In this piece, Dr. João Ferreira Dias examines how the Israeli–Palestinian conflict has increasingly been transformed within Europe into a broader struggle over identity, immigration, Islam, nationalism, and political belonging. Focusing on Nakba Day mobilizations in London, Dr. Dias argues that Gaza now functions as a symbolic battlefield onto which competing ideological camps project their anxieties, fears, and moral claims. For parts of the progressive left, Palestine represents anti-colonial resistance and counter-hegemonic struggle; for the radical populist right, it reinforces narratives of Islamization, multicultural crisis, and civilizational decline. The article ultimately warns that when international conflicts are absorbed into domestic culture wars, liberal democracy itself becomes increasingly polarized, emotionally charged, and politically fragile.
On May 16, 2016, London became the stage of a culture war made material, as pro-Palestinian demonstrations and anti-Muslim, anti-immigration mobilizations occupied the same symbolic and physical space. Nakba Day thus became more than a moment of historical remembrance: it fueled social, ideological, and affective polarization.
One may discuss the historical, legal, geopolitical, religious, and humanitarian dimensions of Gaza and the wider Middle East: the long dispute over land, identity, sovereignty, security, and regional spheres of influence. Yet in Western societies, especially in Europe, the Israeli-Palestinian question is increasingly translated into a different grammar: left versus right, oppressor versus oppressed, civilization versus threat, emancipation versus replacement.
For much of the radical and progressive left, the Palestinian cause has become part of a Gramscian counter-hegemonic struggle on behalf of the “silenced voices of the oppressed.” In this framework, Palestine operates as a symbolic capsule of progressivism, anti-colonialism, and resistance, while Israel is cast as the embodiment of the great oppressor: capitalism, colonialism, militarism, and Western domination.
For ultraconservative movements, and especially for the radical populist right, this is precisely the “woke” and “leftist” narrative they claim to be fighting. In their reading, multiculturalism is not a liberal framework for coexistence, but a Trojan horse for Islamization, Sharia, and the so-called “great replacement” of Western societies. The argument is blunt: the left lost its traditional voters and is now replacing them with immigrants, especially Muslims — its new “proletariat.”
This is where the Israeli-Palestinian conflict ceases to be merely an international crisis and becomes an internal struggle over the moral boundaries of the political community. Gaza becomes a mirror. Each side does not only see the Middle East; it sees itself, its enemies, and the future it fears.
The real battle, therefore, is not only over territory, sovereignty, or security. It is over narrative. Who is the victim? Who is the oppressor? Who speaks for humanity? Who threatens civilization? And, above all, who has the authority to define the moral meaning of the conflict?
Liberal democracy is weakened when every external conflict is immediately absorbed into domestic identity wars. The tragedy of Gaza becomes, in Europe, a proxy battlefield for unresolved anxieties about immigration, Islam, colonial memory, antisemitism, multiculturalism, and national decline. The more each side claims moral purity, the less space remains for political judgement.
As democracies worldwide confront populism, democratic erosion, and authoritarian normalization, Hungary remains one of the clearest examples of contemporary illiberal transformation. In this interview with the ECPS, Stefania Kapronczay—former director of strategy at the Hungarian Civil Liberties Union (HCLU)—analyzes how Viktor Orbán’s regime hollowed out democracy while preserving its formal facade. She argues that Orbánism relied not only on institutional capture, but also on reshaping citizens’ “sense of possibility” and portraying human rights as foreign and disconnected from everyday life. Reflecting on democratic repair under the new Tisza administration, Kapronczay insists that “democracy in Hungary must not simply return, it must return in a better form,” emphasizing participation, accountability, civic trust, and democratic renewal beyond mere restoration.
Giving an interview to the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Stefania Kapronczay, former director of strategy at the Hungarian Civil Liberties Union (HCLU) and one of the leading voices analyzing democratic backsliding, civic resistance, and authoritarian transformation in Central Europe, argues that Hungary’s future cannot simply be defined by a return to the pre-Orbán status quo. “My hope,” she says, “is that Hungary can become a case study not simply for returning to democracy, but for rebuilding democracy in a better form—one that not only functions better for people, but also makes people genuinely feel that it works for them.”
In this wide-ranging conversation with the ECPS, Kapronczay reflects on the political, institutional, and psychological legacy of sixteen years of Orbánism and examines what democratic repair may require after one of the most influential illiberal experiments in contemporary Europe. Drawing on years of frontline human rights advocacy under Viktor Orbán’s rule, she argues that Hungary should not be understood as a straightforward democratic collapse, but rather as a sophisticated process of “democratic hollowing-out,” in which “the facade of democracy—elections and even institutions—was preserved,” while institutions were gradually transformed into instruments designed to secure the regime’s long-term survival.
Throughout the interview, Kapronczay emphasizes that Orbánism relied not only on institutional capture, but also on reshaping public consciousness and narrowing citizens’ sense of political possibility. “What fundamentally shifted,” she notes, “was people’s sense of possibility—the belief that, as citizens, they could have an impact on government decision-making.” In her view, the deepest damage inflicted by Orbánism was not merely constitutional or administrative, but cultural and psychological: the successful portrayal of human rights as “foreign,” externally imposed, and disconnected from everyday life.
Kapronczay also offers a powerful analysis of what she calls modern “legalistic authoritarianism,” a system in which “everything appears legal,” institutions formally remain intact, and constitutions are endlessly rewritten in order to preserve political dominance. From electoral manipulation and clientelist dependency networks to propaganda structures and the fusion of party and state resources, she demonstrates how authoritarian resilience can be embedded within formally democratic systems.
At the same time, the interview is not only an analysis of democratic erosion, but also a reflection on democratic recovery. Kapronczay argues that rebuilding democracy requires more than restoring pre-existing institutions. It demands confronting social polarization, rebuilding trust, and creating more participatory forms of democratic governance. “We cannot simply entrust elected representatives with making decisions on our behalf for four years at a time,” she argues, emphasizing the importance of participatory democracy, citizens’ assemblies, and broad civic involvement in constitutional reconstruction.
Importantly, Kapronczay situates Hungary within a broader regional and global context, warning that “authoritarians learn from one another,” while also insisting that civil society must learn to compete not only through principles, but through narrative power, emotional engagement, and citizen mobilization.
As democracies across the world continue to confront populism, democratic erosion, and autocratization; this interview offers both a sobering diagnosis of Orbánism and a compelling vision for democratic renewal beyond mere restoration.
Here is the revised version of our interview with human rights defender Stefania Kapronczay, lightly edited for clarity and readability.
Orbánism Kept Democracy’s Facade While Emptying It Out
Viktor Orbán, Hungary’s Prime Minister, arrives for a meeting with European Union leaders in Brussels, Belgium, on June 22, 2017. Photo: Alexandros Michailidis.
Stefania Kapronczay, welcome! To begin, after sixteen years of Orbán’s rule, should Hungary be understood as a case of democratic breakdown, democratic hollowing-out, or a more subtle transformation in which human rights were formally preserved while substantively emptied of enforceability? What do you see as the deepest and most enduring damage inflicted on Hungary’s human rights architecture—not only institutionally, but socially and culturally?
Stefánia Kapronczay: Thank you so much for this question. It is a very complex one and let me start with the first part: Hungary represents more than a case of democratic hollowing-out.It was very important for the Orbán regime to maintain the facade of democracy. This is also crucial to understanding why he eventually conceded, why elections continued to take place, and why he could ultimately be defeated electorally. Even though the playing field was incredibly uneven and it was extremely difficult to win against Fidesz in an election, significant sacrifices had to be made in order to achieve this result. There could only be one challenger, one contender, which, of course, meant that different voices could not enter the race if the opposition wanted to remove the Orbán regime.
So, this was a form of democratic hollowing-out in which the facade of democracy—elections and even institutions—was preserved, but all of them were adjusted in ways that served the regime’s interests, either through the appointment of political loyalists or through changes to the rules themselves. In the end, these institutions were transformed into mechanisms that allowed Orbán to remain in power for as long as he wished.
As for the second half of your question, I believe the cultural and psychological impact of these sixteen years is the most important. Not because the institutional damage was insignificant, but because the Orbán regime managed to convince ordinary citizens that human rights are not something that matters to them—that they are foreign, imposed from outside, and not something relevant to Hungarians. The regime promoted the idea that human rights have nothing to do with everyday life. By waging cultural wars around migration and LGBT rights, it portrayed human rights as something concerning only “other people,” never the average citizen.
Even though many LGBT people are themselves ordinary citizens, the regime succeeded in presenting human rights as something alien and externally imposed, disconnected from daily life. In reality, however, human rights emerged precisely from the understanding that protecting rights directly improves people’s lives. If individuals are not discriminated against, they have greater opportunities, and if the state is required to comply with human rights standards, this ultimately leads to a better life for citizens.
This cultural transformation will be even more difficult to reverse than the institutional damage. In my view, human rights should be considered whenever policy decisions are made. And we are still very far from that point today.
Everything Looked Legal, but Justice Became Impossible
In your analysis, Fidesz did not abolish democracy outright but hollowed it out through legal instruments, institutional capture, and narrative control. How should we understand this model of “legalistic authoritarianism” from a human rights perspective?
Stefánia Kapronczay: Yes, as I said before, it all seems legal. It appears to be merely a series of legal changes. The institutions are still there: there is an ombudsman, there is the Constitutional Court, and you can still bring your case before the regular courts. But whenever a case concerns a political question—and everything important to the government eventually becomes political—you have no chance of winning.
This is certainly true for migration and LGBT issues, as I mentioned earlier, but it also became true for freedom of expression cases and even for cases concerning disability rights, particularly when these issues appeared capable of generating public mobilization and when that mobilization, that citizen power, could potentially turn against the government.
So, the facade remains in place. Everything appears legal. They never technically break their own rules, so to speak. Instead, they simply modify the constitution, even for the fifteenth time. But at the same time, this cannot be regarded as compliance with constitutional standards, human rights standards, or international law.
Authoritarianism Depends on Mental Control as Much as Institutions
Viktor Orbán campaign poster ahead of Hungary’s 2026 elections. Photo: Bettina Wagner / Dreamstime.
In your writings, you emphasize that Fidesz’s authoritarian resilience rests not only on institutional capture, but also on shaping citizens’ expectations, incentives, and sense of political possibility. How did Orbánism turn human rights from a universal democratic language into something portrayed as alien, partisan, or elitist?
Stefánia Kapronczay: I think I addressed the second part of your question earlier, so I will focus a bit more on the first. This issue is extremely important. What fundamentally shifted was people’s sense of possibility—the belief that, as citizens, they could have an impact on government decision-making, whether at the local or national level.This was a key element in how Orbán managed to maintain his power. And it was especially powerful for two reasons. First, there was already a historical precedent for it. Before the regime change in 1989–1990, there was essentially a tacit pact between the socialist state and its citizens: you could have a relatively good life—especially compared to other countries in the region and particularly compared to the Soviet Union—but you had to stay out of politics. So, this was a political arrangement with which many people were already familiar.
Just as importantly, for a period of time Fidesz was able to sustain both sides of this arrangement. Economic prospects appeared relatively favorable, and people felt that they were moving ahead. Of course, this was not solely because of the government itself. Hungary received enormous—historically unprecedented—amounts of funding from the European Union, especially between 2010 and 2022.
Even though much of this money was used to enrich government cronies, and a significant share disappeared into corruption instead of being invested in public services such as healthcare or education, people nevertheless experienced improvements in their daily lives because of these funds and the relatively favorable global economy. Compared to their parents’ generation, they felt they had greater stability. Compared to neighboring countries, this was no longer necessarily true, but public opinion surveys and sociological research consistently show that most people do not compare themselves to people in other countries; they compare themselves to their parents’ generation.
After 2022, however, this arrangement could no longer be sustained by the Orbán regime. People increasingly felt in their everyday lives that they were no longer living better, that life had become far more uncertain, and that their livelihoods had become increasingly insecure. At the same time, they began to experience very directly the collapse of public services—whether in transportation, education, healthcare, or elsewhere.
Once this arrangement broke down, the Orbán regime also lost its ability to shape people’s sense of political possibility. More and more people began to feel that the situation was no longer sustainable or acceptable. Then someone emerged who convinced them that things could be different, and their sense of possibility began to shift.
It is very important to observe how something like this—something that is not discussed very often—can become so decisive. We speak a great deal about institutions and formal political structures, but we should pay much more attention to the ways in which the mental architecture of an authoritarian state is maintained. And this is precisely what began to crumble.
The Real Fraud Happened Outside the Polling Stations
Poster from political party Fidesz showing the opponents of Hungarian PM Viktor Orban surrounding billionaire philanthropist George Soros, Budapest, April 8, 2017.
You have described Hungary’s elections as a “special version of a stolen election,” where manipulation occurs less through ballot-box fraud than through an unlevel playing field. How should we rethink electoral integrity when abuse is legalized, normalized, and embedded long before election day?
Stefánia Kapronczay: Yes, elections do not happen only on election day. Usually, international institutions come to monitor only during that period—perhaps a few days before the election and a few days afterward.But in Hungary’s case, the manipulation and the systemic nature of how elections were effectively stolen operated every single day. It was not only about the media—how it was captured, how people were fed false information, and how certain information was withheld from them—but also about how Fidesz maintained a clientelist system in which citizens, especially in smaller towns and villages, became dependent on local power structures.
People relied on these structures for social services, for access to schools or nurseries for their children, or simply because they were employed by the local government. This created a system in which citizens were kept in conditions of dependency that could then be exploited. And this system was maintained continuously, every day.
This is something that is very difficult to capture when we discuss the fairness and integrity of elections. It also took civil society quite a long time to fully understand it, because for years much of the focus was on what happened inside the polling stations. But as we monitored the process more closely, we realized that the real fraud was taking place around the polling stations.
Already during the 2019 local government elections, there were initiatives aimed at identifying and disrupting the chain of voter manipulation occurring outside polling stations—practices involving the exploitation of citizens, vote-buying, organized transportation of voters, and various forms of coercion. By 2022, there were already widespread civil society initiatives dedicated to uncovering these practices. And in 2026, this became a major effort involving both civil society organizations and political party activists, as well as ordinary citizens who were present in all the districts where these practices were taking place.
We are still waiting for some of the data, but it seems that they were finally able to break the cycle I described earlier.
State Resources Became Tools of Party Politics
How has the fusion of party, state, public media, regulatory bodies, and state-linked economic networks damaged the practical meaning of political equality and equal citizenship in Hungary?
Stefánia Kapronczay: Just for the readers, what increasingly happened was that Fidesz began using state resources to advance its party-political goals. This became especially visible in 2020 and 2021 during the COVID pandemic, when people had to register in order to receive vaccinations, and later their email addresses were used by the government to distribute government or Fidesz propaganda.
It was also extremely difficult to remove yourself from those mailing lists. There is actually an interesting—perhaps even ironic—story about this. After Tisza came to power, while the old regime was still partially in place, we all received an email from the very same address that had previously been used to send propaganda, explaining how we could finally remove ourselves from the list. Suddenly, it had become very important.
That was an early example, but the practice reached another level during the election campaign. Even before that, there were Fidesz billboards displayed alongside billboards supposedly issued by the government, using the same language, colors, and visual style, making it extremely easy to confuse the two. And that was precisely the point.
