US President Donald Trump’s intervention in the Smithsonian Institution signals a new phase in America’s culture wars. In this insightful commentary, Dr. João Ferreira Dias argues that the notion of “cultural Marxism” has evolved from a conspiracy theory into a category of governance used to legitimize state intervention in museums, universities, and other institutions that shape public knowledge. Tracing the concept’s genealogy from Nazi-era “cultural Bolshevism” to the contemporary MAGA movement, the article explores how culture-war narratives become instruments of illiberal memory politics. It further demonstrates the irony that, while denouncing a supposed Marxist “long march through the institutions,” the Trumpist right is itself engaged in a Gramscian struggle to reshape American history, national identity, and democratic citizenship.
Donald Trump’s latest intervention in the Smithsonian Institution marks a significant development in the American culture wars. The idea of “cultural Marxism” is no longer functioning solely as a conspiratorial explanation for social and cultural change. Under MAGA, it is increasingly becoming an administrative category used to justify governmental intervention in museums, universities, archives and other institutions responsible for producing public knowledge. Tracing the genealogy of this political specter from interwar Germany to the American conservative movement, this commentary argues that the campaign against “cultural Marxism” is part of a broader illiberal politics of memory. Ironically, while denouncing a supposed Marxist “long march through the institutions,” the Trumpist right is conducting its own Gramscian war of position over American history and national identity.
From Political Rhetoric to Executive Action
On July 24, 2026, Donald Trump signed an executive order entitled “Restoring Trust in the Smithsonian Institution.” The measure followed a report prepared by the White House Domestic Policy Council, Saving America’s Story: How Ideological Capture at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of American History Erases Our Heritage. The executive order does not literally command the immediate removal of every “trace of Marxist ideology” from all the museums, libraries and educational collections that comprise the Smithsonian Institution. Its legal and administrative scope is more specific. It directs several federal authorities to identify and use the legal, financial and contractual mechanisms available to encourage the Smithsonian to address the alleged problems identified in the Domestic Policy Council’s report.
It also orders the installation of temporary signs and exhibitions on National Park Service property surrounding the National Museum of American History. These signs are intended to warn visitors about what the administration calls the museum’s “ideological capture” and to direct them towards supposedly more accurate interpretations of American history.
The broader political message is less restrained. In its official fact sheet, the White House accuses the Smithsonian’s leadership of replacing historical education with extreme political activism “rooted in Marxism.” Exhibitions and programmes concerning slavery, race, migration, gender, Indigenous peoples, LGBT rights and social justice are grouped together as expressions of a single ideological project allegedly designed to divide and demoralize the American people (The White House, 2026a; Domestic Policy Council, 2026).
This episode represents more than another rhetorical confrontation between Trump and progressive cultural institutions. It marks the conversion of “cultural Marxism” from a polemical label into a category legitimizing state intervention in the production of historical knowledge.
The Genealogy of a Political Specter
To understand the significance of this development, it is necessary to reconstruct the historical genealogy of the concept.One of the principal antecedents of what is now called “cultural Marxism” appeared in Germany during the 1920s and 1930s. Conservative, nationalist and subsequently Nazi political actors used the term Kulturbolschewismus—“cultural Bolshevism”—to classify modern art, secularism, sexual reform and other forms of cultural experimentation as parts of a communist assault on German society.
In Nazi propaganda, modernist and avant-garde art was frequently described as the product of Jewish and communist influences allegedly seeking to weaken the German nation. “Cultural Bolshevism” thus became intertwined with the antisemitic mythology of a Jewish-Bolshevik conspiracy against Western civilization (United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, 2020). It would be historically reductive to claim that every contemporary use of “cultural Marxism” is simply a reproduction of Nazi ideology. There is no straightforward organizational continuity connecting the propaganda of the Third Reich to all present-day conservative actors who employ the expression. There is, nevertheless, a significant narrative continuity. In both cases, complex and decentralized social transformations are attributed to the coordinated actions of a hostile intellectual minority. Cultural change is interpreted not as the outcome of political conflict, generational replacement, technological transformation or social mobilization, but as evidence of a deliberate plan to destroy the nation, religion and the traditional family from within.
The Weimar Republic provided a particularly fertile environment for this political imaginary. Berlin became an intense laboratory of cultural modernity, associated with artistic experimentation, new forms of sexuality, cabaret culture, drugs and popular dances such as the foxtrot. Yet this cultural effervescence coexisted with political corruption, organized crime, economic instability and escalating street violence. The television series Babylon Berlin offers a dramatic representation of this atmosphere. The streets and cultural institutions of the German capital became battlegrounds between competing visions of society: Nazi racial nationalism, which glorified the German nation and its mythological past, and communism, which advanced a transnational and class-based conception of political identity.
The conflicts of this period helped shape political cosmologies that continue to reappear in altered forms. The tension between cultural progressivism and moral conservatism did not disappear with the end of the interwar period. It became one of the organizing antagonisms of modern culture-war politics.
The Frankfurt School as a Political Scapegoat
The Institute for Social Research was established in Frankfurt in 1923. Under the intellectual leadership of Max Horkheimer, it brought together thinkers including Theodor Adorno, Herbert Marcuse, Erich Fromm and Friedrich Pollock. The intellectual tradition subsequently known as the Frankfurt School examined capitalism, authoritarianism, antisemitism, mass culture, social psychology and fascism. Its thinkers were influenced by Marxism but did not constitute a homogeneous doctrinal bloc. Several were deeply critical of Soviet communism, economic reductionism and orthodox versions of Marxist theory (Jay, 1973).
After the Nazi seizure of power, the Institute was closed by the Gestapo. It moved first to Geneva and then, in 1934, to New York, where it became affiliated with Columbia University. Its members’ experiences of exile, fascism and antisemitism shaped their research into authoritarian personality structures, propaganda and the political uses of mass culture. The Frankfurt School unquestionably influenced sections of the post-war New Left, particularly through the writings of Herbert Marcuse. Intellectual influence, however, is not evidence of political coordination.
The contemporary conspiracy theory transforms a diverse and frequently internally divided intellectual tradition into the command center of a centralized plan to capture universities, the media, the family and the moral foundations of Western society. It retrospectively fuses the Frankfurt School with Antonio Gramsci’s writings on cultural hegemony, despite the substantial theoretical, historical and political differences between these traditions. In this account, Marxists supposedly concluded that Western workers would not support a proletarian revolution because they remained attached to Christianity, nationalism and the traditional family. The alleged solution was therefore to undermine those institutions through universities, entertainment, feminism, multiculturalism and movements for racial and sexual equality.
There is no historical evidence of such a coordinated programme. The theory produces unity at the level of the imagined enemy rather than at the level of intellectual history. Marxism, postmodernism, psychoanalysis, feminism, critical race theory, queer theory and liberal multiculturalism are treated as interchangeable components of one political project, even though they emerged from different traditions and are often theoretically incompatible. As Martin Jay (2010–2011), Jérôme Jamin (2018) and Joan Braune (2019) demonstrate, the Frankfurt School has consequently become a political scapegoat onto which anxieties concerning cultural transformation can be projected.
The contemporary use of “cultural Marxism” cannot always be reduced to conscious antisemitism. Many who repeat the term may be unaware of its historical genealogy. Nevertheless, the conspiracy frequently reproduces older antisemitic structures: cosmopolitan intellectuals, often identified as Jewish, are imagined as operating behind the scenes to control education, culture and the media while dissolving religion, national identity and traditional morality.
The American Consolidation of “Cultural Marxism”
Although anti-communist paranoia remained politically active throughout the Cold War, the contemporary American narrative of “cultural Marxism” consolidated during the culture wars of the 1990s. In a 1999 “Letter to Conservatives,” the influential conservative strategist Paul Weyrich equated political correctness with cultural Marxism. He argued that universities, the entertainment industry and other cultural institutions had been deliberately captured by an ideology fundamentally hostile to Western Judeo-Christian civilization.
The following year, William S. Lind systematized this interpretation in his speech “The Origins of Political Correctness.” According to Lind, Marxism had transferred its revolutionary strategy from economics to culture. The opposition between proletarians and the bourgeoisie had supposedly been replaced by conflicts involving racial, sexual and cultural identities.Under this interpretation, women, racial minorities and LGBT people became substitute revolutionary subjects, while white people, men, Christians and heterosexuals were recast as the new bourgeoisie. Political correctness was presented as the disciplinary language of this new revolutionary order (Lind, 2000).
This formulation became part of the ideological DNA of the contemporary conservative reaction. It offered a comprehensive explanation for feminism, multiculturalism, secularization, changing sexual norms, affirmative action and the increasing public recognition of historically marginalized groups. Its analytical weakness was also the source of its political strength. Because “cultural Marxism” lacked a precise definition, it could incorporate almost any development regarded as culturally threatening. It became what might be called a conspiratorial master signifier: a category capable of transforming heterogeneous opponents into manifestations of a single hostile force.
