Taking Hungary Back: The Fall of Orbánism and What It Means for Europe

Péter Magyar (Photo: Márton Mónus/Reuters)

Yesterday’s Hungarian parliamentary election has delivered what, until very recently, seemed improbable: the defeat of Viktor Orbán and his long-dominant Fidesz party. For over a decade, Hungary has stood as the clearest example within the European Union of how the structures of democracy can be steadily eroded by those in power. That this system has now been challenged—and decisively so—marks a turning point not only for Hungary, but for liberal democracy across Europe.

Péter Magyar and TISZA didn’t just win – with over 98% of votes counted it is clear that they have won comfortably, securing at least 137 of the 199 seats in the national Assembly. The distribution of seats reflects a decisive rejection of the Orbán era and Orbánism. After years of constitutional engineering, media dominance and patronage networks designed to entrench power, the system built by Fidesz has been broken.

The way it has been broken – democratically, and in emphatic style – demonstrates that even a constrained democracy can provide the means for its own renewal.

Unsurprisingly, UK politicians have been offering their thoughts on the result. Lib Dem leader Ed Davey said: “Congratulations to the people of Hungary for showing that populist extremists can be defeated – even despite Donald Trump’s best efforts.”

Deputy leader Daisy Cooper expressed similar sentiments: Delighted to see the people of Hungary vote for closer ties with Europe and against the likes of Putin, Trump and Farage.”

Labour’s Liam Byrne observed that “Orbán built a template for how a democratically elected leader can hollow out democracy from within, but if the authoritarian playbook model can be beaten in Hungary it can be beaten anywhere.” The added that the result “matters far beyond Budapest” and “should give progressives hearts everywhere.”

Scotland’s first minister, John Swinney, called the result “a powerful moment for Hungary and for democratic values in Europe.”

The SNP’s Pete Wishart didn’t mince his words. He said: “Fantastic. Maybe there’s a sense that the far right are in retreat across Europe. We can do our bit in Scotland to ensure they’re well beaten here.”

The nature of Orbánism

To understand the significance of this moment, one must first understand Orbánism. It was never merely a political programme; it was a governing philosophy rooted in the rejection of liberal democracy itself. Orbán championed what he openly called an “illiberal state,” one that subordinated independent institutions, constrained judicial oversight, captured large swathes of the media and blurred the boundary between party and state.

Under this model, elections continued—but the playing field was tilted. Opposition parties existed but operated under severe structural disadvantages. Hungary became a case study in how democratic backsliding can occur not through abrupt rupture, but through gradual erosion.

Orbán’s foreign policy compounded this trajectory. His government cultivated close ties with authoritarian regimes, most notably Russia, often positioning Hungary at odds with its European partners. This not only weakened EU cohesion but lent legitimacy to a broader authoritarian resurgence.

Why this result is so significant

The defeat of Orbán demonstrates that such systems are not invincible. For years, many assumed that the structural advantages Fidesz had embedded into Hungary’s political system rendered electoral defeat virtually impossible. That assumption has now been proven spectacularly wrong.

This is not merely a change of government; it is a repudiation of a model. It shows that even where democratic norms have been eroded, voters can still mobilise to restore them—provided there is a credible vehicle through which to do so.

For Hungary, the defeat of Orbánism offers an opportunity to restore the independence of the judiciary, to scrap the NER system of patronage, to reshape Hungary’s place in Europe and to rebuild the basic norms of democratic life that have been steadily eroded over the past decade.

If seized, this moment could mark a genuine turning point: not simply a change of government, but a transition away from a system in which power was concentrated, accountability weakened and loyalty rewarded over competence. It creates the space to re-establish a state that serves the public rather than the governing party and to revive a free and plural media environment.

Crucially, it also offers Hungary the chance to re-anchor itself within the European mainstream—no longer as an outlier or obstruction, but as a constructive partner committed to the rule of law, democratic standards, and collective security. Whether this becomes a true inflection point will depend on the willingness of the new government not only to dismantle what came before, but to replace it with something more durable, more open, and more accountable. But the opportunity is unmistakable: Hungary can move from managed democracy back to a living, functioning one.

