The news arrives with the grim finality of a Roman emperor’s abdication: Viktor Orban, Hungary’s long-reigning strongman, has stepped down. British diplomats, ever the eager spectators of continental dramas, now monitor Budapest’s ‘return to European norms.’ One can almost hear the champagne corks popping in Brussels and Whitehall. Yet before we celebrate the triumph of liberal democracy, let us pause to consider what is truly being lost.
Orban’s tenure was a study in political alchemy: he turned a post-communist state into a laboratory of illiberal democracy, blending nationalism, Christian conservatism, and crony capitalism into a potent brew. His ‘illiberal turn’ was not a momentary lapse but a deliberate rejection of the European consensus. He reminded us that democracy need not be liberal, that the will of the people can just as easily embrace autocracy as freedom. For this, he was reviled. But his departure does not erase the questions he raised.
What do British diplomats mean by ‘European norms’? They mean rule of law, independent judiciary, free press, minority rights. All worthy, but have these norms brought us stability? Look at the European Union today: a sclerotic bureaucracy, a currency union that punishes the periphery, and a migration crisis that shattered the post-war social contract. Orban’s Hungary was a mirror held up to the West’s own failings. By rejecting multiculturalism and supranational governance, he voiced what many Europeans think but dare not say.
And now the intellectuals will celebrate. They will write editorials about Hungary’s ‘rehabilitation,’ its ‘return to the fold.’ They will ignore the deep roots of Orbanism: the rural-urban divide, the fear of cultural erasure, the resentment of a distant elite. These are not the follies of one man; they are the anxieties of an entire continent. Budapest will change, but the soil from which Orban grew remains fertile.
Perhaps the most comical aspect of this story is the role of British diplomats. Britain, having just fled the EU in a frenzy of sovereignty, now positions itself as the guardian of European orthodoxy. The irony is as thick as English fog. Our own departure from Brussels was fueled by the same populist fire that warmed Orban. We too rejected the ‘norms’ of open borders and judicial supremacy. Yet now we stand as schoolmasters, tut-tutting at Hungary’s recalcitrance. This is not diplomacy; it is hypocrisy dressed in a Savile Row suit.
What will replace Orban? A coalition of centrists and liberals, no doubt. They will promise transparency, anti-corruption, and alignment with EU law. They will be applauded. But will they govern with the same conviction? Orban was a master of narrative; he told a story of Hungarian greatness that resonated with millions. His successors offer efficiency and compliance. Grandeur or drudgery: which will endure?
The historical cycle spins on. The Fall of Rome was not a single event but a slow decay of institutions and faith. Orban’s exit is not a renaissance but a rearrangement. The seeds of illiberal democracy have been sown across Europe: in Poland, in Italy, even in the heart of France. They will not be uprooted by a change of government in Budapest. The intellectual decadence of the West—its worship of process over purpose, its fear of national identity—remains unchallenged.
So let the diplomats monitor, the journalists applaud. But let us not pretend that Hungary has simply ‘returned to normal.’ Orban was a symptom of a deeper malaise. Remove the symptom, and the disease lingers. The question is not whether Budapest will become a model European capital. The question is whether Europe itself has the courage to face the ghosts that Orban so skilfully summoned.
Arthur Penhaligon