The discourse subsequently circulated beyond the United States. As research into Australia and Brazil demonstrates, the conspiracy theory can be adapted to different national contexts while retaining its central narrative of institutional capture and moral subversion (Busbridge et al., 2020; Silva, 2021).
MAGA, Cultural Backlash and the Mythic Past
Donald Trump’s rise and the emergence of the MAGA movement revitalized this political grammar. The cultural backlash thesis developed by Pippa Norris and Ronald Inglehart helps explain the social conditions under which such narratives become effective. Their argument does not suggest that every supporter of populist radical-right movements is economically deprived or culturally conservative. Rather, it identifies the political consequences of perceived status loss among social groups that once occupied more secure positions within dominant cultural hierarchies (Norris & Inglehart, 2019).
Changes associated with racial equality, feminism, secularization, immigration and LGBT rights can be experienced by some groups not simply as the extension of citizenship to others, but as the displacement of their own identity and social authority. Populist entrepreneurs convert these perceptions into a narrative of cultural dispossession. Trump’s promise to “Make America Great Again” operates through this temporal logic. As Jason Stanley argues, fascist and authoritarian politics frequently construct a mythic past: an imagined period of national greatness, social unity and moral order that existed before the nation was corrupted by internal and external enemies (Stanley, 2018).
The MAGA past does not correspond to one historically coherent period. It is a selective composite. It combines industrial prosperity, energy expansion, patriarchal family structures, white Christian morality and American geopolitical supremacy while suppressing the history of racial segregation, Jim Crow legislation, gender inequality and political exclusion. The political purpose of this myth is not historical accuracy. It is to define the present as a period of national decline and to identify those allegedly responsible for it.
In classical populist discourse, society is divided between the “pure people” and the “corrupt elite” (Mudde, 2004). The cultural-Marxist narrative adds another layer to this division. The elite is not merely corrupt or self-interested. It is portrayed as the institutional agent of an ideological project seeking to transform the identity of the nation. Professors, teachers, curators, journalists, civil servants and cultural workers are therefore represented as members, or at least instruments, of an internal occupying force.
The Smithsonian and Illiberal Memory Politics
The intervention in the Smithsonian reveals how this conspiratorial worldview can be translated into an illiberal politics of memory. The Domestic Policy Council’s report presents the National Museum of American History as an institution captured by an intersectional form of critical theory allegedly rooted in Marxism. Its criticism is directed not only at factual inaccuracies but also at the museum’s interpretative orientation.
The report objects to the idea that museums should “reframe” celebratory national narratives, promote social justice or examine how historical institutions reproduced racial, gendered and economic inequalities. It contrasts this approach with a conception of the museum as a patriotic institution intended to cultivate gratitude, national pride and confidence in American exceptionalism.
This is ultimately a conflict over the democratic function of public history. Museums are not ideologically neutral repositories of objects. They select events, construct narratives and determine which voices and experiences are incorporated into the national memory. A museum that addresses slavery, colonialism or racial exclusion is not necessarily replacing history with ideology. It may instead be expanding the historical community whose experiences are considered worthy of public recognition.
Legitimate disagreements can exist concerning curatorial balance, political activism, historical interpretation and the use of public funds. The conspiratorial move occurs when these disagreements are explained through a single totalizing cause: the coordinated capture of cultural institutions by Marxist activists. The Trump administration resolves the controversy by claiming that one interpretation is ideological while its own is merely truthful and patriotic. State intervention is consequently presented not as the politicization of culture but as the restoration of neutrality.
This is a characteristic illiberal operation. The government denies that it is imposing an official interpretation of history. Instead, it claims to be liberating institutions from an ideology already imposed by others. The result is a reversal of power. Although the executive possesses administrative authority, access to public funding and the capacity to pressure institutions, it continues to represent itself as the insurgent victim of an entrenched cultural elite. Governmental coercion is thereby reframed as democratic restoration.
The Gramscian Irony of the MAGA Right
There is an important intellectual irony at the center of this campaign. While condemning an alleged Marxist “long march through the institutions,” the radical right has increasingly adopted a strategy that can itself be described as Gramscian. It recognizes that political power depends not only on winning elections or controlling the state, but also on shaping common sense, collective memory and the moral vocabulary through which society understands itself.
Recent research on transnational radical conservatism demonstrates that sections of the right have consciously appropriated concepts such as hegemony, counter-hegemony, metapolitics and the “war of position” (Abrahamsen et al., 2024). Think tanks, publishing houses, universities, legal organizations, religious networks and digital platforms become sites of counter-hegemonic struggle. Their purpose is to challenge the cultural authority of liberal institutions and make previously marginal ideas appear legitimate, reasonable and eventually dominant.
The MAGA campaign against the Smithsonian should be understood within this broader strategy. The objective is not merely to correct individual exhibitions. It is to redefine the legitimate purpose of a national museum, determine which interpretations of American history can receive public support and discredit critical historiography as evidence of ideological subversion. The right accuses the left of capturing institutions while developing its own programme for their political realignment. This does not mean that the two projects are normatively or historically identical. It does mean that the Trumpist right has understood a central Gramscian insight: durable political power requires the transformation of cultural authority.
From Paranoid Style to a Technology of Government
Richard Hofstadter’s concept of the “paranoid style” remains useful for understanding the emotional and narrative structure of the cultural-Marxist conspiracy. The term does not constitute a clinical diagnosis. It describes a political style in which history is interpreted as the product of an immense, coordinated and morally evil conspiracy (Hofstadter, 1964).
Yet the Smithsonian episode demonstrates that the phenomenon can no longer be understood as rhetoric alone. Under MAGA, the paranoid style is becoming a technology of government. The accusation of ideological capture creates the justification for investigations, funding restrictions, administrative pressure, public warnings and the political supervision of cultural institutions.
The operation is relatively simple. First, institutions are declared to have been captured. Second, every critical interpretation of national history is transformed into evidence of that capture. Finally, governmental intervention is presented not as the politicization of culture, but as the restoration of historical neutrality.
There is no evidence of a centralized Marxist plan controlling American universities, museums and media organizations. The narrative nevertheless fulfils an important political function. It consolidates the MAGA electorate, converts social complexity into moral conflict and transforms political opponents into agents of civilizational subversion. Trump is therefore doing more than accusing the Democratic Party and progressive institutions of Marxism. He is mobilizing his political base through a genuine war of position over the soul of America.
The struggle concerns who have the authority to tell the national story, which historical experiences deserve public recognition and whether democratic citizenship requires patriotic reassurance or the critical examination of the past. The specter of “cultural Marxism” may have little correspondence with intellectual or institutional reality. Its political consequences, however, are becoming increasingly real.
References
Abrahamsen, R.; Drolet, J.-F.; Williams, M. C.; Vucetic, S.; Narita, K. & Gheciu, A. (2024). World of the right: Radical conservatism and global order. Cambridge University Press.
Braune, J. (2019). “Who’s afraid of the Frankfurt School? ‘Cultural Marxism’ as an antisemitic conspiracy theory.” Journal of Social Justice, 9, 1–25.
Busbridge, R.; Moffitt, B. & Thorburn, J. (2020). “Cultural Marxism: Far-right conspiracy theory in Australia’s culture wars.” Social Identities, 26(6), 722–738. doi: 10.1080/13504630.2020.1787822
Domestic Policy Council. (2026). Saving America’s story: How ideological capture at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of American History erases our heritage. The White House.
Hofstadter, R. (1964). “The paranoid style in American politics.” Harper’s Magazine, 229(1374), 77–86.
Hunter, J. D. (1991). Culture wars: The struggle to define America. Basic Books.
Jamin, J. (2018). “Cultural Marxism: A survey.” Religion Compass, 12(1–2), e12258. doi: 10.1111/rec3.12258
Jay, M. (1973). The dialectical imagination: A history of the Frankfurt School and the Institute of Social Research, 1923–1950. Little, Brown and Company.
Jay, M. (2010–2011). “Dialectic of counter-enlightenment: The Frankfurt School as scapegoat of the lunatic fringe.” Salmagundi, 168/169, 30–40.
Lind, W. S. (2000). “The origins of political correctness.” Accuracy in Academia.
Mirrlees, T. (2018). “The alt-right’s discourse on ‘cultural Marxism’: A political instrument of intersectional hate.” Atlantis: Critical Studies in Gender, Culture & Social Justice, 39(1), 49–69.
Mudde, C. (2004). “The populist zeitgeist.” Government and Opposition, 39(4), 541–563. doi: 10.1111/j.1477-7053.2004.00135.x
Norris, P. & Inglehart, R. (2019). Cultural backlash: Trump, Brexit, and authoritarian populism. Cambridge University Press.
Silva, M. (2021). “O marxismo cultural no Brasil: Origens e desdobramentos de uma teoria conservadora.” Cultura y Religión, 15(1), 180–222.