Then, in 2026, this escalated even further, as government and state resources were deployed on a massive scale to support Fidesz’s campaign, including the organization of huge events across the country, each costing billions of Hungarian forints.
This is where the line between party and state becomes fundamentally blurred. Yes, citizens vote for a government—for a party that will form a government. But once a party assumes governmental power, it is supposed to represent all citizens, not only those who voted for it. By using government or state resources for partisan political purposes, the government breaks that trust and effectively communicates that it represents only those who agree with it.
But this is not surprising. Already in 2002, after losing the election, former Prime Minister Orbán delivered one of his most infamous speeches, declaring that “the homeland cannot be in opposition,” implying that his political camp alone represented the nation, while those voting for others somehow did not. So, this way of thinking has been present since at least 2002.
The Damage to Civil Society Runs Deeper Than We Realized
The Orbán government repeatedly portrayed NGOs and human rights defenders as “foreign agents,” “Soros mercenaries,” and threats to national sovereignty. How deeply did this stigmatization campaign damage the legitimacy, safety, and public reach of civil society actors? More broadly, how successful was Orbánism in eroding public trust in independent civic organizations, and what forms of democratic and social repair are now needed to rebuild that trust under the Magyar administration?
Stefánia Kapronczay: We are only beginning to understand how deep the damage went.From the everyday experience of civil society organizations, we could already see the effects very clearly. Local governments and schools—because of increasing centralization and because they required approval from the central government for nearly every decision—became unwilling to cooperate with civil society organizations. Even businesses became hesitant to work with NGOs, especially those that were critical of the government or engaged with contentious issues such as child protection.
So, the effects were already visible. Some civil society organizations were ultimately forced to stop operating because of the pressure and administrative burdens placed upon them. Others, such as my former organization, the Hungarian Civil Liberties Union, managed to build a constituency during this period. Because we had resources, both financial and human, we were able to turn some of these attacks into opportunities to rethink our methods and reshape our communication strategies. But this was certainly not the typical experience. And now, after the system change, more and more stories are beginning to emerge.
We already knew that foreign intelligence-linked groups such as Black Cube had been used to discredit civil society actors before the 2022 elections. For example, fake job advertisements were used to lure civil society actors into staged interviews, where they were pressured and manipulated into saying negative things about civil society organizations. Then isolated snippets—sometimes only single sentences—were selectively used to discredit the entire sector.
But now even more troubling revelations are surfacing. Recently, a video emerged involving a very prominent civil society actor working with Roma communities, Roma children, and education. The video revealed that the actual State Secret Service had approached her in an attempt to obtain information about civil society organizations. In the Black Cube case, there has long been strong suspicion that the operation was commissioned by circles close to the government, or perhaps even by the government itself. But in this case, it was directly the State Secret Service that was involved.
This is why I believe a formal process is needed to uncover what happened. I am advocating for a process that draws lessons from Truth and Reconciliation Commissions. I think such a process is necessary for at least three reasons. First,what is currently happening is unfolding largely through media coverage and public debate, and not everyone follows these discussions. In my opinion, it is crucial to design a process that is participatory, that uses language accessible to ordinary people, and that brings these conversations into the places where people actually live and gather, so that society can develop a shared understanding of what happened. It should not remain a conversation limited to elites or to those who regularly consume political media.
The second reason is that there are still enormous numbers of Fidesz voters—at least one or perhaps two million people—who are now beginning to realize that they were misled. It is extremely important that they receive information and are not excluded from the political community. A Truth and Reconciliation Commission–type process could help bring as many of them as possible back into the political community, create a shared understanding of these sixteen years, and allow a society to move forward from there.
And last but not least, I believe such a process is necessary because so many people were harmed by this regime. A formal process could create ways to acknowledge and compensate for those harms, both symbolically and perhaps also in more material terms.
Orbán Went from Feared to Ridiculed
In your analysis of Hungary’s civil society crackdown, you link government attacks to older legacies of political passivity, low institutional trust, and suspicion toward public advocacy. Did Orbánism merely exploit these post-socialist inheritances, or did it actively deepen and weaponize them?
Stefánia Kapronczay: At first, it exploited them, but then it deepened and weaponized them even further. It was not simply a matter of winking at civil society and signaling, “Okay, this is how we are going to operate.” Through hate campaigns targeting certain groups, and more broadly through the demonization of anyone who criticized the government, these sentiments were actively intensified.
And it is very interesting to observe how this form of power actually functioned. Modern autocrats do not primarily operate through torture or enforced disappearances, but rather through the power of narrative. On the one hand, they cultivate fear, self-censorship, and self-correction. On the other hand, they strategically deploy state power—for example, by dismissing teachers who participated in protests in certain ways.
What I also find striking is how this kind of power structure that Orbán created—and that is so characteristic of modern authoritarianism—seemed to evaporate within just two months. He went from being feared to becoming almost ridiculous. And I think this is something we need to study much more carefully.
Democratic Repair Requires Dismantling the Entire System
Péter Magyar addresses supporters near a football stadium and miniature railway in Viktor Orbán’s childhood village, in a symbolic political gesture in Felcsút, Hungary on May 24, 2024: Photo: Dreamstime.
Now that Péter Magyar and the Tisza administration are in power, what should be the first-order priorities of democratic repair after sixteen years of Orbánism: dismantling propaganda structures, restoring judicial independence, reforming electoral institutions, rebuilding media pluralism, protecting civil society, addressing systemic corruption, or repairing public trust and democratic culture?
Stefánia Kapronczay: The difficult thing is that all of these issues are deeply interconnected. That is precisely why Orbánism functioned as a system.You cannot simply pull on one thread and expect the entire structure to unravel. You have to address all of these interconnected elements simultaneously in order for the system itself to break down. And this represents an enormous challenge for the current government.There is an immense amount of hope invested in them, and because of that, people are still relatively patient. But the government will need to demonstrate tangible results quite soon in order to sustain the hope, trust, and patience that citizens have placed in them.
Judging from the public discourse in the country, addressing propaganda is especially important for people, because propaganda was something everyone confronted daily through billboards, media coverage, and constant messaging. So, I think dismantling the propaganda machinery is one particularly urgent priority. Another key priority is demonstrating that public services—healthcare, education, transportation—can actually function better, and delivering visible progress in those areas. The government must also show clearly that it is not willing to compromise with the previous system, and that there will in fact be consequences for the harms that were committed.
These are among the most immediate priorities, although, of course, they touch upon all the issues you mentioned. At the same time, the government also has to rebuild public trust in institutions. So, they must pursue accountability without further damaging trust.
They also need to be extremely careful about polarization and avoid deepening it further. That is why I believe a carefully designed Truth and Reconciliation Commission–type process—one that brings these issues closer to ordinary people and actively involves them—could be extremely beneficial.
And then, in parallel—or at least soon afterward—we also need to begin thinking not only about the past, but about the future. What kind of state do we actually want to build now? What should these institutions look like?
I also believe this must be a deeply participatory process involving citizens as well as civil society organizations. It is not enough simply to hold a referendum at the end. We need people, each contributing according to their own expertise and experience, to participate throughout the process. That is why citizens’ assemblies could play a very important role within the constitution-making process.
Principles Alone Are No Longer Enough
Looking beyond Hungary, how has Orbánism functioned as a regional template for populist and illiberal actors in Central and Eastern Europe, especially in attacks on NGOs, independent media, minority rights, judicial checks, and foreign-funded organizations?
Stefánia Kapronczay: We often say that authoritarians learn from one another, and we can clearly see how certain Russian laws were copied by Hungary and then adapted to the realities of Hungary’s membership in the European Union. I also hear from Slovak and Czech activists that they recognize strong similarities between what their governments are now proposing and what Hungary has already experienced.
The similarities are visible not only in the policies themselves, but also in how these processes begin: first with smear campaigns and public attacks, followed by the use of familiar narratives of stigmatization. The rhetoric is almost always about foreign funding, sovereignty, and alleged external influence. These patterns are very recognizable across the region.
I think NGOs throughout Central and Eastern Europe can learn a great deal from the Hungarian experience, and I believe there are two particularly important lessons.
The first is that strength lies in unity. We were able to resist many of these laws and attacks because, at an early stage, we began working together. It was a difficult process, and our first attempts at coalition-building were not always successful. But we learned from those earlier efforts and eventually succeeded in creating effective alliances. That cooperation allowed us to combine our strengths instead of remaining fragmented. Those who were strongest in advocacy focused on advocacy; those skilled at mobilizing citizens concentrated on organizing; others handled communications; and others prepared administrative or legal responses.
The second lesson is that we must understand how crucial citizen mobilization and narrative-building have become in contemporary politics. This is very visible today. If there is at least one similarity between the Tisza and Fidesz governments, it is that both understand the importance of narrative power. Tisza even refers to this as “absolute cinema.” They frame their actions in ways that are easily consumable, emotionally engaging, and rich in symbolism—ways that ordinary citizens can immediately connect with.
And civil society must also recognize this reality. The power of principles alone is not enough. Civil society also has to succeed on the emotional level, through compelling stories and by demonstrating how its principles affect people’s everyday lives. It also has to become more effective at using narrative strategies. I do not think this is something entirely new for civil society. I often look at the American civil rights movement as, in many respects, the first human rights movement. And it used exactly these kinds of tools, adapted to its own historical moment. So, we simply need to recognize that this is not manipulation. It is part of our strength and part of our democratic power.
Democracy Must Return in a Better Form
Finally, if Hungary evolves from being a cautionary tale of democratic backsliding into a case of democratic repair, what would genuine recovery require—constitutionally, socially, and morally—to restore pluralism, civic courage, and belief in human rights after years of normalized illiberalism? Moreover, what lessons could Hungary’s experience offer to other societies confronting populism, democratic erosion, and autocratization?
Stefánia Kapronczay: I would begin from a broader perspective. It is undeniable that democracy is currently in crisis. According to Freedom House, this is now the nineteenth consecutive year in which the number of democracies worldwide has declined.
At the same time, research consistently shows that democracies deliver better outcomes for people and that people genuinely live better in democratic societies. So, while democracy is clearly facing a profound crisis, I remain convinced—not only on a principled level but also based on empirical evidence—that democracy is worth fighting for because it ultimately provides a better quality of life for citizens.
What happened in Hungary in 2010, when Fidesz came to power, also teaches us an important lesson: democracy as it existed at the time—with its institutions and structures—was already struggling to meet citizens’ expectations. That means we have to think seriously about how democracies can function better. I would not consider it a success if, in 2026, Hungary simply returned to the pre-2010 status quo, because that version of democracy was also failing to provide the kind of outcomes people deserved. Economic inequality, for example, still prevented many people from participating meaningfully in public life, which meant that equal citizenship did not truly exist in practice. So, my hope is that Hungary can become a case study not simply for returning to democracy, but for rebuilding democracy in a better form—one that not only functions better for people, but also makes people genuinely feel that it works for them.
Moreover, one of the key elements in this process is participation—participatory democracy. We cannot simply entrust elected representatives with making decisions on our behalf for four years at a time. Expanding participation and deepening citizens’ involvement are essential, because this is how people build relationships with institutions and, consequently, develop trust in them. At the same time, participatory systems allow citizens’ needs, concerns, and aspirations to be incorporated more directly into political decision-making. So, I envision democracies recovering and becoming more resilient if they succeed in creating more meaningful forms of participation and rely less exclusively on the traditional model in which elected officials merely represent citizens from above.
Dr. James Loxton argues that today’s democratic backsliding is driven less by authoritarian successor parties than by populist leaders who promise to return power to “the people” but then concentrate it in their own hands. In this ECPS interview, he explains how authoritarian legacies often survive democratization through parties, institutions, networks, and political brands. Yet, looking at Hungary, Turkey, Brazil, and the United States, Dr. Loxton identifies populism as the more significant common thread. He also discusses “authoritarian inheritance,” the appeal of authoritarian nostalgia, and the rise of gray-zone regimes marked by “competitive authoritarianism,” where elections continue but the playing field is “fundamentally uneven and unfair.”
Dr. James Loxton, Senior Lecturer in Comparative Politics at the University of Sydney and one of the leading scholars of authoritarianism, democratization, and party politics, argues that the contemporary crisis of democracy cannot be understood simply through the persistence of old authoritarian elites. While much of his influential scholarship has focused on “authoritarian successor parties” and the enduring legacies of dictatorship after democratic transition, Dr. Loxton warns that the principal engine of democratic backsliding today is increasingly populism itself. “When I think about the democratic backsliding occurring across much of the world today,” he tells the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), “I see populism—not authoritarian successor parties—as the more significant common thread.”
In this wide-ranging interview, Dr. Loxton explores why authoritarian actors, institutions, and political cultures so often survive democratization rather than disappear with regime change. Challenging conventional understandings of democratic transition, he argues that most transitions are not revolutionary ruptures in which authoritarian systems are swept away entirely. “It is extremely rare for all aspects of the old regime simply to disappear and be replaced by a completely blank slate,” he explains. Instead, authoritarian legacies persist through constitutions, institutions, party organizations, and political networks that continue operating long after democratization formally occurs.
At the center of Dr. Loxton’s work is the concept of “authoritarian inheritance,” the idea that ties to a former dictatorship can function not only as liabilities but also as electoral assets. “Having roots in a dictatorship can sometimes be as much of an asset as it is a liability for parties operating under democracy,” he argues. In some cases, voters consciously embrace authoritarian legacies because they associate former regimes with “stability,” “order,” or “national strength”. In others, historical memory itself becomes distorted through nostalgia, revisionism, and digital propaganda. Reflecting on cases such as Ferdinand Marcos Jr. in the Philippines and Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil, Dr. Loxton warns of the growing appeal of what he calls “authoritarian nostalgia parties,” particularly among younger generations with no lived experience of dictatorship.
Yet Dr. Loxton also draws a crucial distinction between authoritarian successor parties and the broader populist dynamics reshaping democratic politics today. Looking at countries such as Hungary, Turkey, Brazil, and the United States, he argues that the deeper pattern is not simply authoritarian continuity but the rise of leaders who campaign against elites in the name of “the people” and then centralize power once in office. “Populist leaders run for office promising to smash the elites and return power to ‘the people,’” he notes. “Then, once in office, they proceed to concentrate power in their own hands and tilt the political playing field in their favor.”
The interview also explores Dr. Loxton’s reflections on “competitive authoritarianism,” the influential concept developed by Steven Levitsky and Lucan A. Way to describe regimes occupying the gray zone between democracy and dictatorship. For Dr. Loxton, these hybrid systems capture one of the defining political realities of the 21st century: democracies increasingly hollowed out not through military coups, but through elections, populism, institutional manipulation, and the gradual erosion of liberal norms from within.
Professor Quinn Slobodian, Professor of International History at Boston University and one of the leading scholars of neoliberalism and the contemporary far right, argues that “Muskism” represents a profound transformation in the relationship between capitalism, technology, and democracy. In an interview with the ECPS, Professor Slobodian contends that Elon Musk embodies a new political-economic order grounded not in liberal individualism but in “a cybernetic understanding of human society” shaped by digital networks, AI, and technocratic management. According to Professor Slobodian, Musk no longer treats democracy as a meaningful political ideal: “For Musk, democracy almost appears to be yesterday’s problem.” The interview explores neoliberalism, authoritarianism, Silicon Valley’s “state symbiosis,” digital sovereignty, and the growing convergence between platform capitalism and far-right populism.
