Regime change, then and now
In 1989 and 1990, Budapest experienced some large demonstrations and a few uplifting ceremonies, but the collapse of communism did not produce anything akin to the street parties surrounding the fall of the Berlin Wall. The political transition was gradual, and the last generations of Communist leaders were more professional, Western-oriented, reasonable, and, frankly, less communist than their predecessors. At the same time, the democratic opposition was fragmented into several factions, often attacking one another. It is therefore not surprising that turnout in the first democratic election was around 65 percent—low by any standard.
On 12 April 2026, in contrast, the streets of Budapest were filled with jubilant crowds. Many perceived the elections as being as consequential as those in 1990, but with a far greater degree of emotional involvement. The turnout was 80 percent.
The reason for this difference lies in the trajectory of the Orbán regime. Unlike János Kádár, who began his premiership as a puppet of Moscow, established a highly repressive regime after 1956, and then gradually liberalized and Westernized it, Viktor Orbán’s governing style has moved in the opposite direction. The once liberal, later centre-right politician has increasingly adopted illiberal policies and rhetoric, opening a rift between Hungary and the European Union and bringing the country closer to Moscow. And while the violence and repression characteristic of the Kádár era have not returned, those who dominate the media on Orbán’s behalf have increasingly relied on rhetorical tropes—foreign agents, a “fifth column,” the fight against Western imperialism—that Hungarians had not heard since the early 1960s.
While the Communists were once frightening and later became inconsequential, the Orbánist elite has, for many Hungarians—especially the young—been primarily irritating. The exclusion of most universities from the Erasmus and Horizon schemes came to symbolize the consequences of the government’s “sovereigntist” strategy. Ultimately, youth participation in both the campaign and the election made a significant difference, and certainly contributed to the celebratory atmosphere afterward. A sense of relief prevailed above all else.
At the same time, we shouldn’t forget that, just as in 1990, roughly forty percent of the population experienced the elections with apprehension and fear. Fidesz received close to 2.4 million votes; fewer than that were sufficient for a constitutional majority in 2014. Thus, the bloc of the “old regime” has not collapsed—at least not yet. The radical change in the composition of parliament is due to the concentration of opposition votes on a single party and to the disproportionality of the electoral system. The electoral engineering designed to entrench Orbán’s rule ultimately turned against him, benefiting TISZA, Péter Magyar’s party.
The large parliamentary majority means that Magyar can dismantle the old regime without much delay. Two crucial questions, however, remain unanswered. The first is what exactly he will do with this majority. The temptation to concentrate power once again in a single leader is clearly present.
The second question concerns the fate of the supporters of the old regime. In his speeches, Magyar has repeatedly invoked The Truman Show, the film in which characters gradually realize that they have been living in a constructed reality. He hopes that such an awakening will lead to a repudiation of the past and the collapse of the Orbánist bloc. Regular consumers of public media, for example, may soon be confronted with the idea that what they believed to be black is in fact white, and that what they took to be facts were carefully crafted distortions. It is too early to tell how many will become cynical and apolitical, how many will turn against their former leaders, and how many will instead see the new leadership as illegitimate usurpers.
Magyar, like Orbán, combines populism and elitism, albeit in a different form. He suggests that eliminating corruption will put the economy back on track without requiring cuts to the generous handouts introduced under Orbán. At the same time, he attacks Orbán’s wealthiest associate, Lőrinc Mészáros, as barely literate and inarticulate. Mobilizing resentment among “ordinary people” against a culturally inferior elite proved highly effective during the campaign.
In 1990, even many Communist leaders supported regime change—partly because they had lost faith in their ideology, and partly because they recognized the opportunities offered by a capitalist system in which political capital could be converted into economic power. This time, one should expect a struggle. While institutional change may be more limited—after all, the Orbán regime was formally democratic and competitive—personal animosities are likely to surface dramatically, including in the form of court cases. Some of Orbán’s business allies may seek refuge in countries without extradition treaties with Hungary.
One possible similarity with the post-communist transition is the eventual emergence of nostalgia for the old regime. This will take time, but political entrepreneurs are likely to claim the mantle of Orbánism. The demand for an illiberal conservative order—one that emphasizes national exceptionalism, strong leadership, and traditional norms, and interprets the world through the lens of conspiracies and counter-conspiracies—is unlikely to disappear.
By Professor Zsolt Enyedi, Senior Researcher at CEU Democracy Institute
About the Author
Zsolt Enyedi is a Professor of Political Science and Senior Researcher at the CEU Democracy Institute. His research focuses on party politics, comparative government, and political psychology, with particular attention to authoritarianism and political behaviour. He has published widely in leading academic journals and is co-author of Party System Closure (Oxford University Press, 2021). Enyedi has held fellowships at institutions including the Woodrow Wilson Center, the University of Oxford, and the European University Institute.