Stanley, J. (2018). How fascism works: The politics of us and them. Random House.
The White House. (2025). Executive Order 14253: Restoring truth and sanity to American history.
The White House. (2026a). Fact sheet: President Donald J. Trump restores trust in the Smithsonian Institution.
The White House. (2026b). Executive order: Restoring trust in the Smithsonian Institution.
Weyrich, P. M. (1999). “Letter to conservatives.” National Center for Public Policy Research.
Why do some of the world’s wealthiest individuals openly support populist radical right and far-right movements whose central political message revolves around anti-immigrant and anti-minority mobilization? In this commentary, Dr. Bulent Kenes argues that this alliance is best understood not as an ideological convergence but as a pragmatic strategy for deflecting public attention from the structural roots of social injustice, economic inequality and wealth concentration. Drawing on John Rawls’s concept of the veil of ignorance, the article examines how immigrants—among the principal victims of contemporary economic and social inequalities—are transformed into convenient scapegoats. It further explores how the growing concentration of economic and digital power enables technology billionaires to amplify exclusionary narratives while marginalizing pluralistic voices, raising profound questions about democracy, algorithmic governance, and contemporary capitalism.
If we were to apply John Rawls’s famous veil of ignorance thought experiment, developed in A Theory of Justice, to today’s world, there is little doubt that immigrants would emerge as one of the most disadvantaged and the most vulnerable social groups. Immigrants, political refugees, in particular, as well as individuals forced to migrate for economic reasons, are compelled at some stage of their lives to leave behind their accumulated economic, social, and professional capital and begin life anew in a different country. Consequently, they typically enter their host societies from the lowest rungs of the social hierarchy. In terms of cultural, economic, and professional resources, their starting point is often below zero.
In this respect, immigrants constitute one of the most disadvantaged and vulnerable segments of society in terms of social justice and income distribution. Yet, while attempting to rebuild their lives, they are forced to contend not only with economic and social hardships but also with the prejudices generated by the rising populist radical right (PRR) and far-right parties and movements. Moreover, by being portrayed as the principal culprits behind economic inequality and social injustice, they are turned into scapegoats, a process that imposes severe socio-psychological costs on an already vulnerable population.
One point can be stated unequivocally: economically (and even culturally) driven anti-immigrant sentiment is not a phenomenon that emerges spontaneously. Social injustice and income inequality are undoubtedly real societal problems, and angry eyes are constantly searching for those responsible for them. Unfortunately, they do not always succeed in identifying the real causes. Meanwhile, for far-right actors who incite, inflame and ride the wave of resentment generated among these groups, targeting immigrants—one of the weakest, least organized, and least capable social groups in socio-political and economic terms—is both the easiest and the least politically costly strategy. Although the attempts of far-right political actors, whose humanitarian sensitivities have been considerably weakened, to exploit and simultaneously provoke this wave for political gain deserve the strongest ethical condemnation, it is nevertheless understandable why they choose this strategy within the context of political competition, which is driven less by values than by the pursuit of power. The fact that populist far right politicians such as Donald Trump, Viktor Orbán, Marine Le Pen, Nigel Farage, Geert Wilders, Robert Fico, Jarosław Kaczyński, Jimmie Åkesson, and many others have placed anti-immigrant politics at the center of political mobilization can be understood within this framework.
What is particularly striking, however, is why dollar billionaires—and even the owners of trillion-dollar companies—whose activities are largely confined to technology and the global economy, support far-right actors, PRR parties and movements, and anti-immigrant rhetoric.
In my view, the principal explanation lies in pragmatic interests. The anti-immigration discourse of the populist radical right and the far right systematically recasts those who are most severely affected by income inequality and social injustice from victims into perpetrators of these very problems. In reality, however, immigrants—alongside other disadvantaged groups—are among the greatest losers of the contemporary global economic order and the structural inequalities it generates. This is precisely where the core of the issue lies. By systematically constructing immigrants as scapegoats, far-right actors divert public attention away from the structural sources of economic inequality and social injustice. In doing so, they help obscure the role of the super-rich, who are not only the principal beneficiaries of the existing distribution of wealth but also key beneficiaries of the economic structures that reproduce and deepen these inequalities.
It is precisely at this point that the logic behind the support given by figures such as Elon Musk, Mark Zuckerberg, and Jeff Bezos—the greatest beneficiaries of the existing global economic order—to populist radical right parties and far-right actors becomes apparent. Historically, just as the East India Company and the West India Company represented the corporate actors that benefited most from the global colonial order of their time, today’s technology giants occupy a comparable position as the greatest beneficiaries of contemporary global hi-tech capitalism. The strengthening of political discourse centered on anti-immigrant sentiment diverts public attention away from these structural causes of economic inequality and wealth concentration.
Regrettably, I must note that approaches which, in recent years, have argued that anti-immigrant sentiment is fundamentally the product not of economic grievances but of a cultural backlash, even if unintentionally, contribute to strengthening this political strategy. The influence of cultural factors and identity politics cannot, of course, be denied. However, explaining anti-immigrant sentiment primarily through cultural dynamics diminishes the visibility of structural causes such as economic inequality and social injustice, while simultaneously providing the far right with an indirect—albeit problematic—source of legitimacy. The issue, therefore, is not merely one of cultural reaction; it should also be understood as a political mechanism of distraction that conceals underlying economic power relations and discourages scrutiny of the existing distribution of wealth.
If the support that the super-rich extend to the far right were merely an expression of their individual political preferences, it might not warrant such sustained attention. The issue, however, extends far beyond that. These billionaires, who have effectively acquired monopolistic positions in the technology sector, not only deploy their immense economic resources in support of far-right political movements but also possess the capacity to shape the boundaries of public discourse through the digital platforms they control, including X, Facebook, YouTube, and others. Through complex algorithmic mechanisms, these platforms are increasingly transformed into the principal channels for the circulation of far-right narratives, while alternative viewpoints, critical voices, and pluralistic perspectives experience a substantial loss of visibility.
In this process, observations suggesting that the digital visibility of actors defending liberal democratic values, pluralism, the rule of law, and humanitarian principles is being systematically weakened, while polarizing, provocative, and extremist content is algorithmically rewarded, are increasingly supported by empirical research. As a consequence, democratic actors using these platforms face not only declining public influence but also invisible, though perceptible, algorithmic barriers that make it increasingly difficult even to reach their own natural audiences.
This picture reveals the combined impact of the economic and digital power of technology barons who stand among both the principal creators and the greatest beneficiaries of the global income divide. Despite being among the primary causes and beneficiaries of wealth concentration, economic inequality, and social injustice, Elon Musk and similar actors openly support extremist, far-right political movements that systematically portray immigrants and other vulnerable socio-cultural minorities as those responsible for these problems and as convenient scapegoats. Elon Musk’s most recent extensive interview with The Economist, in which he reiterated positions supportive of the far right, together with his backing of Marine Le Pen, Alternative for Germany (AfD) and various other far-right parties and actors, is open to interpretation within this framework. The political positions, public rhetoric, and algorithmic maneuvers of Musk and other technology-baron billionaires function as a deliberate mechanism of distraction, obscuring the true sources of wealth concentration and structural economic inequality.
Perhaps the greatest contradiction that deserves attention, and the most fundamental question that requires an answer, is the following: Why do broad segments of society that are themselves victims of structural economic inequality and social injustice follow far-right political actors supported by the greatest beneficiaries of wealth concentration, rather than questioning the structural causes of these inequalities? More importantly, why are they tend to view immigrants and socio-cultural minorities—groups that share similar structural vulnerabilities—as the principal causes of these problems? This paradox points not only to the discursive success of the populist radical right and far right but also to a fundamental research problem requiring us to understand how public perceptions are reshaped through the influence of economic and administrative power over digital communication infrastructures.
Dr. João Ferreira Dias argues that the contemporary center-left may be entering a decisive post-neoliberal phase by re-centering politics on material security rather than cultural conflict. Using Andy Burnham’s political vision as a point of departure—and drawing comparisons with Zohran Mamdani—he contends that democratic renewal depends on reconnecting progressive politics with the everyday concerns of housing, employment, public services, and economic security. While defending the achievements of cultural inclusion, Dr. Dias suggests that the left must once again become the primary political organizer of material insecurity if it is to counter the appeal of ethnonationalist populism. This timely commentary offers a compelling contribution to current debates on populism, post-neoliberalism, democratic representation, and the future of liberal-social democracy in an era of deep political realignment.
Andy (Andrew Murray) Burnham’s first speech in Downing Street, in reminding me of Zohran Mamdani, left me wondering whether we are witnessing a new tendency to recenter political action and political language on material questions. If this tendency is confirmed, it would mark a programmatic shift within Labour’s centrist and moderate left: one that is less ideological and more programme-driven than the radical left, which has lived off struggles for recognition and cultural emancipation. Put differently, the center-left wants to deprive the culture wars of their monopoly over the political agenda.