Giving an interview to the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Quinn Slobodian, Professor of International History at Boston University, argues that “Muskism” marks a profound shift in the relationship between capitalism, technology, and democracy. In his view, Elon Musk should not be understood merely as an eccentric billionaire, but as the embodiment of a new political-economic formation built on the infrastructures of platform capitalism, artificial intelligence, military technology, and state dependency.
For Professor Slobodian, Muskism cannot be separated from neoliberalism. “It’s impossible to understand how we arrive at Muskism without considering the effects of neoliberalism,” he explains. Decades of neoliberal policy helped create the conditions under which private actors could assume functions once performed by public institutions. Yet Muskism also departs from classical neoliberalism. Rather than beginning with “consumer sovereignty” or “individual freedom,” it rests on “a kind of cybernetic understanding of human society,” imagining society as “a networked totality that must be engineered and managed to produce optimized outcomes.”
This is where the headline of the interview becomes central. According to Professor Slobodian, Muskism radicalizes neoliberal efforts to constrain democracy, but goes further by treating democracy as increasingly obsolete. While earlier neoliberal thinkers such as Friedrich Hayek and Milton Friedman remained deeply concerned with democracy as a social force, Musk, he argues, does not even “offer lip service to traditional political ideas such as civil society, deliberation, or representation.” For Musk, these concepts belong to “an outdated era of social and political life” supposedly surpassed by “technological acceleration, digital connectivity, and new forms of mediated decision-making.” As Professor Slobodian puts it starkly: “For Musk, democracy almost appears to be yesterday’s problem.”
The interview also explores Professor Slobodian’s concept of “state symbiosis.” Contrary to the familiar image of Silicon Valley elites as anti-state libertarians, he argues that today’s tech oligarchs increasingly seek not to escape the state but to merge with it. Muskism, in this sense, is not about “withering away the state,” but about selling “sovereignty as a service”—from orbital launches and satellite connectivity to AI tools for state administration.
Professor Slobodian further warns that Muskism represents “a radical departure from the liberal tradition,” replacing ideas of human dignity, agency, and representation with optimization, efficiency, and programmable social systems. At the same time, he situates Muskism within broader far-right and populist transformations, arguing that many contemporary right-wing movements are not simply anti-neoliberal reactions, but “the bastard offspring of neoliberalism itself.”
Dr. James Loxton argues that today’s democratic backsliding is driven less by authoritarian successor parties than by populist leaders who promise to return power to “the people” but then concentrate it in their own hands. In this ECPS interview, he explains how authoritarian legacies often survive democratization through parties, institutions, networks, and political brands. Yet, looking at Hungary, Turkey, Brazil, and the United States, Dr. Loxton identifies populism as the more significant common thread. He also discusses “authoritarian inheritance,” the appeal of authoritarian nostalgia, and the rise of gray-zone regimes marked by “competitive authoritarianism,” where elections continue but the playing field is “fundamentally uneven and unfair.”
Dr. James Loxton, Senior Lecturer in Comparative Politics at the University of Sydney and one of the leading scholars of authoritarianism, democratization, and party politics, argues that the contemporary crisis of democracy cannot be understood simply through the persistence of old authoritarian elites. While much of his influential scholarship has focused on “authoritarian successor parties” and the enduring legacies of dictatorship after democratic transition, Dr. Loxton warns that the principal engine of democratic backsliding today is increasingly populism itself. “When I think about the democratic backsliding occurring across much of the world today,” he tells the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), “I see populism—not authoritarian successor parties—as the more significant common thread.”
In this wide-ranging interview, Dr. Loxton explores why authoritarian actors, institutions, and political cultures so often survive democratization rather than disappear with regime change. Challenging conventional understandings of democratic transition, he argues that most transitions are not revolutionary ruptures in which authoritarian systems are swept away entirely. “It is extremely rare for all aspects of the old regime simply to disappear and be replaced by a completely blank slate,” he explains. Instead, authoritarian legacies persist through constitutions, institutions, party organizations, and political networks that continue operating long after democratization formally occurs.
At the center of Dr. Loxton’s work is the concept of “authoritarian inheritance,” the idea that ties to a former dictatorship can function not only as liabilities but also as electoral assets. “Having roots in a dictatorship can sometimes be as much of an asset as it is a liability for parties operating under democracy,” he argues. In some cases, voters consciously embrace authoritarian legacies because they associate former regimes with “stability,” “order,” or “national strength”. In others, historical memory itself becomes distorted through nostalgia, revisionism, and digital propaganda. Reflecting on cases such as Ferdinand Marcos Jr. in the Philippines and Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil, Dr. Loxton warns of the growing appeal of what he calls “authoritarian nostalgia parties,” particularly among younger generations with no lived experience of dictatorship.
Yet Dr. Loxton also draws a crucial distinction between authoritarian successor parties and the broader populist dynamics reshaping democratic politics today. Looking at countries such as Hungary, Turkey, Brazil, and the United States, he argues that the deeper pattern is not simply authoritarian continuity but the rise of leaders who campaign against elites in the name of “the people” and then centralize power once in office. “Populist leaders run for office promising to smash the elites and return power to ‘the people,’” he notes. “Then, once in office, they proceed to concentrate power in their own hands and tilt the political playing field in their favor.”
The interview also explores Dr. Loxton’s reflections on “competitive authoritarianism,” the influential concept developed by Steven Levitsky and Lucan A. Way to describe regimes occupying the gray zone between democracy and dictatorship. For Dr. Loxton, these hybrid systems capture one of the defining political realities of the 21st century: democracies increasingly hollowed out not through military coups, but through elections, populism, institutional manipulation, and the gradual erosion of liberal norms from within.
Here is the edited version of our interview with Dr. James Loxton, revised slightly for clarity and flow.
Transitions Rarely Begin from a Blank Slate
Campaign propaganda for Peruvian presidential candidate Keiko Fujimori painted on a wall along the Pan-American Highway in Lima, Peru on April 29, 2021. Photo: Christian Inga / Dreamstime.
Dr. Loxton, welcome. Let me begin with a broader question about authoritarian continuity across generations and democratic systems. In your work on authoritarian successor parties, you argue that former regime elites often survive democratization by transforming themselves into competitive democratic actors. To what extent do you think this organizational continuity explains the remarkable intergenerational resilience of authoritarian politics in many contemporary democracies?
Dr. James Loxton: I think a good place to start is by considering what a regime transition actually is. Many people, when they imagine a transition from dictatorship to democracy, picture some kind of big bang in which the old regime is completely obliterated, and a new democratic order is created from scratch.But what I have tried to show in my work—and what many other scholars have demonstrated as well—is that this is almost never the case. It is extremely rare for all aspects of the old regime simply to disappear and be replaced by a completely blank slate. Legacies of the old dictatorship almost always persist in one form or another. In many countries, for example, constitutions created under authoritarian rule continue to be used by democratic governments. That is a very common pattern.
What I have focused on in my own research is political parties that emerge from former dictatorships and continue to operate after a transition to democracy. I call these authoritarian successor parties, and they are extraordinarily common. When I first began studying this topic more than a decade ago, I expected the numbers to be high, but I was still surprised by just how widespread the phenomenon turned out to be.
I examined every new democracy established between the 1970s and 2010 and looked at whether an authoritarian successor party emerged and whether that party was eventually elected back to office. What I found was that in roughly three-quarters of all new democracies, an authoritarian successor party emerged as a viable political actor. In more than half of all new democracies, voters freely and fairly used the ballot box to return the “bad guys” to power. So, this is not a marginal phenomenon at all; it is an incredibly common one.
Authoritarian Inheritance Can Outlive the Dictator
Your concept of “authoritarian inheritance” highlights how former ruling elites retain organizational resources, networks, and legitimacy after democratic transitions. Could we extend this framework to explain why voters in democratic systems continue electing the children, relatives, or political heirs of authoritarian rulers decades after democratization?
Dr. James Loxton: Yes, I think so. The term I use to make sense of authoritarian successor parties is authoritarian inheritance. The basic idea—although it is quite an uncomfortable one, and it certainly makes me uncomfortable—is that having roots in a dictatorship can sometimes be as much of an asset as it is a liability for parties operating under democracy.This can take many forms, ranging from connections to business elites to, more disturbingly, possessing a political brand that voters actually find attractive. Such parties are able to say: “Remember that dictatorship? Remember how you liked it? Well, we are going to continue that legacy. We are going to continue to represent the old regime. Vote for us.”
Let me give you an example. Right now, Peru is in the middle of a presidential election. The first round has already taken place, and the country is now heading into the second round. One of the top two candidates is Keiko Fujimori. She has run for president three times before. On each occasion, she reached the second round and then lost by a very narrow margin. We will see whether she is luckier on her fourth attempt. Who is she? She is the daughter of former Peruvian autocrat Alberto Fujimori, who served as the country’s president-slash-dictator during the 1990s.
In fact, just before our interview, I was looking at her official campaign website. On the very first page, if you scroll down to the bottom, there is a section titled “Positive Legacies,” where she highlights what she views as her father’s major accomplishments—stabilizing the economy, ending hyperinflation, and defeating a powerful guerrilla insurgency in the country. So, she is fully embracing the legacy of her father. Will she get elected? We will see. But it clearly appears to be a message that resonates with many Peruvian voters.
Authoritarian Memory Can Become an Electoral Resource
In “Why We Elect Former Dictators and Their Children,” you suggest that authoritarian legacies can be politically normalized over time. Under what conditions does collective memory fail to generate democratic accountability, allowing authoritarian family dynasties to reinvent themselves electorally rather than remain politically stigmatized?
Dr. James Loxton: I’m going to push back a little bit on the way that question is framed. The idea of “collective memory failing” suggests that if people vote for someone like Keiko Fujimori, or for parties such as the KMT in Taiwan or the PRI in Mexico—former ruling parties of authoritarian regimes—they must somehow be mistaken or have misremembered the past.In some cases, that may indeed be true. But in other cases, it is almost certainly the case that people do remember the old regime, and they simply liked it. They liked the way the old regime operated. They felt safer, they felt things were more stable, things were more predictable. Whatever the reason may be, they simply viewed that period positively.So, now the regime has changed, and citizens are free to vote for whomever they want. Who do they choose? In some cases, they choose the people they already like—whether that means the old ruling party, a family member of the former ruler, or even the former dictator himself.
Democracy Does Not Always Bury the Old Regime
Many authoritarian successor parties appear to thrive not despite democratization, but because of it. Does this suggest that electoral democracy itself may unintentionally provide institutional shelter for authoritarian continuity, especially in weakly institutionalized democracies?
Dr. James Loxton: Again, I think all this really shows is that voters do not always vote the way I might want them to vote, or the way you might want them to vote, or the way the people watching this video might want them to vote. Let’s suppose you are a conservative and would really like everyone always to vote for the Conservative Party. But guess what? Some people vote for the left. Or let’s suppose you are a leftist and want everybody to vote for the Social Democratic Party. Well, many people are conservatives, and so they vote for conservative parties.
Why do I say that, and why do I think this is particularly important when it comes to authoritarian successor parties and, more specifically, former dictators and their children? The reason is that these phenomena involve political actors who run for office under democracy but have roots in former dictatorships. What makes them unique is that, unlike constitutions imposed by former regimes, or amnesties granted to militaries responsible for human rights abuses, these are not institutional arrangements simply forced upon society and made difficult to remove under democracy.
That is not the case with authoritarian successor parties, former dictators, or the children of former dictators. Voters must willingly cast their ballots for these people. And it turns out that this is exactly what happens in most new democracies. In fact, across most of the so-called third-wave democracies—those established from the mid-1970s onward—voters have freely and willingly used the ballot box to support political actors who had some connection to the former dictatorship.
The Greater Danger Today Is Populist Power-Grabbing
US President Donald Trump and Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán arrive for a working dinner at the NATO Summit in Brussels, Belgium on July 11, 2018. Photo: Gints Ivuskans / Dreamstime.
Your scholarship frequently emphasizes the “double-edged” nature of authoritarian successor parties: they may stabilize democracy by incorporating former regime actors, yet simultaneously preserve authoritarian enclaves. In today’s context of democratic backsliding, do you believe the balance has shifted more decisively toward the harmful side of that equation?
Dr. James Loxton: What you say is true. Authoritarian successor parties are, in many ways, a double-edged phenomenon. On the one hand, they can be surprisingly helpful because they provide a political voice for people who supported and identified with the old regime.On the other hand, they can also be harmful. They may protect undemocratic constitutions or shield human rights violators from accountability. In some extreme—though actually quite rare—cases, they can undermine the new democracy itself and push the country back toward authoritarianism.
But when I look around the world today at countries such as Hungary until very recently, Turkey, the United States, or Brazil until recently—cases where democracy has either come under severe stress or, in some instances, broken down altogether—I do not see authoritarian successor parties or the children of former dictators as the primary common denominator. Rather, the recurring pattern is that populist leaders run for office promising to smash the elites and return power to “the people.” Then, once in office, they proceed to concentrate power in their own hands and tilt the political playing field in their favor. So, when I think about the democratic backsliding occurring across much of the world today, I see populism—not authoritarian successor parties—as the more significant common thread.
Some Populists Turn Dictatorship into a Golden Age
In recent years, we have seen populist leaders invoke nostalgia for “strong states,” “order,” and “national greatness.” How much of contemporary populism do you see as a repackaging of authoritarian inheritance into emotionally resonant democratic narratives?
Dr. James Loxton: It depends on the case. A common populist message is the promise to “make X great again”—whether that means making America great again, Turkey great again, Hungary great again, or something similar. If a country has an authoritarian past, then celebrating that past can certainly become part of the populist appeal. But that is not true in every case.
At the same time, I find the phenomenon of authoritarian nostalgia both fascinating and extremely widespread. And I want to return to something I mentioned earlier: the idea that voters often do remember the old regime and vote accordingly, even if that may make some of us uncomfortable to acknowledge. However, there are also cases in which the public memory of the past is clearly inaccurate or heavily distorted. The best contemporary example, in my view, is the Philippines under Ferdinand Marcos Jr., or Bongbong Marcos, as he is commonly known.
If we look across authoritarian regimes globally and consider those marked by extreme corruption and incompetence, the Marcos dictatorship ranks very high on the list. This was not a case like Park Chung-hee’s South Korea or the KMT in Taiwan—authoritarian regimes that were undoubtedly repressive but also highly developmental. The Marcos regime was essentially a kleptocracy. Yet, when Bongbong Marcos ran for president, he fully embraced his father’s legacy and presented it as a kind of golden age. He described his father as a genius, while a vast network of supporters produced YouTube videos and social media content portraying the Marcos years in a completely misleading way.
This narrative appears to have resonated with many Filipino voters who were frustrated with the many grievances facing the Philippines today. So, in some cases, people genuinely remember the past and vote accordingly, while in other cases, historical memory itself becomes seriously distorted.
Former Regime Elites Can Colonize the Party System
Your work on authoritarian diasporas argues that former authoritarian elites often disperse across multiple parties after transitions rather than remain concentrated in a single successor organization. Could this fragmentation actually make authoritarian influence more durable and difficult to detect within democratic systems?
