Ah, Budapest. City of thermal baths, ruin pubs, and now, a government that views rainbows as something that should only appear after a particularly heavy shower, preferably under lock and key. Yes, Hungary’s Viktor Orbán, the man who has turned ‘illiberal democracy’ into a euphemism for ‘my way and the highway,’ recently declared Pride marches verboten. And the immediate result? A glorious, glitter-soaked rebellion that could make Milton’s rebel angels look like shy schoolboys.
Let’s set the scene: The Sunday morning sky over Budapest was a particularly magnificent shade of defiant blue. Down on the cobbles, a tide of humanity, a veritable rainbow tsunami, surged through the capital. They were met with a police presence that looked less like defenders of public order and more like a military parade that had wandered into the wrong neighbourhood. But here is the kicker, the punchline that could make a cynic weep gin-soaked tears of joy: British diplomats were spotted on the sidelines, clapping like they had just witnessed a particularly good game of cricket.
‘A victory for European values,’ they called it. You can almost hear the collective sigh of relief from Whitehall clutching its pearls. Never mind that our own backyard is a litter tray of political squabbles, here was a chance to wave the flag for tolerance and maybe, just maybe, look less like the cranky old uncle at the European family barbecue. The British embassy in Budapest even had the gall to tweet something about ‘human rights’ without a single trace of irony. It was enough to make you choke on your morning coffee, which, knowing the state of British diplomacy, was probably cold anyway.
But let us not be churlish. For a day, at least, the circus of Hungarian politics turned into a carnival of inclusion. Men in leather chaps with more arse than a donkey sanctuary, women in sequined leotards, and a marching band that somehow managed to play ‘Born This Way’ with the mournful dignity of a funeral dirge. It was glorious, chaotic, and utterly, hopelessly human. And Orbán? He was probably holed up in some gothic castle, drafting a memo on how to ban the colour pink.
Yet for all the backslapping and diplomatic niceties, one cannot shake the feeling that this is a crack in the dam, not the dam itself. Orbán’s regime has shown a remarkable ability to fold to pressure while simultaneously tightening the screws elsewhere. The new law banning ‘promotion of homosexuality’ to minors is still on the books, and the pride march itself was technically illegal. But then again, when was the last time the law in authoritarian Europe had anything to do with justice?
The British diplomats, with their stiff upper lips and carefully worded statements, are the idealists of the piece. They believe that waving the flag of ‘European values’ is enough to stem the tide of nationalist populism. But reality, as ever, is a more complex beast. The victory, if it can be called that, is a single battle in a long and grinding war. The real test will be whether this outpouring of joy and defiance translates into something more permanent, like a change in legislation or a shift in public opinion. Or whether, like so many rainbows, it will simply fade into the grey sky of political compromise.
So raise a glass to Budapest, to the brave souls who marched, and to the British diplomats who clapped from a safe distance. But do not put down your placards just yet. The battle for European values is far from won, and the next skirmish might be a little closer to home than we think. After all, even in Britain, the sun is setting on some certainties, and the night is long and full of political monsters.