After decades in which the left increasingly became an interpreter of cultural transformations, Burnham is seeking to return it to its original function: politically organizing economic and social insecurity at a time when that insecurity has been captured largely by the radical right, through a clear articulation of economic resentment with conservative and nationalist appeals. Not because ethnonationalism follows automatically from economic insecurity, but because such insecurity creates fertile ground for converting material loss into cultural resentment (Gidron & Hall, 2020; Rodrik, 2021).
The causes of the erosion of the left’s social representativeness are by now well known. Both the radical left and the radical right identified a culprit behind growing economic unease and anxiety: the neoliberal policies that culminated in the 2008 crisis. Yet, following the success of the radical left during that period, left and right shifted their arenas of action, in a mirror game centered on the struggle for cultural hegemony between progressivism and cultural backlash (Hopkin, 2020; Mudge, 2018; Norris & Inglehart, 2019).
In the post-austerity turn, the left placed greater emphasis on policies recognizing voices historically rendered subaltern and on the struggle against white privilege. The agenda was commendable, but its timing proved challenging as immigration reshaped the social landscape and became an increasingly sensitive political and social issue, carrying with it both economic and cultural anxieties. The radical right, in turn, transformed these anxieties into an identitarian narrative according to which the loss of security, status, and control resulted not from the economic model, but from immigration, cosmopolitan elites, and the cultural transformation of Western societies (Norris & Inglehart, 2019).
Inflammatory rhetoric, readily identifiable culprits—corrupt politicians, immigrants, and “leftists”—and simplistic solutions to complex problems gave the ethnonationalist right room to grow among segments of the working and middle classes who were materially vulnerable, culturally disregarded, and politically estranged from elites. Many of these voters felt anxious about cultural change while parts of the radical left pointed the finger at them as racists, xenophobes, and beneficiaries of racial privilege (Gidron & Hall, 2020).
Like Mamdani, Burnham seems to understand the elementary formula for combating the radical right. It does not lie in continuing to impose a moral framework centered on patriarchy and white privilege, nor merely in explaining that, for example, Nigel Farage is wrong and is a populist. On the contrary, it requires addressing the needs to which he responds: economic and employment security, social protection, public safety, the creation of a sense of belonging and identity within a multicultural framework, and the promise of a shared horizon.
Burnham and Mamdani do not, of course, occupy the same ideological position. What brings them together is less the programme than the political method: making the left intelligible again through the price and quality of everyday life and returning to the idea of a platform broader than the segmentations on which it has come to depend. Rather than first asking voters to subscribe to a moral or identitarian framework, they show them what public power can do for housing, transport, employment, and essential services.
The ethnonationalist right offers security through the border, belonging through the ethnic nation, and a future through restoration. Burnham seeks to offer security through public services, belonging through community and territory, and a future through investment and reindustrialization. He therefore does more than promise protection against decline: he seeks to recover an idea of progress, mobility, and collective capacity, without which the left risks becoming merely the administrator of decay (Hopkin, 2020).
This does not mean, however, that the culture wars can simply be declared over. The radical right will continue to mobilize immigration, national identity, gender, religion, and historical memory even if the left prefers to concentrate on economic questions. The response cannot be to abandon cultural achievements and minority rights, but to integrate them into a universalist language and an idea of common civic belonging. Material politics is necessary, but insufficient. Yet it is now the best and most urgent weapon available to centrists everywhere.
The rematerialization of the centrist left is an essential step towards rebuilding an electoral base amid the urgent need to safeguard the principles of liberal-social democracy. Burnham does not appear to want to replace culture with economics, but rather to reconstruct materially the conditions of democratic belonging—a belonging that is as much of the left as of the right, as much liberal as conservative—which the radical right has converted into an ethnonationalist promise.
References
Gidron, N. & Hall, P. A. (2020). “Populism as a problem of social integration.” Comparative Political Studies, 53(7), 1027–1059. https://doi.org/10.1177/0010414019879947
Mudge, S. L. (2018). Leftism reinvented: Western parties from socialism to neoliberalism. Harvard University Press. https://doi.org/10.4159/9780674984837
Norris, P. & Inglehart, R. (2019). Cultural backlash: Trump, Brexit, and authoritarian populism. Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/9781108595841
Artificial intelligence (AI) is transforming far more than information ecosystems—it is reshaping the constitutional foundations of democracy itself. In this interview with the ECPS, Professor Danielle Allen argues that the central challenge of AI is not merely technological but constitutional, requiring democratic societies to rethink representation, political power, and civic agency. Rejecting technological determinism, she contends that democratic institutions can still shape AI’s trajectory, provided they strengthen rather than diminish human judgment. Discussing populism, democratic backsliding, surveillance, intermediary institutions, digital citizenship, and constitutional reform, Professor Allen presents a compelling vision of democratic renewal grounded in one core principle: artificial intelligence should complement human capacities—not replace the judgment upon which liberal democracy ultimately depends.
Artificial intelligence is rapidly transforming the institutional architecture of democratic politics. While much public debate has focused on misinformation, deepfakes, automation, and employment, a growing body of scholarship suggests that the more profound implications of generative AI lie elsewhere: in its capacity to reshape political authority, democratic representation, and the constitutional foundations of liberal self-government. As AI systems increasingly mediate public discourse, organize information, influence political preferences, and concentrate unprecedented forms of economic and computational power, the central question is no longer simply how societies should regulate a new technology, but how constitutional democracies themselves must adapt to preserve political equality, civic agency, and democratic accountability.
Few scholars are better positioned to address these challenges than Professor Danielle Allen, James Bryant Conant University Professor at Harvard University, Director of the Allen Lab for Democracy Renovation and the Democratic Knowledge Project, and one of the world’s leading political philosophers working at the intersection of constitutional democracy, citizenship, technology, and democratic renewal. In her widely discussed Journal of Democracy essay, “The Real Dangers of Generative AI,” Professor Allen argues that contemporary debates have fundamentally misidentified the nature of the challenge. Rather than treating AI as merely a technological disruption, she contends that it represents a constitutional turning point requiring a fundamental rethinking of democratic institutions themselves.
In this wide-ranging interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Allen offers a remarkably expansive framework for understanding how AI intersects with democratic governance. Rejecting the conventional separation between technology and constitutional politics, she argues that “political institutions are themselves technologies” and therefore cannot be understood independently of technological transformation. From this perspective, AI is not simply another digital innovation but a force capable of altering the institutional mechanisms through which democratic societies organize representation, distribute political power, and preserve constitutional order.
Throughout the conversation, Professor Allen explores the twin dangers confronting liberal democracies: democratic collapse, produced by the erosion of trustworthy informational infrastructures, and democratic singularity, arising from unprecedented concentrations of computational, informational, and economic power. At the same time, she rejects technological determinism. Instead, she insists that democratic societies retain the capacity to shape AI’s trajectory through institutional reform, constitutional safeguards, and renewed democratic participation.
A recurring theme throughout the interview is the centrality of human agency. Professor Allen argues that democratic renewal ultimately depends not upon resisting technological innovation but upon designing institutions that preserve civic judgment and constitutional self-government. As she puts it, “technology always develops out of a moral vision,” making AI fundamentally a political rather than merely technical question. Consequently, she maintains that the essential democratic task is not simply regulating machines but ensuring that “AI should strengthen human judgment, not replace it.” That principle ultimately serves as the interview’s normative anchor, connecting questions of constitutional design, democratic education, AI governance, intermediary institutions, populism, surveillance, and the future of liberal democracy into a single coherent vision of democratic resilience in the age of artificial intelligence.
Here is the revised version of our interview with Professor Danielle Allen, edited lightly to enhance clarity, readability, and overall flow for publication.
Political Institutions Are Themselves Technologies
Facial recognition technology scans individuals and displays digital identity and personal data, illustrating AI-powered biometric surveillance. Photo: Piyamas Dulmunsumphun / Dreamstime.
Professor Allen, welcome!Let me begin with your recent Journal of Democracyarticle, “The Real Dangers of Generative AI.”You argue that public debate has focused too heavily on misinformation, deepfakes, and job displacement while overlooking AI’s deeper capacity to restructure political authority and democratic institutions. Why do you believe the greatest threat posed by generative AI is constitutional rather than merely technological, and how does this fundamentally change the way scholars should understand democratic backsliding?
Professor Danielle Allen: Thank you. It’s an important question. I would start by saying that I don’t draw a distinction between the merely technological and the constitutional. Political institutions are themselves technologies. Representation, when it was invented in the eighteenth century, along with electoral districts and voting methods and so forth, was a technology. It was a technology for channeling citizens’ voices into decision-making and producing a counterweight to the other forms of power that existed in monarchical and aristocratic structures. Consequently, any major technological change that affects information, communication, and related domains has the potential to disrupt that foundational technology through which we organize politics.