Why did Péter Magyar win?

Péter Magyar’s victory is instructive, particularly for liberals in the United Kingdom and those seeking to counter the rise of populist movements such as Reform UK.

Magyar did not win by presenting himself as a conventional liberal. Nor did he attempt to outbid Orbán on ideological grounds. Instead, he focused relentlessly on the nature and consequences of Orbánism: corruption, cronyism, institutional decay and the everyday failures of governance that flowed from them.

He framed the election not as a contest of left versus right, but as one of integrity versus decay. In doing so, he was able to build a coalition that cut across traditional political divides, attracting voters who might not otherwise align with liberal or progressive causes. His campaign was characterised by positive messages, especially around relationships with Europe, and a focus on anti-corruption and anti-authoritarianism. Many who voted for TISZA were not natural supporters, but Magyar was able to build a broad (and unashamedly patriotic) grassroots movement and to persuade other opposition parties to step aside to avoid splitting the anti-Fidesz vote.

The lesson here is clear. Opposing populist or illiberal movements requires more than moral denunciation. It also requires more than the encouragement of tactical voting. It demands a strategy that speaks to lived experience—one that exposes not just the rhetoric of such movements, but the tangible harms they inflict.

In Britain, that lesson has yet to be fully absorbed. Currently various parties, the Lib Dems included, are positioning themselves as the most viable vehicle to defeat Reform, rather than confronting the conditions that allow such movements to thrive. What is required instead is something deeper—a broad-based democratic resistance that goes beyond party lines. That means making the case, consistently and concretely, that populist politics does not deliver: that it weakens public services, distorts priorities and substitutes grievance for solutions. It means engaging with communities where trust in politics has eroded, not just during campaigns but between them. And it means building a positive, credible alternative that restores faith in politics as a force for practical improvement. Without that, opposition risks becoming reactive and fragmented—while the likes of Reform continue to shape the terms of debate.

But how do we actually get to that place? What does a genuine democratic resistance look like in practice?

Does it mean greater openness to alliances—formal or informal—between parties that would not ordinarily cooperate? Does it require a more strategic approach to elections, including the selective standing aside of candidates in tightly contested seats? And if so, who decides, and on what basis? These are not easy questions, particularly in a political culture that prizes party identity and competition. But the Hungarian example suggests that when the stakes are sufficiently high, voters are willing to move faster than parties. The risk for British opposition parties is that cooperation is too timid, arriving too late or not at all.

There is, however, an obvious difference between Britain and Hungary. Resistance to what reform represents is not about removing a government but preventing a political culture from taking root. It requires confronting narratives before they harden into orthodoxy, and offering credible answers to the grievances that populists exploit. I have suggested the possibility of alliances and tactical decisions, but they are  -at best – merely tools. The deeper challenge is whether Britain’s democratic parties can act with the urgency, imagination, and collective purpose that moments like this demand.

Why were the polls – and media - so wrong?

The polling showed a close contest, although in recent days independent polls suggested a narrow win for TOSZA while Hungarian state polling pointed to a Fidesz victory. As recently as last Thursday, Tibor Fischer, writing for the Daily Telegraph, insisted that “Orbán will win again and the Leftist chatterati just doesn’t get why”.

In fact, it is precisely this kind of analysis that failed to grasp what was unfolding. Fischer’s argument rested on a familiar premise: that Orbán’s dominance reflected a deep, stable alignment between his politics and the Hungarian electorate, and that criticism of his rule was driven more by liberal prejudice than by lived reality. But that reading mistook control for consent. It assumed that because Orbán had successfully shaped the political environment—through media influence, institutional control, and patronage—he had secured something more durable than he in fact had.