Dr. James Loxton: Yes. This is part of a research project I worked on with Timothy Power at Oxford. Tim is an expert on Brazil, which provides a particularly interesting case. In 1985, Brazil’s two-decade-long military regime came to an end, and the country transitioned to democracy. Yet for roughly the next 20 years, the party system remained heavily dominated by figures connected to that military regime.The dictatorship had created an official party and organized elections while still under authoritarian rule. Then, once democratization occurred, politicians from that party dispersed across the political spectrum. In effect, they colonized the broader party system.
Now, the official party of the old regime did continue to exist. It performed relatively well and, in fact, still exists today, although under several different names over the years. But the real influence of the broader authoritarian diaspora—the wider coalition that had governed Brazil during military rule—was far more consequential and far more influential than one might assume simply by looking at the authoritarian successor party itself.
Young Voters Can Embrace Dictatorships They Never Experienced
One of the most striking developments globally is the rehabilitation of authoritarian reputations among younger generations with no lived memory of dictatorship. How should scholars understand the role of generational distance, digital media ecosystems, and historical revisionism in the electoral resurgence of authoritarian heirs?
Dr. James Loxton: The case of Bongbong Marcos in the Philippines is a very clear example. He appears to enjoy substantial support among younger voters. Another example is Bolsonaro in Brazil. Bolsonaro was a relatively low-level figure—a captain in the Brazilian military—and a young man during the years of military rule. Yet he has fully and enthusiastically, and often quite provocatively, embraced the legacy of the old dictatorship. In doing so, he has attracted considerable support from many Brazilian voters, including younger generations.
I find this to be a deeply disturbing phenomenon: people who never directly experienced authoritarian rule nevertheless developing a kind of fantastical understanding of what those regimes were actually like. We see this not only in Brazil and the Philippines, but also in countries such as Spain and Chile. We also see it in what I call “authoritarian nostalgia parties.” These are not necessarily parties that emerged organically from the old regime itself. In many cases, decades have passed since the return to democracy. Yet these parties place nostalgia for the former authoritarian order at the very center of their electoral appeal. And unfortunately, this phenomenon appears to be becoming increasingly common.
Democracy Requires More Than Elections
In “Authoritarianism: A Very Short Introduction,” you discuss authoritarianism not simply as a regime type but as a broader political logic. Do you think contemporary democracies are increasingly experiencing what we might call the “authoritarianization of democratic culture,” even before formal regime breakdown occurs?
Dr. James Loxton: No, actually, in that book I very clearly present authoritarianism as a regime type. An authoritarian regime is one that fails to meet all the criteria associated with what is commonly known as the procedural minimum definition of democracy.To qualify as a democracy, a regime must have free and fair elections, universal suffrage, and protections for a broad range of civil liberties. If any one of those elements is absent, then the regime is not democratic; it is authoritarian.
Authoritarian Actors Do Not Always Need Populism
In several countries, authoritarian successor parties have successfully repositioned themselves as defenders of democracy against allegedly corrupt or dysfunctional democratic elites. Is anti-establishment populism today becoming the primary mechanism through which authoritarian actors regain democratic legitimacy?
Dr. James Loxton: Some authoritarian successor parties do adopt a populist message, presenting themselves as challengers to entrenched elites and claiming to speak on behalf of “the people.” Others, however, do not. It really varies from case to case.Just like politicians more broadly, some choose to campaign as populists, while others pursue very different strategies. Ultimately, it depends on the specific party or candidate in question.
Authoritarian Branding Survives Radio, Television, and X
Your research demonstrates that authoritarian successor parties often inherit organizational advantages such as party brands, territorial networks, and clientelist infrastructures. In the digital age, have these inherited assets become less important than affective polarization, social media mobilization, and charismatic personalization? Or do old authoritarian networks still matter beneath the surface?
Dr. James Loxton: The term authoritarian inheritance functions as a broad umbrella concept encompassing a wide range of assets that authoritarian successor parties—or, in the case of my more recent work, former dictators themselves or their children—can draw upon.Now, some of these assets are probably less important than they once were. I still believe that having a strong territorial organization matters, but perhaps it matters somewhat less in the age of social media and digital communication. However, one element that I think remains just as important as ever is the power of the party brand.
And this brings us back to a deeply uncomfortable—but fundamentally important—idea that we need to take seriously if we want to understand why these actors so often succeed electorally under democracy. The key point is that an association with the old regime may actually function as an asset. Some people may look back at that regime, accurately or inaccurately, and conclude: “You know what? I really liked that. I would like more of it.” That kind of political branding remains highly relevant regardless of whether parties are communicating through radio, television, or X.
Some Regimes Combine Democracy and Dictatorship
Supporters of Brazil’s former President (2019–2022) Jair Bolsonaro hold signs during a demonstration in São Paulo, Brazil, on September 7, 2025. Photo: Dreamstime.
And finally, Dr. James Loxton, if authoritarianism today increasingly survives not through coups, but through elections, constitutional manipulation, and dynastic succession, do we need an entirely new conceptual vocabulary beyond the classic democracy-authoritarianism binary to understand 21st-century regime evolution?
Dr. James Loxton: I’m a student of Steven Levitsky. He was my PhD supervisor, and he has had a profound influence on how I understand politics. Levitsky, together with his longtime collaborator Lucan A. Way, coined the term “competitive authoritarianism” to describe a hybrid regime that combines elements of both democracy and authoritarianism.One of the things I find particularly fascinating is how widely the concept of competitive authoritarianism has spread—not only within academia, but increasingly in broader public discourse as well. You now hear journalists and commentators regularly using the term in mainstream political discussions.
I think this is one of the most important concepts political science has produced over the past few decades because it so effectively captures cases such as Hungary until very recently or Peru in the 1990s. These are systems where elections still exist and where the opposition retains at least some possibility of winning, however limited. Opposition parties continue to operate, and dissenting voices can still communicate their messages—perhaps not through the main state broadcaster, but through alternative forms of media. So, we are not talking about fully closed regimes like Russia or North Korea.
There is genuine political competition, but the playing field is fundamentally uneven and unfair. That is the great danger in countries such as the United States today. In fact, Levitsky and Way argue that the United States is no longer a full democracy and has drifted toward a form of competitive authoritarianism. Similarly, Brazil under Bolsonaro appeared to be moving in that direction, and that is essentially what Hungary became under Fidesz.
So, to be honest, I still find the democracy-versus-dictatorship binary useful. At the same time, I also recognize that some regimes occupy a gray zone in between—systems that combine important features of both democracy and dictatorship.
Professor Quinn Slobodian, Professor of International History at Boston University and one of the leading scholars of neoliberalism and the contemporary far right, argues that “Muskism” represents a profound transformation in the relationship between capitalism, technology, and democracy. In an interview with the ECPS, Professor Slobodian contends that Elon Musk embodies a new political-economic order grounded not in liberal individualism but in “a cybernetic understanding of human society” shaped by digital networks, AI, and technocratic management. According to Professor Slobodian, Musk no longer treats democracy as a meaningful political ideal: “For Musk, democracy almost appears to be yesterday’s problem.” The interview explores neoliberalism, authoritarianism, Silicon Valley’s “state symbiosis,” digital sovereignty, and the growing convergence between platform capitalism and far-right populism.
Giving an interview to the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Quinn Slobodian, Professor of International History at Boston University, argues that “Muskism” marks a profound shift in the relationship between capitalism, technology, and democracy. In his view, Elon Musk should not be understood merely as an eccentric billionaire, but as the embodiment of a new political-economic formation built on the infrastructures of platform capitalism, artificial intelligence, military technology, and state dependency.
For Professor Slobodian, Muskism cannot be separated from neoliberalism. “It’s impossible to understand how we arrive at Muskism without considering the effects of neoliberalism,” he explains. Decades of neoliberal policy helped create the conditions under which private actors could assume functions once performed by public institutions. Yet Muskism also departs from classical neoliberalism. Rather than beginning with “consumer sovereignty” or “individual freedom,” it rests on “a kind of cybernetic understanding of human society,” imagining society as “a networked totality that must be engineered and managed to produce optimized outcomes.”
This is where the headline of the interview becomes central. According to Professor Slobodian, Muskism radicalizes neoliberal efforts to constrain democracy, but goes further by treating democracy as increasingly obsolete. While earlier neoliberal thinkers such as Friedrich Hayek and Milton Friedman remained deeply concerned with democracy as a social force, Musk, he argues, does not even “offer lip service to traditional political ideas such as civil society, deliberation, or representation.” For Musk, these concepts belong to “an outdated era of social and political life” supposedly surpassed by “technological acceleration, digital connectivity, and new forms of mediated decision-making.” As Professor Slobodian puts it starkly: “For Musk, democracy almost appears to be yesterday’s problem.”
The interview also explores Professor Slobodian’s concept of “state symbiosis.” Contrary to the familiar image of Silicon Valley elites as anti-state libertarians, he argues that today’s tech oligarchs increasingly seek not to escape the state but to merge with it. Muskism, in this sense, is not about “withering away the state,” but about selling “sovereignty as a service”—from orbital launches and satellite connectivity to AI tools for state administration.
Professor Slobodian further warns that Muskism represents “a radical departure from the liberal tradition,” replacing ideas of human dignity, agency, and representation with optimization, efficiency, and programmable social systems. At the same time, he situates Muskism within broader far-right and populist transformations, arguing that many contemporary right-wing movements are not simply anti-neoliberal reactions, but “the bastard offspring of neoliberalism itself.”
Here is the edited version of our interview with Professor Quinn Slobodian, revised slightly for clarity and flow.
Muskism Begins with the Network, Not the Individual
Professor Slobodian, welcome. InMuskism, you conceptualize Elon Musk less as an individual eccentricity than as the embodiment of an emerging political-economic order. To what extent do you see “Muskism” as a successor to neoliberalism, and to what extent is it better understood as neoliberalism mutating into a post-democratic or neo-feudal formation?
Professor Quinn Slobodian: It’s impossible to understand how we arrive at Muskism without considering the effects of neoliberalism. The basic idea that private actors can perform functions previously carried out by states better than public institutions can is really the premise on which Musk gains his initial foothold in both government and markets. A clear example is SpaceX, which got its start in 2002 through major contracts with the Pentagon and the Department of Defense.
The extent to which power has been transferred to business leaders like Musk is itself a symptom of neoliberalism. What we find distinctive about Muskism, however—and what differentiates it from neoliberalism—is partly the way it justifies itself. Rather than appealing to the language of consumer sovereignty or even individual freedom, Muskism—and this is shared more broadly among his cohort of tech leaders—rests on a kind of cybernetic understanding of human society and even of the relationship between the state and business.
Instead of viewing government as an institution that creates the conditions for individual free-market decision-making, which is the traditional neoliberal position, the Musk approach imagines society as a networked totality that must be engineered and managed to produce optimized outcomes.
So, rather than beginning with the individual, as neoliberalism ultimately does, Muskism begins at the level of the network—and that network is always already digital, a computerized world. In that sense, it feels quite different from the animating ideas of the neoliberal era, even if the extraordinarily concentrated wealth and power of someone like Musk could only emerge after decades of neoliberal policy.
Musk Treats Democracy as Something to Be Hacked
Your work repeatedly emphasizes the “encasement” of markets from democratic interference. Do contemporary tech oligarchs represent a new phase of this neoliberal project—one in which democracy is no longer merely constrained institutionally but rendered technologically obsolete through algorithmic governance and AI-driven administration?
Professor Quinn Slobodian: It does radicalize the trends that I and others have emphasized in the past when talking about neoliberalism, in the sense that it, like neoliberalism, is concerned with constraining the space for citizen input and citizen action to ensure that outcomes align with a preconceived idea of how law and policy should function.
In Globalists and other works, I and others have discussed how the creation of counter-majoritarian institutions and forms of international economic law that sit above the decision-making power of sovereign governments serve to guarantee market outcomes, even in the face of hesitation or resistance from populations. So, there was always this tension between protecting capitalism and respecting democracy. At times, democracy itself seemed to have to be partially suspended in order to secure the kind of capitalist outcomes policymakers wanted. The difference with Musk and Muskism is that there is far less serious consideration of the legitimacy of democracy altogether.
Even thinkers like Friedrich Hayek or Milton Friedman—or, at the more radical end, figures such as Murray Rothbard and the anarcho-capitalist tradition—however wary they were of democracy, majoritarianism, or populism, still understood democracy as something they had to contend with. There was, in a sense, a kind of respect for the social force democracy represented and for the symbolic value it held for ordinary people. What is extraordinary about someone like Elon Musk is that he does not even offer lip service to traditional political ideas such as civil society, deliberation, or representation. These concepts seem to him to belong to an outdated era of social and political life that has been transcended by technological acceleration, digital connectivity, and new forms of mediated decision-making.
So, democracy is no longer even something to be worried about in the way Hayek, for example, was endlessly preoccupied with it. For Musk, democracy almost appears to be yesterday’s problem. The technocratic engineering mentality he brings into politics treats democracy as just another technical issue to be hacked and aligned with one’s own interests.
This also applies to his relationship with the European far right—to perhaps anticipate a question you might ask—because the conventional journalistic interpretation of his ties to figures such as Alice Weidel, Tommy Robinson, or far-right actors in Poland and elsewhere is that they reflect ideological sympathy or a shared commitment to anti-immigrant politics or even white supremacist ideas. But I do not think that is the most accurate way to understand it. I think Musk sees far-right parties in highly functional terms. He views them as the parties of the future, destined to replace the legacy formations of social democracy, Christian democracy, and political centrism.
From that perspective, it makes sense for him to align himself with what he sees as the future engines of European politics—not out of any principled commitment to self-determination or popular sovereignty, but because such alliances are more functional for his business interests.
This very thin understanding of politics—one that treats politics memetically and as a series of engineering problems—is difficult for many people to grasp because we still instinctively assume that popular sovereignty remains an important political force. What is striking about Musk is that he no longer seems to believe it even requires attention.
Silicon Valley No Longer Wants to Escape the State
Silicon Valley Technology Center in San Jose, California. Photo: Joe Sohm / Dreamstime.
You argue that Silicon Valley elites are not anti-state libertarians but proponents of “state symbiosis.” How does this alter conventional understandings of authoritarianism? Are we witnessing the emergence of a privatized authoritarianism in which sovereignty is increasingly outsourced to platform monopolies?
Professor Quinn Slobodian: One of our main goals with the book was to reshape the conversation around Silicon Valley ideology. It has become quite common to describe Silicon Valley leaders as libertarians, and at one point that may indeed have been a reasonably accurate characterization. But that is far less true today.
One important thing to recognize is that digital capitalism has now existed for several decades, and Silicon Valley’s business model has changed dramatically since the mid-1990s, when internet infrastructure was first handed over to private interests. There have essentially been three distinct phases during this period, and the politics associated with Silicon Valley have largely reflected the dominant economic model of each phase.
At the dawn of the internet in the late 1990s, it was still possible to imagine the web as a genuinely de-territorialized space existing outside the boundaries of any single nation-state, enabling radical new forms of interaction, value creation, and community. That vision had a certain plausibility. It also aligned with clear business interests, since companies were attempting to build a parallel digital world of retail and payments. So, when Peter Thiel in the 1990s declared, “I’m a libertarian, and what I’m trying to do at PayPal is create stateless money,” that framing was not entirely implausible. It was a reasonable way to understand what was emerging at the time.