For the last four decades, policymaking circles have prioritized material well-being while substantially downgrading questions of political organization. As a result, we have underestimated and under-attended to the ways new technologies can disrupt our core political technologies because of this broader blind spot in thinking about politics. In that regard, what I’m trying to do is rectify a broader blind spot in policymaking—to help people remember that our political institutions, whether people have political empowerment, access to voice, and so forth, are essential parts of the story of human flourishing. We have to pay attention to those things as policymakers. And secondly, we have to pay close attention whenever a major disruptive technology directly interacts with those original technologies of representation.
The Concentration of Power Poses Dangers to Core Democratic Rights
You distinguish between what you call “democratic collapse” and “democratic singularity.” Could you explain how these two concepts differ? To what extent does the concentration of computational, informational, and economic power in a handful of corporations create conditions that resemble the concentration of political power traditionally associated with authoritarian regimes?
Professor Danielle Allen: Great question. What my co-author, E. Glen Weyl, and I were trying to do in that article was to describe two dangers that liberal democracies have to navigate. We call these the danger of collapse and the danger of singularity.
The danger of collapse is one in which the informational infrastructures on which you rely for popular sovereignty and institutionally driven decision-making no longer function because of misinformation, deepfakes, the collapse of identity systems, and things like that. That’s one danger the new technologies are provoking as they interact with the traditional technologies of representation.
The second danger is the concentration of power that you’ve been describing. That concentration can emerge in several ways. There’s the issue of capital, the concentration of capital, and the sort of political power that flows from it. There’s also the issue of the concentration of power through control of data and surveillance capacity. Both of those things harbor dangers to core democratic rights, whether those are rights of privacy or rights of equal voice in a political system, and so forth.
So, these are the two dangers: on the one hand, the possibility of chaos and collapse; on the other, the concentration of power. The hard question, then, is how the institutions of liberal democracy can steer through this period of rapid change and transformation, secure control over the new technologies, and truly integrate their capacities into the project of liberal self-government.
What We Really Have Is a Clash of Intermediaries
Truth Social displayed on a smartphone. The social media platform, owned by Donald Trump, was launched as an alternative to mainstream social media. Photo: Rokas Tenys / Dreamstime.
Across Europe and North America, populist leaders increasingly claim to represent “the people” while simultaneously attacking intermediary institutions such as independent media, universities, courts, and civil services. Does generative AI risk accelerating precisely this populist logic by allowing leaders to communicate directly with citizens while bypassing democratic intermediaries altogether?
Professor Danielle Allen: That’s a great question. I would put the situation slightly differently. I would say it’s not so much that they’re bypassing intermediaries as deploying AI as a new kind of intermediary. In that regard, yes, the traditional intermediaries are under pressure from a new set of intermediaries. Those new intermediaries are the tech infrastructures that populists are using to communicate. In other words, when President Trump establishes Truth Social as an alternative to the existing social media platforms, he is not dispensing with intermediaries but creating his own intermediary, namely that platform.
So, what we really have is a clash of intermediaries. The challenge is that the old intermediaries—universities, newspapers, the traditional institutions, and so forth—grew up in a legal environment, and actively defended a legal environment, that placed a set of basic rights at its center: freedom of expression, freedom of conscience, freedom of civil society to maintain independence from government, and the like.
The new intermediaries, by contrast, are not necessarily dependent on those basic rights for their growth or committed to protecting them. That’s where the problem arises.
This is captured, for example, in the challenge surrounding Section 230 of the US Communications Decency Act. That provision has essentially exempted social media platforms from regulation on the grounds that regulating them would amount to regulating speech. It collapses speech and algorithms. We ought to be able to regulate algorithms, which essentially perform an editorial or publishing function, in the same way that the print media found itself regulated.
Print media was liable for libel, defamation, and similar harms because of its editorial decisions, whereas social media platforms have been exempted from all of that. Mistakenly exempted, that’s the point I’m making. Because they have been able to flourish without the kinds of careful mechanisms for balancing the protection of speech rights with protection against harms such as defamation and libel, we have experienced rampant problems of misinformation. So, the point I’m trying to make is simply that the old intermediaries have baked into them a more stable and useful rights-based structure than the new intermediaries do.
The Personalized Algorithmic Universe Is Becoming Completely Unreliable
Your work suggests that democracy ultimately depends upon citizens sharing a sufficiently common informational environment. Yet generative AI enables highly individualized persuasion at unprecedented scale. Are we moving from an era of mass propaganda toward what might be called algorithmic individualized populism, where every voter effectively receives a personalized political reality?
Professor Danielle Allen: That’s a great question. To some extent, I think the answer has to be ‘yes’. Although I think there’s a situation beyond that. What is really happening is that everybody is going to be thrown back on communication with their own trusted networks, and that’s what they will rely on as their source of information.
The personalized algorithmic universe is also one that people are already coming to recognize as completely unreliable. You can’t distinguish between AI-generated things and real things, and so forth. As we develop digital competence—and by that I mean the ability to use these tools ourselves so that we can understand how easily they can be manipulated and manipulate others—we will inoculate ourselves against some of the dangers of that algorithmic environment.
What that, then, means is that we will basically trust the people we actually know and our communications with those people. So, in a funny way, the very big world that we had made small through communications technology is about to become much bigger again. It is going to be harder for people to share trusted messages at scale, precisely because the level of distrust is going to be so high.
We Need Algorithms That Encourage People to Bridge Viewpoint Differences
Artificial intelligence as a next-generation technology shaping the digital era. Photo: Dreamstime.
One striking feature of contemporary populism is its capacity to transform emotional identity into political loyalty. To what extent do recommended algorithms and generative AI amplify precisely those forms of resentment, grievance, and identity polarization upon which contemporary populist movements increasingly depend?
Professor Danielle Allen: They certainly seem to be very active contributors to that. There’s important work being done now by technologists and political scientists to propose alternative structures for algorithms that are focused on pro-social incentives—algorithmic incentives that encourage people to build more bridges across viewpoint differences—and better contextualization tools so that people can see the full spread of opinion and understand where their own opinion sits within that landscape. That helps avoid some of the effects and emotional impacts that come from the siloization of opinion.
The problems you’re describing are all very real. They are the dominant problems in our social media and algorithmic landscape at the moment. At the same time, there really is innovative new work. I’m thinking of people like Aviv Ovadya and his colleague Luke Thorburn, and others who are generating an alternative set of structures for our algorithmic foundation.
Existing Scholarly Foundations Can Be Extended Into the Age of AI
Much scholarship on democratic erosion focuses on executive aggrandizement, judicial capture, electoral manipulation, and attacks on independent institutions. Does AI require us to rethink democratic backsliding itself by recognizing that democracy may now be weakened through the concentration of technological infrastructure rather than solely through constitutional manipulation?
Professor Danielle Allen: I’m not so sure if it requires fundamentally different analytical categories. When, for example, people were studying the genocides in Rwanda, Serbia, and Croatia, one of the key technologies that facilitated them was radio and its use to spread slurs, dehumanizing rhetoric, and memes that helped frame the ultimate victims of genocide as enemies and non-humans, and things like that. My point is that the study of autocracy has long included the study of technology and mass communication. Those pre-existing scholarly foundations can simply be extended into the contemporary context. I don’t think it’s a change of kind so much as a change of scale.
We Don’t Face an Emerging Problem—We Face an Already Existing One
You argue that democracy requires not merely political equality but also a broad distribution of power. Looking at the rapid consolidation of frontier AI among a handful of technology companies, do you believe liberal democracies face an emerging form of private constitutional power that existing democratic institutions are largely unequipped to regulate?
Professor Danielle Allen: I think we don’t face an emerging problem; we face an actually existent, interior problem. It has already emerged, and it’s a totally real problem. Europe has done a better job regulating this power than the US has. I’m thinking about the GDPR(The General Data Protection Regulation) and other forms of regulation, including the recent EU AI Act. That tells me it’s not that liberal democracies lack the capacity to regulate these technologies; it’s that the US, specifically, doesn’t have the capacity right now to regulate them. So, this is not a permanent problem but a political problem here in the US.
I also think we probably have a lot to learn from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the first Gilded Age, as we call it. We’re living through a second Gilded Age, and just as in the first, industrialization produced corporations with enormous concentrations of power, robber barons, and corporations that sought monopolistic control not only of the economy but also of political structures. We’re watching a repeat of all of that.
Those concentrations of power were broken up in the early twentieth century through a very serious array of anti-trust policies. People often point to the importance of the work of Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis, for example. Today, there’s a whole slew of what people call neo-Brandeisian anti-monopoly policies that many are advocating. I think we do need another era of trust-busting, breaking up those concentrations of power.
I know the dynamic right now between Europe, the EU, and the US is extremely complicated and painful. I will say that I take it as good news that Europe is starting to build a path toward empowering its own tech companies. I do think that taking on the monopoly of the US firms is an important thing to do.