What it – and much of the polling – missed was the slow accumulation of discontent beneath the surface. Voters who had tolerated—or even supported—Fidesz were increasingly confronted with the consequences of its rule: stagnation, corruption and a narrowing of opportunity. Crucially, when presented with a credible alternative in Péter Magyar, many were willing to act on that dissatisfaction. This was not a sudden or irrational shift; it was the release of pressures that had been building for years.

Too many on the political right that has been too willing to take Orbán’s narrative at face value. By focusing on his electoral success while downplaying the conditions under which it was achieved.

The polling failure reflects these political factors. In systems where media plurality is limited and political pressure is pervasive, accurately capturing voter sentiment becomes inherently difficult. There is also the phenomenon of “shy voters,” reluctant to express opposition views in an environment where dissent has long been marginalised. But most importantly, the polling models were calibrated to a political landscape that was already crumbling.

A necessary note of caution

The excitement from the First Minister and other UK politicians is understandable. It is essential, however, not to misinterpret this result. Péter Magyar did not win because Hungary has suddenly embraced liberalism. His own politics are firmly centre-right and, in many respects, he is not a liberal standard-bearer.

What he did do—crucially—was challenge the nature and symptoms of Orbánism. Where Orbán centralised power, Magyar promises to disperse it. Where Orbán blurred the line between party and state, Magyar has pledged to restore institutional independence. Where Orbán thrived on division and grievance, Magyar has campaigned on competence and accountability. For that alone we should be grateful, but we need to be realistic: what has happened is that Orbánism has been soundly rejected and the door to democratic renewal has been opened, but it is not yet clear what direction this will take. The task now is not simply to celebrate the fall of Orbánism, but to ensure that what replaces it is more open, more plural and more firmly rooted in the rule of law.

What next for Hungary?

With a parliamentary majority, TISZA now faces the formidable task of translating electoral success into structural reform. The legacy of Orbánism is deeply embedded—not only in law, but in institutions, networks and political culture.

Undoing this will require more than legislative change. It will demand patience, resilience and a willingness to confront entrenched interests. The question is not merely whether TISZA can govern, but whether it can rebuild the foundations of democratic governance in a way that endures.

In foreign policy, the shift could be immediate and a radical departure from Fidesz’s positioning of Hungary as an outlier within the European Union—frequently at odds with its partners, and often aligned with Russian interests. A TISZA government has the opportunity to reset those relationships, and I fully expect them to do this. Rebuilding trust with Brussels will be essential, not least to unlock funding and restore Hungary’s credibility as a constructive member state. Relations with Poland—itself emerging from a period of democratic backsliding—may prove particularly significant, offering the potential for a renewed Central European bloc anchored in democratic norms rather than illiberal experimentation.

Nowhere will the change be more closely watched than in Hungary’s stance towards Ukraine. Orbán’s government cultivated an ambiguous, often obstructive position, frustrating collective European efforts to support Kyiv and reinforcing the perception of Hungary as Moscow’s proxy within the EU. A decisive reorientation would not only strengthen European unity, but signal that Hungary has stepped back from the geopolitical ambiguity that defined the Orbán years. It will hopefully mark the end of Hungary’s role as Russia’s most reliable ally in Central Europe.

Domestically, however, the challenges are more complex. Creating a more open Hungary means more than removing political controls; it requires actively rebuilding pluralism. That includes fostering a genuinely independent media landscape, protecting civil society organisations, and restoring public confidence in institutions that have too often been seen as instruments of power rather than checks upon it. Cultural change of this kind cannot be legislated into existence—it must be nurtured, and it will take time.

There is also the question of constitutional reform. Orbán’s governments reshaped Hungary’s legal framework in ways designed to entrench Fidesz’s influence well beyond its time in office. Even with a strong parliamentary majority, reversing these changes may prove difficult. The risk is that TISZA finds itself governing within a system still partially configured to frustrate it—forced to choose between incremental change and more radical institutional confrontation.