Roughly a decade later, after the dot-com boom and bust, the dominant model became Web 2.0: social media, platforms, apps, Uber, Facebook, Twitter, and so forth. These businesses were largely asset-light. They required relatively little capital expenditure and functioned primarily by creating open digital spaces in which users generated data that could then be monetized through advertising.
Even during that period, Silicon Valley ideology did not need to engage very seriously with the state. These companies portrayed themselves as building a parallel world of socialization and commerce that required little from government beyond permission to continue operating and generating profits.
What changes in the present moment is the rise of generative AI and the renewed focus on hard-tech industries. Just today, for example, there was a report about Anduril—the defense startup focused on drones, missiles, and military logistics—which doubled its valuation over the last year from $30 billion to $60 billion.
Musk now increasingly sees the state itself as his market: selling orbital launches to governments, selling satellites—or access to satellites—for battlefield operations and rural connectivity, and selling XAI chatbot software for government administration. This shift toward military technology and generative AI has fundamentally altered Silicon Valley’s relationship with government, and with it, its political philosophy. It no longer makes much sense to call yourself a libertarian when the government is your primary customer. Nor does libertarianism fit a situation in which companies rely on government to open federal lands for drilling, rewrite regulations, and guarantee preferred access to contracts. The fusion between state and private actors has become impossible to ignore.
At the same time, I do not think it is convincing to interpret all of this simply as the hollowing out or withering away of the state. You asked whether this represents the privatization of sovereignty away from government. We would describe it instead as “sovereignty as a service.” Certain state functions are privatized, but this process simultaneously expands state capacity. Access to low-Earth orbit, for example, or to integrated bureaucratic databases that can be queried across agencies in previously impossible ways—these developments do not diminish state power; they increase it.
Muskism Is About Becoming Part of the State
Caricature: Shutterstock.
For that reason, it is important to understand Musk and Muskism as more than simple forms of rentierism or crony capitalism. Personally, I think terms such as “techno-feudalism” can be misleading because they suggest a backward or regressive form of capitalism in which private actors merely carve out digital fiefdoms and extract rents from dependent populations. That does not really capture what is happening. Countries such as China, Russia, and the United States are, in many respects, becoming more centrally powerful through access to the products and services developed by tech companies. At the same time, however, they are becoming increasingly dependent on those same companies.
This is why the balance of what we call “symbiosis” is so precarious and requires careful attention. It can easily tip into parasitism if the relationship becomes too unbalanced. Conversely, private firms may defect if they feel excessively pressured by their state clients.
We have seen examples of this dynamic even in recent months. The Department of Defense and Pete Hegseth’s staff suddenly declared Anthropic to be a supply-chain risk and sought to remove its software from government systems. Initially, this looked like an assertion of state authority over the private sector. But almost immediately, two things happened: courts ruled against the decision, and other tech firms rallied behind Anthropic, effectively saying, “We do not want to be subjected to arbitrary state decision-making, and we also want collective influence over how our products are used.”
So, what we are seeing is a partnership, an alliance, a fusion—however one chooses to describe it. But it is no longer the libertarian fantasy historically associated with Silicon Valley: escaping the state, building private cities, or founding sovereign communities on decommissioned oil rigs in Honduras. That may have been a plausible understanding of Silicon Valley in 2000, or perhaps even in 2009. But by 2026, the dynamic is much more about becoming part of the state than escaping it.
Tech CEOs Are Not Sovereigns
In your discussion of “sovereignty as a service,” firms such as SpaceX, Palantir, and Starlink appear not simply as contractors but as infrastructural sovereigns. Does this imply a transformation of the Weberian state itself—from a monopoly of legitimate violence to a dependency network mediated by corporate platforms?
Professor Quinn Slobodian: I think we are deliberately stopping short of that argument because we are not saying that Musk, Zuckerberg, and Bezos are sovereigns. They are not.
What is interesting about the DOGE moment we discuss in the final chapter of the book is that it serves as a revealing test case of how far a tech CEO can govern directly in practice. How far can that line actually be pushed? Can the tech lord effectively become the formal national government? What we saw was that Musk was actually quite bad at it. He not only failed to achieve the goals he had set for himself in terms of reducing state costs, but he also failed to secure legitimacy from the American public at a very basic level. His popularity plummeted during his time in Washington, and he did not emerge as a sovereign figure, as it were.
So, to us, the division of labor between traditional governments and tech firms remains essential. Governments still perform the old-fashioned functions of securing consent and legitimacy, and that remains a necessary condition for the expansion of tech leaders’ power. They do not need to govern directly, nor do they need to seize sovereignty for themselves. Contracting out sovereignty—what we describe as selling “subscription sovereignty,” as it were—is not the same thing as actually being sovereign. Those are distinct categories, and it is important to keep them separate.
Some of the more exaggerated alarm bells surrounding tech power too quickly jump to the conclusion that these figures have become new emperors or kings. But they have not. Nor do they necessarily want to be. What is interesting, of course, is that Musk has called himself “Technoking” at Tesla since 2021 rather than CEO. But in practical terms, these people are not especially good at governing. While governments increasingly outsource certain capacities to tech lords, the tech lords, in turn, outsource governing back to states. So far, that arrangement appears relatively stable and not easily disrupted in any fundamental way.
At the same time, what is fascinating about the present moment is that the disruptive effects of generative AI are creating such intense public attention around new technologies that figures like Dario Amodei and Sam Altman increasingly feel compelled to address populations in quasi-political or quasi-governmental terms. They now say things like, “We have a constitution for our AI,” or “Here is our vision for a public wealth fund,” or “Here is our proposal for fiscal policy.” In that sense, they are increasingly treated as though they are co-governing alongside agencies in Washington, D.C. But practically speaking, I still think there remains at least a horizontal relationship—and perhaps even a slight subordination—of these companies to the state itself.
Musk May Have Overplayed His Hand in Europe
Elon Musk—founder and CEO of SpaceX, CEO of Tesla, owner of X (formerly Twitter), and co-founder of Neuralink and OpenAI—speaks at VIVA Technology (VivaTech), June 16, 2023. Photo: Frédéric Legrand / Dreamstime.
Much contemporary scholarship frames democratic backsliding as a crisis driven by populist leaders and illiberal parties. Your analysis suggests that technological infrastructures and billionaire networks may be equally central. Should we rethink democratic erosion less as a purely political phenomenon and more as a reconfiguration of political economy?
Professor Quinn Slobodian: The relationship between Silicon Valley and the far right in Europe is a particularly fascinating one. It also provides another revealing example of the delicate balance between Silicon Valley and existing political parties over the question of who actually governs. In late 2024, when Musk was investing his money and political capital in Trump’s election campaign, he seemed to believe that he could replicate that success almost universally. For a moment, at least, he appeared to think he had acquired a kind of political superpower—the ability to make virtually anyone electorally viable in any political environment. For several months, he attempted to use this supposed superpower to transform even relatively fringe candidates across Europe into credible political figures.
What we have seen since then, however, is that it does not work like a superpower at all. In many cases, it is actually counterproductive. A number of these right-wing parties have built their legitimacy around the language of sovereignty, and they are often damaged when they become too closely associated with an American tech billionaire. Interestingly, some of the transnational support figures like Musk have extended to right-wing populist parties in Europe has actually undermined rather than strengthened their credibility.
The positive side of this development is that it shifts public debate away from purely symbolic issues—or highly distorted narratives about immigration and demographics—and toward questions of political economy, exactly as you suggest.
Europe’s dependence on American-produced technologies is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. This creates a genuine opening for center-left and centrist parties in Europe. If they can demonstrate that they are capable of securing genuine digital sovereignty and data sovereignty vis-à-vis Silicon Valley, that could significantly strengthen their credibility among voters as forces capable of delivering national autonomy, strategic capacity, and political strength. In that sense, the past year has revealed that the Silicon Valley leadership class may, in some respects, have overplayed its hand and unintentionally produced a kind of boomerang effect. As people become more aware of the disruptive consequences of new technologies and of the dependencies created by a small number of tech firms, they are beginning to ask whether alternative arrangements might be possible. Increasingly, it appears that creating substitutes or alternatives to things like Starlink, SpaceX, or X.com is ultimately a matter of political will. None of these systems are inevitable.
We are already beginning to see this shift. France has started moving away from Microsoft products, Denmark is pursuing similar policies, and there is growing interest in Eutelsat as a European low-Earth-orbit alternative to Musk’s satellite infrastructure. These are genuinely praiseworthy developments. They may also provide a more material foundation for thinking about European identity and strategic autonomy in ways that could ultimately weaken some of the messaging power of right-wing populist parties.
Optimization Replaces Individual Freedom in Muskism
To what extent is Muskism compatible with liberalism at all? Is it best understood as an illiberal variant of neoliberalism, or does it represent a more radical break with liberal constitutional traditions altogether?
Professor Quinn Slobodian: Muskism has very little to do with the liberal tradition. In fact, it represents a much more radical break with the broader trajectory of Western political thought stretching from John Locke to the present. Because it is fundamentally a technologically determinist philosophy. It takes the functioning of network technologies—especially computers—as a kind of model for how society itself should be organized and managed. In doing so, central liberal categories such as the dignity of the individual, or the value of human agency and individuality, cease to function as foundational principles. They are displaced by concerns with optimization and efficiency.
In some respects, the closest intellectual tradition it resembles is utilitarianism, insofar as it evaluates social interventions primarily according to outcomes, regardless of their effects on individual freedoms or other normative principles. But because this worldview is fundamentally mediated through the logic of the computer, it also dehumanizes politics. Belief systems become reducible to systems of replicable memes—or, as Musk himself calls them, “mind viruses.” This framework assumes that people do not possess genuine convictions or socially rooted beliefs but instead function as programmable and reprogrammable units of information. Those informational units can either be modified arbitrarily by someone with sufficient coding power or removed from the system altogether, as we saw in Musk’s projects at Twitter and DOGE.
So, in that sense, I do think Muskism represents a radical departure from the liberal tradition. And that is precisely what makes it—while still very much a system that produces inequality and concentrates private power—operate according to fundamentally different premises from the neoliberalism of the last several decades to which we have otherwise become accustomed.
The Far Right Is the Bastard Offspring of Neoliberalism
In your recent writings, you argue that many contemporary far right-populist formations are not anti-neoliberal but “the bastard offspring of neoliberalism itself.” How does this insight complicate dominant narratives that treat populism simply as a backlash against globalization?
Professor Quinn Slobodian: This line of inquiry emerged for me during the period from roughly 2008 to 2018, when the rise of right-wing backlash parties—especially the Alternative for Germany (AfD), but also the Tea Party in the United States and eventually the MAGA movement—was frequently described as a rejection of neoliberalism. What fascinated me was that many of the people deeply involved in these movements actually came out of the libertarian tradition and, in some cases, directly from the think tanks most closely associated with neoliberal policy formation—the Heritage Foundation in the United States, the Institute of Economic Affairs in Britain, and similar institutions.
What I discovered was the rather surprising fact that, after the end of the Cold War, many neoliberals did not believe they had definitively won. Instead, they identified new enemies and new forms of opposition, particularly environmentalism, feminism, and anti-racism. As a result, they began forming alliances with people for whom those issues were primary concerns. Suddenly, individuals primarily committed to economic freedom found themselves working closely with people primarily motivated by racial purity or national chauvinism.
In the United States, this coalition became known as the Paleo Alliance. These were actors who rejected the post-Cold War consensus around democracy promotion and strongly opposed the compromises that had emerged between civil rights movements and the American legal order—affirmative action, workplace harassment laws, and similar reforms. Many neoliberals came to view these developments as a new “road to serfdom,” and therefore believed they needed to push back and seek allies wherever they could find them.
The AfD is, in many ways, a particularly clear example of this dynamic because it effectively united neoliberal economists with Islamophobic right-wing German nationalists. They were bound together by a shared hostility toward the European Union—both because they believed it undermined German monetary sovereignty and because they felt it weakened sovereign control over borders.
What emerged, then, were these unusual alliances between actors motivated primarily by economic concerns and others driven by cultural or even racial anxieties. If you examine many of the parties associated with Europe’s right-wing backlash, you find that a significant number emerged from precisely this fusion moment of the 1990s and early 2000s.
The same pattern was visible in the United States. If you look at Trump’s economic advisers during his first term, figures such as Arthur Laffer stand out. Laffer had literally advised Reagan on tax cuts in the early 1980s and then returned decades later to help design Trump’s tax cuts.
So, the mainstream narrative—which often portrayed a sharp rupture between an earlier era of market-friendly globalism and a new era of nationalist anti-neoliberalism—missed something important. The political actors themselves often remained the same. What changed was not their entire political worldview, but rather their preferred mode of organizing capitalism.
In this ECPS interview, Associate Professor Emilia Zankina, Dean and Associate Professor of Political Science at Temple University Rome, analyzes Rumen Radev’s rise after Bulgaria’s 2026 parliamentary election. She argues that Radev’s success reflects “growing frustration” with instability and mainstream parties, as well as his ability to combine “the pro-EU versus pro-Russian divide” with the “corruption versus anti-corruption divide.” While Radev presents himself as an anti-corruption reformer and defender of sovereignty, Assoc. Prof. Zankina warns that his strategy is to “walk a fine line—embracing pro-Russian positions on issues such as energy while maintaining pro-EU policies.” Despite persistent Russophilia and political fragmentation, she stresses that “the majority of the Bulgarian population remains fundamentally pro-European.”
Bulgaria’s 2026 parliamentary election has opened a new and uncertain chapter in European politics. After years of fragmented parliaments, unstable coalitions, caretaker governments, and anti-corruption protests, Rumen Radev’s Progressive Bulgaria secured a decisive parliamentary majority and unveiled a new cabinet promising stability, institutional reform, and a break with what it describes as Bulgaria’s “oligarchic governance model.” Yet Radev’s rise also raises profound questions about populism, democratic resilience, Euroscepticism, corruption, and Bulgaria’s geopolitical positioning between Brussels and Moscow. Is this a democratic correction against institutional paralysis and elite capture, or the emergence of a more sophisticated form of personalized populist rule within the European Union?
To explore these questions, the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS) spoke with Associate Professor Emilia Zankina, Dean and Associate Professor of Political Science at Temple University Rome, whose scholarship on populism, democratic backsliding, corruption, and party politics in Eastern Europe offers important insight into Bulgaria’s evolving political landscape.
In this wide-ranging interview, Assoc. Prof. Zankina argues that Radev’s victory reflects “growing frustration among the population with recent instability” and widespread “disillusionment with the mainstream parties.” Yet she stresses that his success rests above all on his ability to merge two enduring cleavages in Bulgarian society: “the pro-EU versus pro-Russian divide” and “the corruption versus anti-corruption divide.” According to Assoc. Prof. Zankina, Radev has successfully positioned himself as both an anti-corruption outsider and a defender of Bulgarian sovereignty, while simultaneously appealing to voters disillusioned with the established political class.
At the center of the discussion is the geopolitical balancing act captured in the headline of this interview. As Assoc. Prof. Zankina explains, “he will try to walk a fine line—embracing pro-Russian positions on issues such as energy while maintaining pro-EU policies, especially in matters related to EU funding.” She repeatedly emphasizes that, despite political fragmentation and persistent pro-Russian sentiment, “the majority of the Bulgarian population remains fundamentally pro-European.” This structural reality, she suggests, places important limits on how far Radev can move Bulgaria away from the European mainstream.