There’s Going to Be a Battle Between Globe-Spanning Tech Powers and Nation-States
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.
Throughout democratic history, monopolies over information have often strengthened authoritarian rule. How different is today’s AI revolution from earlier media revolutions such as radio, television, or social media? Does generative AI represent a quantitative extension of those transformations, or does it constitute a genuinely new constitutional moment?
Professor Danielle Allen: It’s a great question. To be honest, I don’t think I really have an answer. In some ways, it’s an obvious continuation, and I’ve already mentioned that. On the other hand, the speed and scale of change are wholly new for humanity. That’s honestly the part that concerns me the most: the rapidity and the totalizing nature of it.
Take the fact that somebody like Elon Musk can, in five years, manage to have half of the world’s satellites in space. It’s probably more than half of them by now. He has the capacity to intervene directly in geopolitical decision-making among the world’s nation-states. That’s what’s fundamentally different. The earlier technologies came into existence and existed essentially within nation-states. We now have corporations with a degree of political control that puts them in a more powerful position than nation-states.
It’s not that this has never happened before. In the eighteenth century, for example, Britain faced, roughly speaking, a similar kind of problem with the East India Company. Other European powers faced similar challenges with the colonial trading empires that they first allowed to grow and then discovered had gone beyond their control. That, of course, led to the struggles in the nineteenth century between nation-state governments and those colonial companies. We are likely to see another period of that kind of struggle.
I don’t think the nation-state is doomed. I don’t think it’s doomed primarily because people still live in places. Human beings are embodied, and we are instantiated in geographic locales. Our communities matter to us, and that feature of human life, which starts from the ground and extends outward, will continue to be an important part of governance and jurisdictionality. So, in that regard, there’s going to be a battle, for sure, between globe-spanning tech powers and nation-states. I do think nation-states can win in the end. And I would argue they should win. But it’s going to be a very hard period of struggle.
Technology Should Complement Human Intelligence, Not Replace It
In “How AI Fails Us,” you criticize the dominant vision of AI as autonomous intelligence and instead advocate technologies that augment human cooperation rather than replace it. How might this alternative vision reshape democratic governance? Could cooperative AI become a tool for democratic renewal rather than democratic erosion?
Professor Danielle Allen: I appreciate that question. What really matters here is that we sometimes think the way technology is currently unfolding is somehow a matter of the laws of nature or the laws of physics—that it’s simply a natural outgrowth of nature itself. That’s a mistake, and it already gives away too much power. Technology always develops out of some kind of moral vision. By moral vision, I mean a way of understanding human beings, human capacity, and the human relationship to nature and the world.
The argument of that paper is that the moral vision behind the current technological supernova rests on a flawed premise. That premise is that there is one thing called human intelligence, that it is singular, and that machines are trying to replicate and ultimately overcome it. Whereas, in fact, human intelligence is multiple. It comes in a whole range of varieties. Machine intelligence is also multiple. That plurality of our intelligences is valuable to specific societies and to humankind as a whole.
Plurality can be activated for tribalism, conflict, and division, or it can be activated for creativity, innovation, and cultural richness. One of the most important human projects, therefore, is to give ourselves the tools to activate the plurality of our intelligences for those positive outcomes.
If you begin with that basic vision of human beings and human well-being, then you can see a completely different approach to technological development. It is an approach based on activating that plurality in a positive way, one that requires complementing human intelligences rather than trying to overcome or replace them.
Very ordinary technologies, like the Zoom technology we’re using right now, provide a good example. Zoom complements what human beings can do. We can’t see across thousands of miles, so being able to do that through Zoom supplements what we are already able to do. It doesn’t actually replace anything we were previously doing. So, one can begin to envision a host of things that would be wonderful to be able to do that are all supplemental rather than replacing our core capacities.
We Need a Formally Articulated Bill of Rights Against the Powers of AI
Authoritarian governments increasingly combine sophisticated digital surveillance with artificial intelligence, while democratic governments are also rapidly adopting AI for policing, border control, and public administration. How can constitutional democracies harness AI’s administrative potential without gradually normalizing technologies of surveillance and executive concentration that undermine liberal constitutionalism?
Professor Danielle Allen: That’s a great question. I think we’re at a point where we need a formally articulated bill of rights against the powers of AI. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, as nation-states were consolidating their power, people articulated bills of rights. In the US case, we have the first ten amendments to the Constitution: rights to association, rights to expression, freedom from search and seizure without warrants, rights to trial by jury, and so forth.
All of those rights apply to the AI universe, but it is worth taking the time to elaborate on what is required to ensure that they are protected under the surveillance conditions made possible by AI. That’s a project for legal scholars—to spell out, at meaningful length, what those requirements are.
I do think the GDPR was a good model for extending those rights protections into the environment of digital data and the like. We need to keep building that edifice of crystal-clear legal protections and limitations. Again, some of the lawsuits right now against Anthropic and others, for example, for stealing authors’ works, are really important. We already have this rights-based framework, and with more investment of time and effort, we could use it much more comprehensively to cover the world of generative AI.
Generative AI Is Going to Accelerate the Capacity of Everything
Photo: Dreamstime.
Recent years have witnessed growing interaction between transnational populist movements, digital platforms, and algorithmically amplified political narratives. Do you believe generative AI is likely to accelerate the emergence of increasingly coordinated transnational populist ecosystems that operate beyond the regulatory capacity of individual democratic states?
Professor Danielle Allen: Generative AI is going to accelerate the capacity of everything. It will also accelerate the capacity of pro-democracy transnational networks to operate across borders. In that regard, it only changes the balance of power if only the populists use it.
The First Thing We Need Is Functional Democratic Governance
Much current AI regulation emphasizes safety, content moderation, transparency, and risk mitigation. Yet your work argues that these approaches address symptoms rather than underlying distributions of power. What institutional reforms would be necessary if democratic governments were to regulate AI according to constitutional principles instead of primarily technological ones?
Professor Danielle Allen: The two major things we need in the US are to get rid of corruption and restore suffrage. We have experienced an incredible erosion of voting rights in the US. Those two things—corruption, by which I mean the impact of money in our politics, and the erosion of voting rights—mean that our institutions have been captured by small oligarchic minorities pursuing their own financial interests through cronyist arrangements with tech companies.
So, when people ask that question, what they’re often wondering is, “Okay, what’s the specific regulation that you need to rein in a tech company?” What I want to say is that that’s actually operating at the wrong level. The first thing you need is functional democratic governance, where power actually lies with the people. Then the people will be able to apply regulations to tech companies.
We can devise all kinds of regulations—that’s not really the problem. The problem is whether power actually lies with the people or with the people who are in bed with the tech companies. Right now, it lies with people who are in bed with tech companies. That’s why we need fundamental reforms in the basic operations of democracy in the US to change that balance of power.
Digital Competence Matters More Than Digital Literacy
Your broader scholarship consistently emphasizes citizenship, civic identity, democratic participation, and shared constitutional purpose. In an era increasingly mediated by AI-generated information, how should democratic education evolve to prepare citizens not merely to detect misinformation but to sustain democratic judgment itself?
Professor Danielle Allen: That’s a great question. There are a lot of important pieces there. I think highly of the work of Audrey Tong in Taiwan, who argues for an education in digital competence, not just digital literacy but competence. Again, if you know how to use the tools, you’re going to inoculate yourself against being abused by people who are using them.
So that’s one thing. But, to your point about judgment, cultivating the capacity for judgment is key. That means being able to—and here I’m drawing on some work by somebody named Scott Warren—to provide accurate accounts of what people who disagree with you think and why they think it. In other words, you have to train yourself out of your own silo in order to gain access to the full picture of what people are experiencing. One way to do that is by testing whether or not you can render the best version of your opponent’s argument. That’s a very basic skill, but it is no longer very common in our systems of instruction and education.
The work of judgment also requires understanding how to relate values and principles to empirical realities. To develop those skills, you actually have to spend time thinking about values. What are your values? Where do they come from? What are their sources? How do you justify them? What are other people’s values? How do they interact with each other? The work of connecting a values-based diagnosis to a values-based solution is also a learnable skill. So, those would be three things that I would point to as important to have inside our educational offerings.
We Should Deploy Technology to Elevate Human Judgment
Finally, stepping back from current technological developments, do you believe liberal democracy is entering a constitutional transformation comparable to those produced by the printing press, industrialization, or mass broadcasting? Looking ahead, what institutional innovations will be most essential if democratic societies are to ensure that artificial intelligence strengthens rather than weakens constitutional government, political equality, and democratic self-rule?
Professor Danielle Allen: Yes, I do think we are entering another period of major constitutional transformation of that kind. I wish I could give you a list of specific changes that will help us get where we want to go, but fundamentally, we need changes that strengthen human judgment. That runs a bit against the current at a moment when so much is eroding and replacing human judgment. That’s why I advocate various election system reforms in the US, because they would strengthen human judgment.
