellion so simple and yet so profound that it makes the entire canon of political theory look like a footnote.
The parade itself was a glorious riot of colour and noise, a direct rebuke to the grey, authoritarian blandness that Orban championed. There were drag queens on floats, activists waving banners that read ‘Love is Love is Boring Now, Let’s Try Justice,’ and a surprising number of dogs wearing rainbow bandanas, which, let’s face it, is the real measure of a society’s progress. The police, presumably under new orders not to treat minorities as enemy combatants, stood by looking visibly confused, as if they had been told to guard a cupcake factory and were still trying to reconcile this with their training.
Politicians, ever eager to claim credit for a victory they did nothing to achieve, queued up to issue statements. The new Prime Minister, a man whose name I cannot be bothered to look up, declared that ‘Hungary is now a haven for all.’ This from a country that, only months ago, was telling LGBTQ+ people to keep their ‘propaganda’ to themselves. The cynicism is breathtaking, but then, that’s politics: the art of pretending you were on the right side all along, even if you were actively legislating against joy.
But let’s not be churlish. This is a good day. The rainbow flag, that most ubiquitous symbol of hope and also of overpriced merchandise, flew over Budapest’s parliament building. The sight of it fluttering against the baroque facade was like a defiant middle finger to every homophobe who thought they had won. And in the grand scheme of things, that’s what matters. Not the politicians, not the journalists, but the people who, despite everything, decided to show up and be seen.
Will this last? Impossible to say. History suggests that progress is a tide that can recede as easily as it advances. But for now, Budapest is fizzing with the kind of electric hope that only comes from a collective liberation. The gin, I’m told, tastes sweeter. And the air, for once, smells less of tear gas and more of possibility.
So here’s to Budapest, to Pride, and to the audacity of being yourself in a world that would rather you hide. Here’s to the end of an era and the beginning of a very, very messy one. The champagne towers may be rickety, but by God, they are ours.