The interview also explores the deeper historical and sociological roots of Bulgarian Russophilia, including Orthodox and Slavic cultural ties, communist-era modernization, energy dependency, and economic anxieties linked to inflation and insecurity. At the same time, Assoc. Prof. Zankina warns against underestimating Radev’s populist strategy. Drawing on her research on Eastern European populism, she argues that Radev exemplifies a “transaction-cost approach” to politics that bypasses formal institutions in favor of direct, personalized leadership and media-centered political communication.
Throughout the conversation, Assoc. Prof. Zankina offers a nuanced and cautious assessment of Bulgaria’s trajectory. While she acknowledges that there is “some genuine political will” for anti-corruption reform, she also warns that oligarchic networks may simply adapt to new political realities. Whether Bulgaria ultimately moves toward democratic renewal or toward a softer form of hybrid governance, she argues, will depend on institutional reforms, opposition cohesion, media pluralism, and the willingness of political elites to resist the temptations of centralized power.
In this ECPS interview, Associate Professor Emilia Zankina, Dean and Associate Professor of Political Science at Temple University Rome, analyzes Rumen Radev’s rise after Bulgaria’s 2026 parliamentary election. She argues that Radev’s success reflects “growing frustration” with instability and mainstream parties, as well as his ability to combine “the pro-EU versus pro-Russian divide” with the “corruption versus anti-corruption divide.” While Radev presents himself as an anti-corruption reformer and defender of sovereignty, Assoc. Prof. Zankina warns that his strategy is to “walk a fine line—embracing pro-Russian positions on issues such as energy while maintaining pro-EU policies.” Despite persistent Russophilia and political fragmentation, she stresses that “the majority of the Bulgarian population remains fundamentally pro-European.”
Bulgaria’s 2026 parliamentary election has opened a new and uncertain chapter in European politics. After years of fragmented parliaments, unstable coalitions, caretaker governments, and anti-corruption protests, Rumen Radev’s Progressive Bulgaria secured a decisive parliamentary majority and unveiled a new cabinet promising stability, institutional reform, and a break with what it describes as Bulgaria’s “oligarchic governance model.” Yet Radev’s rise also raises profound questions about populism, democratic resilience, Euroscepticism, corruption, and Bulgaria’s geopolitical positioning between Brussels and Moscow. Is this a democratic correction against institutional paralysis and elite capture, or the emergence of a more sophisticated form of personalized populist rule within the European Union?
To explore these questions, the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS) spoke with Associate Professor Emilia Zankina, Dean and Associate Professor of Political Science at Temple University Rome, whose scholarship on populism, democratic backsliding, corruption, and party politics in Eastern Europe offers important insight into Bulgaria’s evolving political landscape.
In this wide-ranging interview, Assoc. Prof. Zankina argues that Radev’s victory reflects “growing frustration among the population with recent instability” and widespread “disillusionment with the mainstream parties.” Yet she stresses that his success rests above all on his ability to merge two enduring cleavages in Bulgarian society: “the pro-EU versus pro-Russian divide” and “the corruption versus anti-corruption divide.” According to Assoc. Prof. Zankina, Radev has successfully positioned himself as both an anti-corruption outsider and a defender of Bulgarian sovereignty, while simultaneously appealing to voters disillusioned with the established political class.
At the center of the discussion is the geopolitical balancing act captured in the headline of this interview. As Assoc. Prof. Zankina explains, “he will try to walk a fine line—embracing pro-Russian positions on issues such as energy while maintaining pro-EU policies, especially in matters related to EU funding.” She repeatedly emphasizes that, despite political fragmentation and persistent pro-Russian sentiment, “the majority of the Bulgarian population remains fundamentally pro-European.” This structural reality, she suggests, places important limits on how far Radev can move Bulgaria away from the European mainstream.
The interview also explores the deeper historical and sociological roots of Bulgarian Russophilia, including Orthodox and Slavic cultural ties, communist-era modernization, energy dependency, and economic anxieties linked to inflation and insecurity. At the same time, Assoc. Prof. Zankina warns against underestimating Radev’s populist strategy. Drawing on her research on Eastern European populism, she argues that Radev exemplifies a “transaction-cost approach” to politics that bypasses formal institutions in favor of direct, personalized leadership and media-centered political communication.
Throughout the conversation, Assoc. Prof. Zankina offers a nuanced and cautious assessment of Bulgaria’s trajectory. While she acknowledges that there is “some genuine political will” for anti-corruption reform, she also warns that oligarchic networks may simply adapt to new political realities. Whether Bulgaria ultimately moves toward democratic renewal or toward a softer form of hybrid governance, she argues, will depend on institutional reforms, opposition cohesion, media pluralism, and the willingness of political elites to resist the temptations of centralized power.
Here is the edited version of our interview with Associate Professor Emilia Zankina, revised slightly to improve clarity and flow.
Radev Unified Bulgaria’s Two Deepest Political Divides
Then-Bulgarian President Rumen Radev speaks to the media following his meeting with European Commission President Jean-Claude Juncker at EU headquarters in Brussels, Belgium, on January 30, 2017. Photo: Dreamstime.
Professor Zankina, welcome. Bulgaria’s 2026 election appears to mark the end of a prolonged cycle of fragmented coalition politics and repeated snap elections. To what extent should Rumen Radev’s victory be interpreted as a democratic correction against institutional paralysis and corruption, and to what extent does it reflect the broader European trend of populist personalization of politics?
Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: The first thing I would like to say is that Rumen Radev’s success is a result of growing frustration among the population with recent instability, but also disillusionment with the mainstream parties. More than anything, however, his victory reflects his ability to combine two deep divisions within Bulgarian society. One is the pro-EU versus pro-Russian divide, and the other is the corruption versus anti-corruption divide. Let me say a little about each of them.
More than one party in Bulgaria has won elections on anti-corruption platforms. In fact, twice in recent history, we have had a new savior emerge and sweep parliamentary elections without even existing as a party before the campaign. One example is the 2001 victory of Bulgaria’s former king, Simeon Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, who received 43 percent of the vote with a party formed only a few months before the election. Certainly, he was not a new public figure and had been widely respected throughout the years.
He ran on an anti-corruption and pro-European platform. After serving a full four-year mandate, his party became a junior coalition partner in the next government and then disappeared altogether. Boyko Borisov’s GERB, on the other hand, has been much more successful.
Borisov similarly emerged as a well-known political figure, having served as General Secretary of the Interior Ministry and later as Mayor of Sofia. He formed a party and swept the 2009 elections with 43 percent of the vote, again running on an anti-corruption platform and promising to save the country. Unlike Simeon’s movement, however, Borisov proved far more successful in maintaining power and, with a few exceptions, governed almost uninterruptedly until 2021, when the current instability began.
So once again, we see a population searching for a new savior—someone promising to clean the slate and eliminate corruption. The problem, of course, is that corruption is easy to mobilize voters around, but extremely difficult to address in practical terms and within specific institutions. It is therefore quite possible that voters may once again become disappointed with a government promising to eradicate corruption.
Disillusionment with Elites Helped Radev Consolidate a Broad Coalition
The second division I mentioned is even deeper. Pro-Russian and anti-Russian sentiments have shaped Bulgarian politics since independence in the late nineteenth century. Bulgaria has always had camps of Russophiles and Russophobes, and this divide has played out throughout Bulgarian history, including during the communist period and throughout the post-communist era.
Rumen Radev is clearly pro-Russian. He is a pilot who trained with both NATO and Russian forces, and he has repeatedly expressed support for Russia and Putin’s regime. For example, during the war in Ukraine, he refused to call it a war and continued referring to it as a “military operation.” When the caretaker government of Andrei Gurov signed a ten-year military cooperation agreement with Ukraine, Radev criticized it forcefully. He has also opposed sanctions, especially in the energy sector involving Russian gas and oil, as well as military aid to Ukraine, arguing that such measures threaten Bulgaria’s sovereignty and risk dragging the country into a war that is not its own.
Clearly, he has been able to draw on strong pro-Russian sentiment. If we look at the voters his newly formed party attracted, we see support coming from across the political spectrum. He has certainly taken votes from GERB, especially from voters disillusioned by Borisov’s association with Delyan Peevski, the leader of the ethnic Turkish party whom Borisov effectively co-opted. Peevski was sanctioned under the US Magnitsky Act and by the United Kingdom for corruption. He has become the epitome of the corrupt political model and the “octopus” that has penetrated Bulgarian politics. Borisov’s association with Peevski clearly damaged him, and many GERB voters shifted to Radev.
Radev also attracted voters from the urban democratic opposition, Democratic Bulgaria, which discredited itself to some extent through a short-lived coalition arrangement with Borisov in recent years.
Most interestingly, however, he has almost completely displaced the Bulgarian Socialist Party (BSP), the successor to the Communist Party and historically the country’s most consistently pro-Russian—though also pro-European—party. The BSP fell from one million votes in 2017 to failing to pass the four-percent threshold, losing more than tenfold of its support.
He has also taken more than half the support of the radical-right, pro-Russian party Revival. Bulgaria has a long history of radical-right pro-Russian parties receiving Russian funding, with one replacing another over time. Revival is simply the latest in this line, following parties such as Ataka. Radev succeeded in attracting more than half of their voters. He also drew support from various flash parties, such as There Are Such People, Glory, and Sword.
So we see that he has managed to combine these two major cleavages within Bulgarian society and successfully mobilize voters around them.
As for whether this reflects the broader trend of personalist politics, we have certainly seen this across Europe and beyond—in the United States, in India under Modi, and in Turkey under Erdoğan. With a few exceptions, such as Péter Magyar defeating Orbán in Hungary, strong personalities with increasingly illiberal tendencies have continued to attract support. So yes, Radev is certainly part of that broader trend.
The question, however, is whether he will be able to consolidate such a diverse coalition of support. It is one thing to win elections with heterogeneous backing; it is quite another to pursue concrete policies while maintaining that support. I think he will try to walk a fine line—embracing pro-Russian positions on issues such as energy while maintaining pro-EU policies, especially in matters related to EU funding.
If he were to threaten Bulgaria’s EU affiliation or seriously obstruct Bulgaria’s entry into the Eurozone, which he has publicly opposed, we would immediately see massive protests in the streets. Despite political fragmentation, the majority of the Bulgarian population remains fundamentally pro-European.
Populism Thrives Where Institutions Lose Trust
In your work on populism in Eastern Europe, you conceptualize populism not merely as an ideology but as a political strategy that reduces reliance on formal institutions while privileging direct, personalized political action. How does Radev’s rise illustrate this “transaction-cost” logic of populism, particularly in a context where public distrust toward parties, parliament, and the judiciary has become deeply entrenched?
Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: It’s an excellent question, and I think Radev is a perfect example of this transaction-costapproach because he entered politics as an independent and won two consecutive presidential elections.
From his presidential position, he has been able to spearhead criticism of and opposition to the governing party, GERB. He has skillfully utilized the visibility of the presidency and his ability to address the population directly. For example, on January 1 at midnight, on New Year’s Eve, the president is the only political figure who addresses the nation. Radev used this privilege to advocate for a referendum on the euro. No other politician enjoys such a platform. At the very moment the euro issue became politically salient, he was speaking directly to the entire nation, advocating for a referendum and opposing euro adoption.
He has therefore used presidential authority in a very strategic way, expanding his influence far beyond the office’s formal constitutional limits. He has benefited from extensive media attention and has exercised his veto power more than any other Bulgarian president. Although the presidential veto carries limited institutional weight in Bulgaria, since it can be overturned by a simple parliamentary majority, he nevertheless used it to expand his political influence significantly.
The fact that Bulgaria lacked regular governments for five years also allowed him to appoint caretaker governments chosen by him without parliamentary approval. So, even though he acted nominally within legal limits, he effectively bypassed numerous checks and balances and institutional constraints in order to augment his power, increase his popularity, and, above all, create a direct link with voters in the absence of a party structure and institutional parliamentary mechanisms.
And it is no surprise that it almost did not matter what the party itself was going to be. If you look at his government, it is a hastily assembled coalition made up of people from previous political parties, some experts, and individuals from his presidential cabinet. It is clear that he does not have a deep bench. It is clear that this is not a solid organization. It is clear that he is cashing in precisely on this non-intermediated approach to politics.
Moderate Rhetoric Can Mask a Euroskeptic Agenda
People protesting on the main streets of the capital, demanding the Prime Minister’s resignation, in Sofia, Bulgaria, on July 14, 2020. Photo: Shutterstock.
Radev presents himself simultaneously as an anti-corruption reformer, a defender of Bulgarian sovereignty, and a pragmatic critic of Brussels. How should we analytically distinguish between democratic sovereignty claims and the gradual normalization of Eurosceptic majoritarian politics in the Bulgarian case?
Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: I personally do not trust his arguments. He is very clever, highly educated, and extremely erudite. He comes across as very professional and speaks excellent English. He is, in many ways, a polished and highly skilled politician. The arguments he makes are delivered in a moderate and reasonable tone, but we should not fool ourselves about what lies behind them.
In a situation of geostrategic chaos, when America appears to be abandoning its European allies and adopting increasingly unpredictable behavior under the current Trump administration, Bulgaria, as a country of under seven million people, has very limited options for security, whether military or economic. Bulgaria’s future therefore lies with the European Union for both economic and security reasons. EU membership, together with accession to Schengen and the Eurozone, has demonstrated that Bulgaria has been following a path that has led to significant growth in average income, despite current inflation, which is a global phenomenon.
Moreover, despite the political instability of the last five years, Bulgaria’s integration into the European project has limited politicians’ ability to seriously damage the country’s economic situation. Despite public complaints, wages are rising, labor opportunities are improving, and Bulgarians are far more connected to Europe and travel much more frequently. One simply cannot compare life in Bulgaria before and after EU membership in 2007.
So, when Radev makes arguments that may sound reasonable—for example, claiming that Europe is imposing this or that directive—he is taking advantage of the fact that, within such a large union, some directives will inevitably be unpopular. Take a simple example from years ago: anti-smoking regulations. In Eastern Europe, this was a major issue because people in the region tend to smoke and drink heavily. When these regulations were introduced, they generated significant resistance, partly because they required investments in ventilation systems and imposed additional costs on the hospitality sector.
It is therefore very easy to take a directive that is actually quite straightforward—there is no serious debate about the health benefits of non-smoking—and politicize it by claiming that Europe is imposing laws that contradict local culture or create unnecessary financial burdens.
So again, I would interpret the cautious remarks he makes about sovereignty and Bulgaria asserting its proper role within the European Union as reflecting a hidden Euroskeptic and pro-Russian agenda.
Dictators Are Not Born, They Become Dictators
Many observers compare Radev to Viktor Orbán or Robert Fico, while others argue he is more ideologically flexible and strategically ambiguous. In comparative terms, where would you place Radev within the broader family of contemporary European populist leaders?
Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: I would agree with the argument that he is much more flexible and ideologically unbound. He is a political survivor, so I do not think we would immediately see an Orbán-type figure in Radev. But again, we should not forget that Orbán became who he is over the course of several decades. In the late 1980s, before the collapse of communism, Orbán was strongly criticizing the communist regime and was among the first to give a pro-NATO speech. Orbán became a dictator over time.