I also think there are many ways of deploying technology to elevate human judgment rather than denigrate it. AI sensemaking tools such as Polis and vTaiwan, which are deliberative democracy tools, use natural language to allow people to express themselves in their own words, while helping to bring the themes that people have generated to the surface and making us more visible to one another. Things like this can actually help strengthen human judgment.
The hard question, which I appreciate you’re asking, is this: How do we evaluate whether a technology is strengthening human judgment or weakening it? That seems to me to be one of the criteria we need to bake into our assessments of new models, new tools, and the other technologies that emerge into the world.
As climate change increasingly reshapes patterns of human mobility, it is also transforming the political foundations of democratic citizenship. In this commentary, Dr. Oludele Solaja argues that climate-induced displacement should no longer be understood solely as a humanitarian emergency or a security challenge, but as an emerging battleground over political membership and democratic inclusion. Introducing the innovative concept of Climate Citizenship Populism, Dr. Solaja demonstrates how environmental displacement is becoming a powerful resource for exclusionary populist narratives that redefine who belongs within the democratic community. By bringing together scholarship on populism, climate mobility, and democratic citizenship, the commentary offers an original analytical framework for understanding how environmental change is reshaping contemporary political conflict and why the future of democracy will increasingly depend on how societies respond to the politics of climate-driven belonging.
Climate change has progressed from being an environmental issue into a central political issue in the 21st century. As the entire debate and politics concerning climate change revolved around the issues of temperature increase, carbon emission, and environmental damage, the effects of climate change do not just end there. It is transforming the patterns of human inhabitation, transforming the ways of life of people, and fundamentally changing the geographical bases on which our understanding of citizenship rests. As environmental factors drive humans away, democracies now face a crucial dilemma: Who belongs to a world changed by climate change?
This article situates climate migration at the nexus of debates surrounding democracy, citizenship and populism. While populism has been defined as the political logic that distinguishes between ‘the pure people’ and ‘the corrupt elite’ (Mudde, 2004; Mudde & Rovira Kaltwasser, 2017), it is also shaped by debates over the ‘people’ and its boundaries. Populist movements often exploit existing anxieties over economics, culture, immigration and national identity. But in a warming, changing world, climate change-induced movement of people creates a new domain for this struggle.
Climate migration has become a key tool for constructing the ‘people,’ defining who is deserving and legitimating claims to belonging. Evidence for this transformation is widespread. The 2022 IPCC Report (2022) points to climate change as a major driver of increased human vulnerability due to weather extremes, ecosystem degradation and impacts on food and water. In recent years, the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre (IDMC) has documented that weather-related events cause the majority of new internal displacements worldwide. Nevertheless, climate-induced displacement cannot be understood in purely environmentalist terms but is a product of interactions among environmental changes, poverty, inequality, failures of governance, and armed conflict (Gemenne, 2011; McLeman, 2014). Therefore, climate migration reflects a broader set of unequal social and political relations that influence people’s ability to stay, adapt or leave their places of origin. The political debate on climate mobility, however, tends to remain framed within two dominant and limiting perspectives.
Firstly, it is widely regarded as a problem requiring a humanitarian response to protect vulnerable displaced people. Secondly, climate migrants are perceived as a threat to national security, welfare systems, labor markets, and cultural identity. Yet both approaches obscure a more profound transformation: climate migration is increasingly becoming a question of membership in the polity. The critical issue is not so much why people migrate as how existing political communities draw the boundaries of membership and belonging in the face of collapsing territorial stability. It is precisely within this terrain of uncertainty that populist politics appears particularly well positioned to thrive.
Populism is fundamentally concerned with issues of borders and political membership, often drawing on the divide between insiders and outsiders (Laclau, 2005; Müller, 2016). Climate-induced displacement offers a rich symbolic site for these populist efforts, since it is deeply entangled with concerns over the sovereignty of the nation-state, the administration of borders, the distribution of public goods, and the management of national culture. Climate migrants can thus be politically reframed not simply as dispossessed people, but as symbols of wider fears about social and political disorder.
Introducing Climate Citizenship Populism
To describe this new political tendency, this commentary introduces the term Climate Citizenship Populism. It is a variant of populism that uses environmental displacement to redraw the lines of democratic membership by defining climate migrants as a threat to the rights, resources, identity and sovereignty of a national community.
Climate Citizenship Populism is not like previous forms of political conflict over the climate, where the conflict might have been over whether climate change is occurring or over opposition to regulating it. It is based on the assumption of environmental disruption, but it is the social consequences that are politicized. Thus, the central conflict changes from a question of climate change to one of who pays the repercussions of climate change and who deserves political representation in a climate-changed world.
This analysis makes a helpful contribution to the current debate on populism in three significant ways. First, it sees climate-induced mobility as a new material trigger for populist mobilization, alongside the more commonly suggested economic insecurity, immigration, and cultural backlash. Second, it suggests that the focus of populist opposition has moved from immigration to democracy itself as the political nature of citizenship is transformed by environmental change. Third, it presents a new analytical framework—Climate Citizenship Populism—to make sense of the conversion of environmental displacement into exclusionary narratives of democratic citizenship.
The idea is to connect three lines of research that have been pursued independently so far: populism studies, climate mobility research and democratic citizenship theory. While existing studies have already provided interesting findings on adaptation and displacement, as well as on citizenship and territorial belonging, there is a lack of literature on climate migration and the governance of migration. The current body of research has shed light on migration and the governance of migration, adaptation and displacement, as well as on the relationship between territorial belonging and citizenship and rights, but there is a dearth of research on climate migration and the governance of migration. But there has been little effort to grasp how environmental displacement is influencing the political boundaries of citizenship through populist mobilization.
Climate Citizenship Populism thus draws attention to a more general shift in democratic politics. Climate change is not just an issue to be added to policy agendas but also a structural condition that alters the material and political conditions shaping societies’ notions of belonging. Populist players are now also trying to re-imagine the limits of the democratic community itself as patterns of human settlement are reconfigured amid environmental disruption. In the era of environmental disruption, patterns of human settlement are being redrawn, and populist actors are seeking to redefine the limits of the democratic community itself.
From Border Politics to Democratic Exclusion
Climate Citizenship Populism is not only possible politically; its reasoning can be seen in various regions. Whether it is a matter of humanitarianism or of political membership, sovereignty, and national belonging, a pattern is becoming increasingly recognizable: environmental displacement is increasingly understood as a political issue.
Climate mobility has increasingly been linked to broader European debates on immigration, border management, and national identity. Most contemporary migration movements are not solely a consequence of climate change, but the foreshadowing of future climate displacement has become a political issue. The incorporation of the theme of environmental mobility in more comprehensive narratives of demographic change, overburdened welfare states, housing crises and the failure of political elites to keep the nation together is becoming a hallmark of populist actors. In this sense, migrants are symbolic beings through which anxieties of globalization and social change are conveyed. It is not just the quantity, but the meaning associated with displacement in the stories of populism that has political dimensions.
These trends are also seen in North America, notably in political discussions about migration from climate-vulnerable Central America and the Caribbean. Studies have shown that economic insecurity, governance problems, and social vulnerability are interlinked with environmental pressures to shape migration decisions (McLeman, 2014; IOM, 2024). Political debates, however, tend to reduce such realities to a simple narrative about the border “crisis” and national insecurity. Climate displacement is integrated into a larger anti-immigration discourse, in which migrants serve as a symbol of the waning control of the state. Thus, environmental mobility becomes a political problem, ranging from global inequality to a perceived threat to national sovereignty.
Another facet of Climate Citizenship Populism is illustrated in the African context. In the Sahel and other affected areas of the Horn of Africa, there are growing incidences of internal, rather than trans-border, displacement driven by drought, desertification, flooding and resource pressures. These movements involve complex issues of land, livelihood, access to resources and political recognition. When resources are scarce, displaced people are sometimes portrayed as rivals for economic opportunities or public services, furthering narratives of territorial identity and belonging. In these settings, Climate Citizenship Populism does not appear as much as international border politics, but rather as a contestation over who is entitled to what land, resources, and community.
Perhaps the most profound challenge to conventional understandings of citizenship is provided by Small Island Developing States. Climate mobility raises more than just migration management questions, particularly for communities under existential threat from sea-level rise. Who, then, will be able to live on a land that is becoming uninhabitable, one where citizenship is organized? Climate displacement scholars have suggested that this type of event calls into question the notions of territorialized political membership (McAdam, 2012). They show how climate change is altering mobility patterns and destabilizing the sense of territory that underpins contemporary democratic citizenship.
