In a move that has left strongmen across Europe reaching for their smelling salts, the Hungarian parliament has actually done something resembling democracy. They have voted to limit prime ministerial terms to a mere eight years. A measly eight years. For context, that is roughly the shelf life of a budget jar of paprika in a Budapest cupboard. But for Viktor Orbán, a man who has treated the premiership like a timeshare he never intends to vacate, this must feel like being told his favourite goulash spoon has been confiscated.
Naturally, the United Kingdom, a nation that has perfected the art of tutting at other countries' democratic shortcomings while propping up its own creaking constitutional monarchy, has welcomed the move. A Foreign Office spokesman, no doubt sipping a lukewarm cup of Earl Grey, declared: 'We applaud Hungary's commitment to democratic guardrails.' Which is British for: 'We are absolutely flabbergasted that you finally did something right, and we are going to milk this for diplomatic brownie points.'
The new law, passed by a two-thirds majority in the very parliament Orbán has spent years stuffing with his cronies, means that any future prime minister can only serve two consecutive four-year terms. This is, of course, a direct rebuke to Orbán, who has been in power since 2010 and was eyeing a fourth consecutive term like a toddler eyeing a second pudding. The irony is so thick you could spread it on a slice of lángos. The very same MPs who voted to hobble Orbán's powers are the ones he handpicked, which suggests either a sudden attack of conscience or a well-timed bribe from the opposition. In Hungarian politics, it is always wise to bet on the latter.
But let us not get carried away. Hungary has not suddenly become a beacon of liberal democracy. This is the same country where media freedom goes to die and where the rule of law is treated as a suggestion rather than a command. The move is less a genuine democratic reform and more a bit of political theatre designed to appease Brussels while Orbán continues to chip away at the foundations of the EU from within. Besides, Orbán has already served 14 years. The damage is done. His Fidesz party has rewritten the constitution, gerrymandered electoral districts, and packed the courts. An eight-year limit now is like closing the stable door after the horse has not only bolted but also formed its own equestrian parliament and declared independence.
What does this mean for the UK? Precisely nothing, other than a chance for our politicians to pat themselves on the back for supporting a move that is about as meaningful as a vegan sausage roll at a butcher's convention. The British government's warm welcome is a classic bit of nanny-state condescension, the kind of thing we specialise in. We love nothing more than lecturing other nations on their democratic hygiene while our own House of Lords remains an unelected chamber stuffed with cronies, bishops, and the occasional hereditary peer who inherited his seat because his great-great-grandfather once saved a king from a badger.
So, raise a glass of something cheap and Hungarian to Viktor Orbán's reduced, but by no means diminished, power. The man will undoubtedly find a loophole. He will become a puppet master, pulling strings from the shadows while a hapless stooge occupies the prime minister's chair. Or he will simply change the law again. After all, in Hungary, the constitution is less a sacred document and more a washing line for political convenience. But for now, let us enjoy the moment. The EU can pretend it has won a victory. The UK can pretend it cares. And Orbán can pretend to be outraged while secretly planning his next move. It is a farce, but a beautifully choreographed one. And as always, the audience, the Hungarian people, are left wondering if they should laugh or cry.