And this is important to note here: dictators are never born; dictators become dictators. When Erdoğan first came to power, he was not a dictator. Even when Putin first won elections, he was not a dictator. What happens is that once leaders gain power and begin accumulating more and more control, their willingness to relinquish that control declines very sharply. Most of the dictators we see today actually began as democratically elected leaders. They started that way and then gradually chipped away at democratic mechanisms.
So, for Radev to become an Orbán-type figure, it would take time, even if that is ultimately where he is headed. But I do agree that he is much more ideologically flexible and less rigid than either Orbán or Fico.
If I were to place him within the broader European landscape, especially in the absence of Orbán, I would say that he would probably resemble Fico, though not as firmly positioned. The moment Orbán was no longer there, the €90 billion aid package to Ukraine was immediately approved. So Fico standing alone is not the same as Fico standing together with Orbán. Yes, Fico was the only European leader to attend the May 9 parade in Moscow, but he has not voted as aggressively within the European Union as Orbán has.
So, I would expect Radev to subvert European politics where possible, but he would not dare to do so as explicitly as Orbán has done. Partly, this is because he still does not have a fully consolidated party structure or support base in Bulgaria, and he would risk once again bringing people into the streets in protest.
Replacing Figureheads Does Not Dismantle State Capture
Bulgaria has long suffered from what many analysts describe as “captured institutions,” oligarchic patronage networks, and weak judicial independence. Do you believe Progressive Bulgaria possesses the institutional depth and political discipline necessary for genuine democratic reconstruction, or is there a risk that anti-corruption rhetoric merely legitimizes a new configuration of centralized power?
Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: People are cautiously hopeful that he at least has the motivation to dismantle that model, even if he may not yet possess the institutional resources to do so. However, one of the first votes in Parliament by his new majority—an absolute majority, something Bulgaria has not seen in many years—was, in fact, a vote against investigating Borisov and Peevski.
Some analysts argue that Bulgaria first needs a chief prosecutor before any serious investigation can begin, and that Radev is being strategic by delaying investigations until the judicial system and the prosecutor’s office are cleaned up. I remain very skeptical of that argument.
On the other hand, he did retain the General Secretary of the Interior Ministry, who distinguished himself by cleaning up the ministry within just a few months, removing individuals involved in electoral manipulation, and, together with the Interior Minister and the caretaker Prime Minister, organizing what was probably the fairest and most transparent election in Bulgaria’s post-communist history.
So, on the one hand, I do think there is some genuine desire to combat corruption among many of the people who joined Radev’s project, even if not necessarily from Radev himself, including some of the individuals he is now appointing to key positions. Institutionally, however, the challenge is extremely difficult. Simply removing people would not solve the problem. Constitutional reforms require a supermajority, and we already saw under the previous GERB, DPS, and Democratic Bulgaria majority that constitutional reforms did pass, but they were very poorly designed to address corruption in any meaningful way.
So, I do believe, certainly, there is some genuine political will. At the same time, however, there are many obstacles. There will also be enormous pressure from oligarchic circles to preserve the system simply by replacing one figurehead with another, while continuing to operate through behind-the-scenes deals and informal arrangements. The temptation will therefore be very strong, and it will become a real ethical test for every individual in every position whether they will be able to resist.
Progressive Bulgaria Fits the Classic Populist Formula
Boiko Borisov, leader of the center-right GERB party, during voting in Sofia, Bulgaria, on October 5, 2014. Photo: Julia Lazarova / Dreamstime.
Your research on Bulgarian populism highlights the role of personalist parties and informal political mechanisms. To what extent does Progressive Bulgaria represent another iteration of Bulgaria’s recurring cycle of charismatic anti-establishment movements that mobilize frustration but struggle to institutionalize durable democratic governance?
Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: Progressive Bulgaria fits the perfect recipe for winning elections through a personalist, populist, anti-establishment appeal. What is really interesting—and what scholars have only recently started examining more rigorously—is not how populist parties win. We already know that formula. The more important question is why some of them survive while others disappear so quickly.
If we look at the Bulgarian case, why was it that Simeon Saxe-Coburg-Gotha’s party and the NDSV did not survive for more than eight years, while Boyko Borisov’s party has endured for almost twenty years? And let us not forget, GERB is still not finished—it remains the second-largest party in Parliament.
So, the key question regarding Radev is how quickly this new party will be able to establish local structures. If we examine the GERB example, we can distinguish between two types of local structures. One consists of entirely legitimate local branches, ranging from youth organizations to various municipal party organizations that legitimately mobilize voters, recruit candidates, and so forth.
The second, however, is GERB’s ability to engage in pork-barrel politics by distributing EU funds, legal protection, and other advantages to local businesses. Those businesses then remain loyal and deliver votes through what is known in Bulgaria as “corporate voting.” This differs from direct vote-buying, where individuals are simply paid to vote. In the corporate voting model, entire companies effectively vote for a given party because management instructs employees to do so. And management does so because it benefits from favorable treatment, contracts, and protection from government sanctions.
So, the real question is whether Rumen Radev will be able to establish a local presence, what type of local presence he will build, and how quickly he can do so. It is clear that he has swept the national vote. It is also clear that he can probably attract some of the strongest local supporters from existing party structures and convert them into supporters of Progressive Bulgaria.
But building local networks was one of GERB’s greatest strengths. Borisov’s longtime second-in-command, Tsvetan Tsvetanov, essentially replicated military- and police-style organizational networks in constructing the party’s local structures. He was extremely skilled at doing that. I do not know whether Radev has someone capable of performing a similar role for him.
Radev Balances Electoral, Geopolitical, and Ideological Interests
Radev has repeatedly criticized military support for Ukraine while simultaneously insisting that Bulgaria will remain committed to its European path. Is this strategic ambiguity primarily ideological, geopolitical, or electoral in nature?
Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: Actually, it is probably a combination of all three. Electorally speaking, he can simultaneously appeal to fears of Bulgaria being dragged into the war, to pro-Russian sentiments, and, of course, to the strong pro-European sentiments held by the majority of the Bulgarian population. So, electorally, this positioning is certainly advantageous.
Geostrategically, he genuinely believes he can be the clever actor who secures cheap Russian gas and oil while also benefiting from European funds at the same time. And he is not the first to think this way. Borisov believed something similar before him. Erdoğan also positioned himself as a mediator between Russia and the European Union. And let us not forget that Germany, under Angela Merkel, practiced this approach for decades—benefiting from cheap Russian gas and maintaining bilateral relations with Putin while simultaneously serving as a pillar of the European Union. So, geostrategically speaking, one could argue that this is not necessarily a foolish strategy; it may, in fact, be a clever one.
Ideologically, again, Radev is very flexible. But I do think he has a profound appreciation for Russia’s power and its historical ability to withstand external attacks and survive. Certainly, Russia and the Soviet Union lost many wars, but they did not lose wars fought on their own territory. Whether we look at Napoleon or Hitler during World War II, no one was able to defeat Russia on its own soil. Of course, it is a different matter when Russia fought in Afghanistan, Chechnya, Georgia, and, most recently, Ukraine.
So, I do think he harbors some genuine admiration for the Russian military tradition. And, this is one aspect of his ideological worldview that I would emphasize, even though his views remain much more flexible than those of hardline pro-Russian politicians.
Bulgarian Russophilia Has Deep Historical Roots
Demonstration commemorating May 9, Russia’s Victory Day over Nazi Germany, with participants expressing their emotions and displaying slogans in Sofia, Bulgaria, on May 9, 2022. Photo: Yulian Staykov.
How do you interpret the persistence of pro-Russian sentiment in Bulgaria despite the country’s integration into NATO, Schengen, and the eurozone? To what extent is this sentiment rooted in historical memory, cultural affinity, energy dependency, economic insecurity, or disappointment with liberal democratic elites?
Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: You listed all of the reasons, so let me say a few things about each of them. The historical legacy is very strong. Bulgaria is an Orthodox, Slavic country that speaks a language very similar to Russian. During the Russo-Turkish War of 1876–78, Russian soldiers fought side by side with Bulgarian fighters to secure Bulgaria’s independence from the Ottoman Empire.
When the Red Army crossed the Danube in 1944, it was certainly what many historians—and large parts of the population—would describe as an outright Soviet invasion. But many people also saw it as yet another liberation of Bulgaria, this time from fascism. Then, of course, there were 45 years of Soviet-backed communist rule, which brought industrialization to the country and improved living standards for many people, especially those living outside the large cities.
At the outset of communist rule, Bulgaria was around 70 percent agrarian, and it emerged from communism as a country that was roughly 70 percent industrialized. People who had lived in villages without indoor plumbing or running water suddenly gained privileged access to universities in major cities. So, the social stratification of society was fundamentally reshaped. Many people therefore support Russia because of the communist legacy, historical ties, and linguistic affinity.
Others support Russia because of economic interests, especially in tourism. Bulgaria receives a large number of Russian tourists, and many people along the Black Sea coast depend economically on that tourism sector. They therefore feel genuinely anxious when geopolitical developments threaten the ability of Russian tourists to travel to Bulgaria.
And then, of course, there is the energy sector. Before the war in Ukraine, Bulgaria’s dependence on Russian gas was around 90 percent. This dependence has since fallen to below 40 percent because of sanctions, European policies, and external pressure—mostly external pressure rather than internal willingness. Nevertheless, people remain highly sensitive to energy prices. Energy costs in Bulgaria are much higher as a percentage of income—and often even in absolute terms—than in many Western European countries. Part of this is due to the country’s long-term dependence on a single supplier, as well as the lack of diversification and investment in green energy.
People become anxious very easily because they understand that once energy prices rise, everything else becomes more expensive as well. So, this is a complex combination of factors, with different elements playing different roles for different people. In the current context, uncertainty and inflation are probably more important than cultural arguments, but the historical and cultural dimensions should certainly not be underestimated either.
Bulgaria Could Become a Softer Voice for Moscow
Some analysts argue that Bulgaria risks becoming Moscow’s new “voice” inside the European Union after Orbán’s defeat in Hungary. Do you consider such fears exaggerated, or do you see the emergence of a broader East-Central European bloc seeking to challenge the EU consensus on Ukraine, sanctions, energy, and strategic autonomy?
Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: I do think that Rumen Radev would try to challenge the consensus when it comes to Russia, sanctions on Russia, and especially energy policies affecting Russian oil and gas. He would have Fico as an ally in that regard.
We need to remember, however, that he can only do this at the level of the EU Council and meetings of heads of state and foreign ministers. He cannot do this in the European Parliament, because there are still another three years until the next European parliamentary elections. By that time, who knows whether his party will still be in power and whether, in the 2029 elections, he will be able to secure a strong presence in the European Parliament.
So, his ability to influence the broader European agenda will be somewhat limited, but he will certainly try to challenge the existing consensus. At the same time, Bulgaria remains highly dependent on EU funds. The idea that these funds could somehow be replaced by Russian support would be catastrophic in terms of maintaining popular support within Bulgaria.
Bulgaria Stands Between Reform and Hybrid Rule
Finally, Bulgaria now seems to stand at a crossroads between democratic stabilization and the possibility of a softer, more sophisticated form of hybrid governance. What indicators should scholars and European policymakers watch most carefully during Radev’s first year in office to determine whether Bulgaria is moving toward democratic renewal—or toward a new model of populist state capture?
Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: Fortunately, one very important indicator we need to watch is the ability of the opposition to remain united and provide a coherent alternative through parliamentary debates, upcoming local elections, and so forth. The first thing that happened after Radev’s victory, however, was that the largest opposition force, Democratic Bulgaria, split into its component parts. So, this is not particularly encouraging.
The other major opposition party is GERB, which is also problematic because it is currently behaving in a very neutral and very cunning way. Borisov, for example, did not vote against the new government. When the government was approved on Friday, he abstained, and his party abstained as well. Borisov is very smart and very experienced. He is a strong political animal, as we say. So, he will likely pursue a very calculated strategy of waiting for Radev to commit a faux pas, especially on European issues, and then step in and say: “You see, I respected the will of the people. You wanted a consolidated government, but it turned out not to be a truly pro-European government, and GERB remains the only genuine pro-European force.”
So, Borisov will probably be more successful than the fragmented parts of Democratic Bulgaria, which are now divided into separate formations instead of remaining in coalition. They performed pitifully, both electorally and in terms of their internal politics. And it is a shame, because they were really the mobilizing force behind the latest anti-government protests, yet all of that energy went to waste, and Radev was able to capitalize on it while PP completely lost it. I am afraid that their political inexperience and naivety caused them a major political defeat.
In the concluding installment of her series, Lianne Nota offers a theoretically and empirically grounded reassessment of the relationship between populism and racialization. Moving beyond conventional assumptions, she demonstrates that while racialization is central to certain forms of right-wing populism, it is not an inherent feature of populism itself but contingent upon broader ideological configurations. By foregrounding the role of “new racism” and the discursive linking of categories such as migration, religion, and security, Nota reveals how exclusionary boundaries can be constructed without explicit reference to race. At the same time, the analysis highlights the possibility of de-racializing political discourse through more inclusive articulations of “the people.” The article thus advances a nuanced framework for understanding how language shapes political belonging and exclusion.
By Lianne Nota*
This series set out to explore a question that is often overlooked in populism research: how and under what conditions does racialization shape the construction of the populist ‘people’? By analyzing parliamentary debates in the Netherlands, the findings point to a clear but nuanced conclusion. While racialization plays a significant role in right-wing populism, it is not an inherent feature of populism as such.
Is Racialization Inherent to Populism?
A key takeaway from this study is that populist actors do not automatically produce racialized understandings of ‘the people.’ Both Dutch populist parties under examination relied on a populist logic separating ‘the people’ from ‘the elite,’ yet only one consistently constructed these categories in racialized terms.
This suggests that the presence of racialization depends less on populism itself, and more on the ideological context in which populism is articulated. In the case examined here, right-wing populist discourse constructed ‘the people’ through exclusionary boundaries that essentialized cultural and religious differences, while left-wing populist discourse emphasized inclusivity and resisted such essentialization.
At the same time, this finding should not be taken to mean that left-wing populism is inherently immune to racialization. Rather, it highlights the importance of examining these dynamics empirically, rather than relying on a priori assumptions regarding the presence (or absence) of racialization in populism.
New Racism
Another important insight is that racialization often operates indirectly. Throughout this study, explicit references to race were absent. Instead, references to culture, religion, and civilization performed a similar function. By presenting religious and cultural differences as fixed and immutable, the discourse created boundaries that closely resemble racial hierarchies, without ever using the language of race itself.
This reflects what scholars have called ‘new racism,’ where cultural differences replace biological difference as the basis for exclusion. Another word to describe this type of racism is cultural racism. Cultural or new racism is not necessarily less innocent than ‘traditional’ biological racism, for the cultural boundaries that separate people from each other are presupposed to be absolute, meaning no ‘outsider’ can ever be assimilated into ‘the people (MacMaster, 2001: 194-195). In other words, “cultural racism as a discourse performs the same task as biological racism, as culture functions in the same way as nature, creating closed and bounded cultural groups,” (Wren, 2001: 144).