And with power comes expectation. Large majorities can create the illusion of political strength, but they also magnify the consequences of failure. Péter Magyar may yet face the same challenge confronting leaders such as Keir Starmer: how to sustain public confidence once the initial momentum of victory fades. Voters who have delivered change decisively will expect results just as quickly. If reform proves slower, more contested, or more compromising than anticipated, disillusionment can set in.

Success will depend not just on dismantling Orbánism, but on constructing something more resilient in its place.

The wider implications

Liam Byrne is correct: the fall of Orbán has immediate implications beyond Hungary’s borders. Within the European Union, it removes a key source of internal obstruction, particularly on issues relating to the rule of law, support for Ukraine and relations with Russia.

It also sends a signal to other countries grappling with populist or illiberal movements: such projects can fail. Their apparent strength often masks underlying fragility—fragility that becomes visible when voters are presented with a credible alternative.

Orbánism ultimately failed because it prioritised power over performance. In the end, the very mechanisms designed to entrench authority—centralisation, patronage, control—produced stagnation, corruption and public disillusionment.

Can Fidesz recover?

The immediate question following this defeat is whether Fidesz can recover—or whether this marks the beginning of its long-term decline. Parties built so heavily around a single figure, in this case Viktor Orbán, often struggle to adapt once their aura of invincibility is broken.

On one hand, Fidesz retains significant structural advantages. Its networks in business, media, and local government remain deeply embedded. A loyal core electorate—shaped by years of political messaging and patronage—will not disappear overnight. It would be a mistake to assume that Orbánism has simply evaporated with one electoral defeat.

On the other hand, the very nature of the system Orbán built may now work against his party. A model reliant on centralised control, personal authority and constant political dominance is poorly suited to opposition. Without access to the levers of state power, the contradictions within Fidesz—between ideology and pragmatism, loyalty and ambition—may become more visible.

My own belief is that Fidesz will inevitably struggle to adapt to opposition and will break up. It will find it difficult to meaningfully renew itself without rethinking its approach to governance, institutions and Hungary’s place in Europe. Fracture is more likely that reform.

The more obvious option for Fidesz could be to double down on grievance politics, seeking to delegitimise the new government and mobilise its base through claims of betrayal or external interference. Already there are notable Fidesz supporters outside Hungary blaming George Soros for the result.

This is, in many ways, the instinctive path. Orbánism has long relied on the construction of external enemies—Brussels, migrants, liberal elites, and figures like Soros—to sustain a sense of permanent crisis. In power, that strategy helped justify centralisation and deflect responsibility. In opposition, it offers a familiar and emotionally resonant way to maintain cohesion: defeat is not accepted as a verdict of the electorate, but recast as the product of manipulation or conspiracy. It allows Fidesz to preserve its internal narrative without confronting the reasons for its loss.

But a politics built on grievance struggles to renew itself because it resists introspection. A consequence of this is that no alternative vision is developed. Over time, this risks trapping Fidesz in a closed loop—speaking ever more narrowly to its core supporters while losing its ability to reach beyond them.

For Fidesz to survive as a credible force, it would need to acknowledge the dynamics that led to its rejection. That is unlikely.  To respond to the electoral verdict with more of the same is not resilience—it is denial. And denial, sustained for long enough, does not preserve a political movement; it diminishes it.

Taking Our Country Back

The slogan “take our country back” has too often been co-opted by the likes of Reform UK to justify exclusion and division. Hungary’s election offers a different interpretation of what “taking a country back” means. TISZA was not ashamed to be patriotic and recognised the importance of appeal to the nation – and nationhood. It actively reclaimed patriotism from Orbánism and redefined what it means to love Hungary, grounding patriotism in everyday experience, reframing it as service and avoiding the liberal versus nationalist trap that Fidesz tried to set. TISZA was able to build a sense of national renewal, showing that patriotism doesn’t have to be divisive and focused their messaging on what Hungary could become.

In Hungary, voters have done the unthinkable. The lesson for the rest of us is that defeating the far right is not just about opposing its ideas—it is about exposing its failures, building credible alternatives and resisting populism before it defines the terms of our politics.