Understanding racialization in this broader sense is especially important in contexts like the Netherlands. As mentioned in the first article, discussions of racism are often avoided by a majority of academics and policymakers in the Netherlands (Grosfoguel & Mielants, 2006). However, this does not mean that racism is absent from the Netherlands. In fact, as Weiner (2014) argues, racism takes a peculiar form in the Netherlands, rooted in the denial of race as significant and the particular Dutch history of colonization. Building on this, this study shows us how exclusionary logics can persist even in the absence of explicit references to race or racism.
The Importance of Discursive Linkages
The analysis also shows how racialization does not occur only through how ‘the people’ are described, but also through how different categories are linked together.
In right-wing discourse, groups such as Muslims, migrants, and terrorists were frequently connected, forming a broader threatening ‘Other.’ This process can be understood as kind of a discursive chain, where distinct categories are treated as equivalent.
This finding builds on existing scholarship on populism. While scholars have used the idea of a ‘chain of equivalence’ to explain how demands are linked together (Laclau, 2005), this study suggests that a similar logic can operate in the construction of perceived threats. By linking different groups into a single category, the boundaries of ‘the people’ become sharper and can exclude large portions of society from ‘the people’.
Looking Forward
Taken together, these findings draw attention to how processes of (de-)racialization are implied in the construction of the populist ‘people.’ In doing so, this study suggests that race, racism, and racialization are concepts that should be considered more systematically in relation to populism. Societally, this study demonstrates (again) that discourse has real consequences for real people. How something or someone is talked about has real-world implications that can affect the inclusion or exclusion of particular groups from society. In particular, this study warrants us to pay attention to how exclusion is naturalized through language and how groups of people are systemically excluded even in absence of terms like ‘race.’
At the same time, this article series also suggests that such exclusionary discriminatory framings are not inevitable. By emphasizing inclusivity, the protection of human rights, and the rule of law, more pluralistic understandings of ‘the people’ can be advanced.
However, like any study, this analysis has its limitations. It has focused on a single country, a specific time period, and a limited number of political actors. As such, the findings cannot be generalized to all cases of populism across the world.
This opens up avenues for future research. Comparative research across different countries could help determine whether similar patterns emerge elsewhere. It would also be interesting to analyze less traditional platforms like social media networks in order to examine whether racialization plays out differently depending on the platform of choice. Finally, future research could link the discursive dimension of racialization more to the material or institutional dimensions of racialization, for example, by examining how racializing or de-racializing discourse translates into policy decisions and institutional practices.
Ultimately, this article series highlights a broader point: how we talk about ‘the people’ matters. The boundaries drawn through language shape who is included and who is excluded. Paying attention to these boundaries is therefore not only an academic exercise, but also a necessary step in understanding and potentially challenging the dynamics of exclusion in contemporary politics.
(*) Lianne Nota is an ECPS intern and Research Master’s student in International Relations at the University of Groningen, with a focus on identity, populism, ontological security, and the ethics of global affairs. These article series is based on her paper “Constructing ‘The People’: The Role of Racialization in Dutch Populist Discourse”that she wrote for her specialization phase at RUG.
References
Grosfoguel, R., & Mielants, E. (2006). “Introduction: Minorities, Racism and Cultures of Scholarship.” International Journal of Comparative Sociology, 47(3–4), 179–189. https://doi.org/10.1177/0020715206065780
Laclau, E. (2005). On Populist Reason (1st edn). Verso.
Weiner, M. F. (2014). “The Ideologically Colonized Metropole: Dutch Racism and Racist Denial.” Sociology Compass, 8(6), 731–744. https://doi.org/10.1111/soc4.12163
In the third installment of her series, author Lianne Nota presents a nuanced comparative analysis of how “the people” are constructed within Dutch populist discourse. Drawing on parliamentary debates, she demonstrates that right- and left-wing populist actors do not merely differ in tone but articulate fundamentally distinct logics of political belonging. While the Partij voor de Vrijheid (PVV) constructs a homogeneous and exclusionary “people” through the racialization of a Muslim “other,” the Socialistische Partij (SP) advances a more inclusive, civic conception that actively resists such boundary-making. By juxtaposing processes of racialization and de-racialization, Nota offers a compelling empirical contribution that challenges prevailing assumptions about populism’s relationship to exclusion, highlighting instead the contingent and discursive nature of political community formation.
By Lianne Nota*
In the previous parts, we outlined the project in terms of literature, method, and data. In this part, the findings of the analysis will be shared. To reiterate, this study analyzed parliamentary debates about migration, Islam, terrorism, and radicalization in the Netherlands during the 2015 refugee crisis. Through a comparison of how a right- and left-wing populist party spoke about ‘the people’ and various Others, the role of racialization in the construction of ‘the people’ was analyzed. What emerged is not just a difference in tone or emphasis, but a fundamentally different understanding of who belongs and who doesn’t.
PVV: The Homogenous Judeo-Christian People, the Tacialized Muslim Other and the Culpable Elite
The Construction of ‘the People’
PVV consistently presented itself as the party for the ordinary, hardworking, overlooked people. For example, in the debate on the terrorist attacks in Paris at the beginning of January 2015, frontman Geert Wilders stated that “I am [emphasis added] one of the victims, and not just me, but the entirety of the Netherlands and lots of others” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). As part of the common Dutch people, the PVV thus insisted on representing their voice.
For the PVV, ‘the people’ consisted of an innocent Judeo-Christian community that is being threatened by ‘Islamization.’ For example, one speaker expressed that “Islam is alien [‘wezensvreemd’] to the Judeo-Christian and humanist norms, values and traditions on which the Dutch society is based” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015b). In the context of the terrorist attacks in Paris, Wilders stated that he was “furious that, because of Islam, innocent victims fell again: jews, Islam critics and innocent people” and that “Islam simply does not belong to the Netherlands and is a danger to it,”(Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a).
Islam was portrayed as slowly taking over and threatening ‘our’ culture, for example, through an expression like “we are having to put our [emphasis added] Christian culture with the garbage” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015c).Wilders even explicitly mentions that he does not see the encounter with Islam as a clash of civilizations, but rather as “a clash, a confrontation, between civilization and barbarism” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). Entire population groups (primarily Muslims) are thus systematically excluded from ‘the people’ along civilizational lines.
The Construction of ‘the Other’ and ‘the Elite’
The construction of ‘the people’ by PVV happened also through constructing a foreign Other. In this regard, PVV speakers positioned themselves as warriors for freedom fighting against Islam, and simultaneously as experts in Islam. For example, Wilders declared that “I am standing here to fight the root of all evil. That root of all evil is called Islam. I-s-l-a-m. Islam,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015d). At the same time, one of the PVV speakers portrayed an SP opponent as ignorant in claiming that “it takes a lot of work to know exactly what Islam represents and how you can recognize it. I’m not going to give a lecture about it. To Ms. Karabulut of the SP, I say: bury yourself in the books, in the Quran, in hadith, and in the sira. Then you have enough to read and maybe you’ll find out,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015b). This signaled the PVV’s anti-Islam and anti-Muslim position in the debates, while at the same time bolstering their claims as authoritative speakers.
For PVV, the boundaries between Muslims, immigrants, and terrorists were fundamentally blurred. This becomes most clear in the debate about the terrorist attacks in Paris, where Wilders claimed that “of course not all Muslims are terrorists, but almost all terrorists nowadays are Muslims,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). He continued, “For decades, mass immigration has brought hundreds of thousands of people with an alien culture into Europe, into our country. Why do we import all this misery? Islam brings hate and violence everywhere it goes,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a).
In passages like these, it is assumed that terrorism stems from Islam, and through mass immigration, we are inviting Islamist terrorists to our country. Importantly, PVV speakers also linked these categories discursively through attributing physical features. Immigrants were portrayed as “masses of young men of around 20 years with beards” singing “allahu akbar-like songs” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015c). This obviously refers to young Muslim men. But in the data, terrorists were described by Wilders as “people who scream allahu akbar” as well, linking terrorists to immigrants and Muslims (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015d).
As for the elite, PVV speakers depicted political opponents and ruling parties not only as failing to address issues like terrorism and migration, but also as actively enabling them. For example, in the context of the Paris terrorist attacks, Wilders starts by saying that “of course the government is not responsible for every attack.” Still, he continues that “if someone who could have been stopped from returning to the Netherlands, if someone who the government has stopped from returning to Syria, if someone from another Schengen country comes to the Netherlands and commits a terrorist attack, then this government has blood on its hands,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). Statements like these elevate responsibility into moral blame.
These kinds of accusations were blended with portrayals of political opponents as “the political elite who look away,”(Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a), “incompetent” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a) and “scandalously neglecting its duty” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a).
PVV speakers also frequently used a kind of rhetoric that was meant to ridicule political opponents, for example declaring that “I was scared for a moment that clown Bassie [a famous clown in a children’s tv programme] was standing in front of me, but it was mister Kuzu” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015b). As opposed to these political opponents, PVV was depicted as telling the uncomfortable but necessary truth. For example, Wilders mentions that “it’s an awkward truth, but one that must be told: we are talking today about an invasion, an Islamic invasion of Europe, of the Netherlands,”(Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015c). The mixing of these strategies creates a sharp moral divide between ‘the people’ as represented by the PVV and the elite who are portrayed as detached from or indifferent to concerns of ‘ordinary’ Dutch people.
Presence of Racialization in the Discourse
The framing of ‘the people’ by the PVV can be seen as an instance of racialization. There is a boundary that is drawn very clearly between ‘us,’ ‘the people,’ and ‘them,’ Islam or Muslims. In addition, Islam is constructed not merely as a set of beliefs, but as an essentialized and homogeneous category that is incompatible with ‘our’ Dutch identity. In this regard, ‘we’ are clearly presumed superior vis-à-vis ‘them.’
Furthermore, the PVV construction of ‘the elite’ did not directly racialize ‘the people’ but could indirectly reinforce how racialization happens. The strong moral opposition between ‘the elite’ and ‘the people’ heightens the sense of urgency and crisis, which indirectly strengthens the exclusionary boundaries drawn between ‘people’ and ‘other.’ Overall, the PVV thus constructed a threatening racialized ‘other’ which, in turn, sharpened the boundaries of ‘the people’ as a homogeneous collective.
SP: The Inclusive People, the De-racialized Other and the Irresponsible Elite
The Construction of ‘the People’
In contrast to the PVV, the SP tried to portray itself as the protector of the rule of law and individual freedoms by emphasizing “the freedom to think, believe, draw, and write whatever you want” as a central part of ‘our’ democracy (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). SP speakers also stressed that they represented the ‘ordinary’ people in terms of wealth. For example, a speaker assertively stated that “nothing is shared fairly. Everything is for the rich, and those who are poor are screwed” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015e).
SP members also emphasized that the Netherlands is generally a rich country, such as claiming that “in a rich country like the Netherlands, nobody sleeps under a bridge and we don’t eat from trash bins” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015f). SP thus positioned itself as defenders of the law and the less wealthy.
The ‘people’ constructed by SP was also a far more inclusive category compared to PVV. For example, regarding the terrorist attacks in Paris, the frontman of SP at the time, Emile Roemer, stated that “I am also here to protect the freedom of all [emphasis added] Dutch people. That means I have a lot of trouble with Mr. Wilders describing 1 million Dutch people with an Islamic background as potential terrorists,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a).
In the other debates as well, it becomes clear that, for the SP, Muslims are explicitly included in their understanding of ‘the people.’ For example, in one debate, a SP member stated that “I want to clarify that we should all stand firm for the freedoms and fundamental rights of all people, whether it concerns Islamic people, non-religious people, or people of a different religion,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015b). In this way, ‘the people’ is constructed not as a homogeneous entity but as a diverse collective united by the law.
The Construction of ‘the Other’ and ‘the Elite’
As for the construction of a foreign Other, the SP presented itself as a protector of vulnerable communities and their human rights, often explicitly opposing the PVV. For example, Roemer expressed that “people fear attacks in the Netherlands and wonder how they can defend themselves when terror comes so close. But people also fear that divisions between population groups are growing, between Muslims and non-Muslims, and that people of good will are being pitted against each other,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a).
SP also expressed their involvement in these communities by positioning itself as an eyewitness to the experiences of these minorities, especially migrants. For example, Roemer stated that “my party members have seen with their own eyes how vulnerable children are who are in the region of Syria, Libanon or Turkey,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015g). SP thus saw itself as defender of the human rights and safety of vulnerable people, especially migrants.
For the SP, the boundaries between Islam, migrants, and terrorists were very clearly maintained. While SP speakers also addressed issues such as terrorism, they did so mostly from a legal point of view, describing terrorism as “a horrible form of criminality” or terrorists as “people who try to overthrow or harm the legal order here or in other parts of the world,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015h). SP speakers were adamant that terrorists should be seen as “extremists that attack our freedoms under the flag of Islam,” instead of ordinary Muslims (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). As such, rather than Islam or Muslims being framed as ‘other,’ terrorists are the clear ‘other’ of a ‘people’ that expressly includes Muslims.
As implied before, migrants and refugees were frequently constructed as vulnerable individuals rather than a potential threat. This was done, for example, by explicitly including children in descriptions of migrants. In this regard, Roemer talked about “children of 3, 4, 5 years old selling flowers in those camps to be able to buy something like a slice of bread,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015g).Thus, just like ‘the people’ are seen as victims of terrorism, refugees and migrants are seen as victims of war and conflict, similarly in need of protection by the government.
As for their attitude towards the elite, the SP was markedly less aggressive and condemning towards the ruling parties and the government than the PVV. The SP did frame political elites as naïve and detached, such as in statements like “the prime minister is bailing again” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015g) or calling on a minister to “do his job better” and asking whether “he still has all his ducks in a row” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015h). However, in general, SP discourse was fairly institutional and targeted towards policy effectiveness. Rather than accusing the government of betraying the people, it was (constructively) criticized for not doing enough or not taking the right actions.
Presence of De-racialization in the Discourse
As a result, the framing of ‘the people’ as including multiple diverse population groups could be seen as an act of de-racialization that can be summed up by the following contribution: “Whether it concerns people who are black or white, whether they are being persecuted because of their race or their religion; people are people, European or not, and they remain people,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015e). Here, race and religion are both explicitly invoked to argue that they should not be used as discriminatory bases. Therefore, the SP’s discourse constructs ‘the people’ largely in a more inclusive and civic way, rather than drawing divisions between groups of people in society.
Two Logics?
Taken together, the analysis demonstrates that the constructions of ‘the people,’ ‘the other,’ and ‘the elite’ are combined in different ways with different effects by PVV and SP. While PVV consistently constructed a homogeneous ‘people’ through racializing a threatening ‘other’ reinforced by a strongly antagonistic ‘elite,’ SP constructed a more inclusive understanding of ‘the people’ by resisting the racialization of out-groups. These findings highlight not only important differences between right- and left-wing populist actors but also raise important questions about the relationship between populism and racialization in general. In the following and final part, we will therefore reflect on what these findings mean for how we understand the relationship between populism and racialization more broadly.
(*) Lianne Nota is an ECPS intern and Research Master’s student in International Relations at the University of Groningen, with a focus on identity, populism, ontological security, and the ethics of global affairs. These article series is based on her paper “Constructing ‘The People’: The Role of Racialization in Dutch Populist Discourse”that she wrote for her specialization phase at RUG.