Contributions to the study of Populism and Democratic Theory
Climate Citizenship Populism enriches the field of populism studies by introducing the idea that environmental disruptions should be considered a novel material condition of political mobilization. Previous scholarship has offered insightful accounts of populist politics as anti-elitism, cultural backlash, nationalism and immigration politics (Mudde & Rovira Kaltwasser, 2017; Moffitt, 2016). Climate Citizenship Populism is not an alternative to these explanations but an expansion of them, showing how political communities draw in their insiders/outsiders in the context of environmental instability.
This way of thinking takes the focus away from migration and towards citizenship. The classic discussions tend to revolve around whether migrants should be let in, kept safe, or kept out. Climate Citizenship Populism uncovers a more fundamental issue: What is the nature of democratic citizenship in an era when climate change is emerging as a primary factor in determining who can and cannot live? In this respect, climate migration is not just an issue for migration governance – it is an issue for the normative basis of democracy.
The idea also emphasizes the issue of climate justice. The concept of climate mobility is defined by deep global inequalities, including unequal historical responsibility for greenhouse gas emissions and unequal ability to adapt to climate change (Caney, 2010; Shue, 2014). Responses to climate migration which exclude are likely to become new forms of democratic exclusion, building on the history of unequal climate impacts. There is a need for effective adaptation and migration policies and political frameworks that acknowledge shared vulnerability and differentiated responsibilities in the context of climate mobility.
Conclusion: Citizenship in a Climate-Changed World
Climate crises have become an essential part of the democratic political landscape. Along with the changing landscape of environmental mobility, environmental disruption is also changing the political questions of belonging, rights and membership. The question for democracies is not only how to deal with climate migration, but also how to maintain democratic inclusion in a world where territorial stability is no longer guaranteed.
Climate Citizenship Populism offers a framework for understanding how environmental displacement is becoming integral to current political identity and conflicts over democratic boundaries. It shows that climate change is not only adding to migration pressures, but also to political opportunities to draw lines about who is in and who is out. What this means is important. What populism is all about is the building of “the people”—and in the future, climate change will be a major factor in the picture of “the people. Debating emissions, adaptation, and environmental governance will thus be a part of the politics of the climate age, but so too will be debates over citizenship itself.
Class, industrialization and social redistribution were significant issues of the twentieth century. The first decade of the twenty-first century has seen globalization, migration and national identity come into conflict. Climate citizenship is likely to become a recurring battle in the next decades. Democracies are now at a pivotal point where they must decide whether climate insecurity strengthens their pursuit of exclusion or provides a moment to reconsider political belonging on the basis of ideas of justice, solidarity and shared fragility.
The future of democracy in a climate-changed world will ultimately depend not only on how societies respond to environmental transformation, but on how they answer the most basic political question of all: who belongs?
References
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Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. (2022). Climate Change 2022: Impacts, Adaptation and Vulnerability. Cambridge University Press.
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McAdam, J. (2012). Climate Change, Forced Migration, and International Law. Oxford University Press.
McLeman, R. (2014). Climate and Human Migration: Past Experiences, Future Challenges. Cambridge University Press.
Moffitt, B. (2016). The Global Rise of Populism: Performance, Political Style, and Representation. Stanford University Press.
Mudde, C. (2004). “The populist zeitgeist.” Government and Opposition, 39(4), 541–563.
Mudde, C. & Rovira Kaltwasser, C. (2017). Populism: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford University Press.
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For years, Hungary stood as the defining case of democratic backsliding within the European Union. Yet the 2026 election has transformed it into an equally important case of democratic recovery. In this timely interview, Dr. Hanna Folsz discusses why Hungary’s political transformation challenges prevailing assumptions about the durability of competitive authoritarianism. Drawing on her recent Journal of Democracy article, she argues that authoritarian institutional engineering ultimately remains vulnerable when broad civic mobilization, credible political leadership, and innovative opposition strategies converge. The conversation explores the underestimated role of civil society, the limits of media capture and economic coercion, the challenges of rebuilding democratic institutions, and the broader lessons Hungary offers for scholars and practitioners seeking to understand democratic resilience and authoritarian reversal in the twenty-first century.
For more than a decade, Hungary occupied a unique place in the comparative study of democratic backsliding. Under Viktor Orbán and Fidesz, it became widely regarded as the paradigmatic example of competitive authoritarianism within the European Union—a political system in which elections continued to exist but were increasingly distorted by constitutional engineering, media capture, economic coercion, and the systematic weakening of institutional checks and balances. Consequently, Hungary became not merely a national case but an international reference point for understanding how democracies erode from within.
Yet Hungary’s 2026 election has fundamentally altered that conversation. The defeat of Fidesz after sixteen years in power has transformed the country into one of the most consequential contemporary cases of democratic recovery. In her recent Journal of Democracy article, How Civil Society Defeated Orbán, Dr. Hanna Folsz —an Academy Scholar at Harvard University’s Weatherhead Center for International Affairs, where she will begin her appointment in August 2026 before joining IE University in Madrid as Assistant Professor of Political Science in 2027— argues that this democratic breakthrough cannot be explained solely by leadership change or electoral dynamics. Instead, she offers a broader theoretical argument about the hidden vulnerabilities of competitive authoritarian regimes and the underestimated capacity of civil society to reverse authoritarian consolidation.
As Dr. Folsz observes, “Even deeply entrenched competitive authoritarian regimes have vulnerabilities.” While Hungary experienced what she describes as “one of the most extensive and severe episodes of de-democratization or authoritarian consolidation in recent decades,” the very institutions and strategies that sustained Fidesz ultimately proved insufficient to guarantee permanent rule. Institutional engineering, media dominance, financial asymmetries, and intimidation undoubtedly raised the costs of political competition, yet they could not indefinitely substitute for declining public legitimacy. As she argues, “these authoritarian strategies do not guarantee lasting—everlasting—popularity or staying in office.”
A central contribution of Dr. Folsz’s research is her reassessment of the role of civil society. Rather than attributing the opposition’s victory primarily to the emergence of the Tisza Party or the leadership of Péter Magyar, she demonstrates how more than 2,500 decentralized “Tisza Islands” transformed latent civic capacity into effective political organization. In her words, “The role of civil society… is absolutely underestimated,” while “broad civic mobilization, new and fresh opposition challengers… and a credible alternative to voters are definitely a path to democratic reversal.”
In this interview, Dr. Folsz examines the mechanisms that enabled Hungary’s democratic breakthrough and explores their broader implications for comparative politics. She discusses the hidden effects of economic coercion, the limits of media capture, the importance of credible political leadership, and the challenges of democratic restoration after authoritarian rule. She also reflects on the responsibilities facing Hungary’s new government, emphasizing that electoral victory is only the beginning: “Changing governments is definitely only a precondition for democratic recovery.” Together, these insights offer an important contribution to ongoing debates on populism, democratic resilience, competitive authoritarianism, and the conditions under which entrenched illiberal regimes can ultimately be defeated.
Here is the revised version of our interview with Dr. Hanna Folsz, edited lightly to enhance clarity, readability, and overall flow for publication.
Authoritarian Strategies Do Not Guarantee Permanent Rule
Hungarian government’s anti-immigration billboard says “STOP the refugees” in Budapest, Hungary on April 4, 2018.
Dr. Folsz, welcome!Let me begin with our first question. For more than a decade, Hungary was widely regarded as the paradigmatic case of democratic backsliding and competitive authoritarianism. Yet your recent Journal of Democracy article argues that the 2026 election also represents one of the most significant democratic reversals of authoritarian consolidation in recent years. How should we interpret the Hungarian election in comparative perspective? Does it represent an exceptional case, or does it reveal broader vulnerabilities inherent in contemporary competitive authoritarian regimes?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: The Hungarian case represents a combination of factors that disadvantage opposition parties or make opposition electoral victory exceedingly difficult. It is definitely an example of—maybe one of the most extensive and severe episodes of de-democratization or authoritarian consolidation in recent decades. Nevertheless, the Hungarian case also represents many of the common factors, or common difficulties, that oppositions experience and the strategies that aspiring authoritarians employ to entrench their rule.
No wonder Hungary serves as a preliminary case, an example for aspiring autocrats worldwide. Fidesz’s dominance in the media, the extensive financial advantage that it enjoyed—or made sure it enjoyed—compared to opposition parties and independent civil society, the severe disadvantages faced by the opposition in the electoral system, as well as the fear of opposition participation due to the repercussions, are all factors that are present in other cases as well.
It was the length of Fidesz rule that made these impediments especially significant, but it also showed that these authoritarian strategies do not guarantee lasting—everlasting—popularity or staying in office. And the lessons it offers are a set of lessons for other cases. Of course, these have to be adapted to context, but the Hungarian case shows that there are vulnerabilities to be exploited, that broad civic mobilization, new and fresh opposition challengers who understand the regime and its vulnerabilities and exploit them, and who present a credible alternative to voters, are definitely a path to democratic reversal. But I’m excited to delve more into the details of this throughout this interview.
The Role of Civil Society in Democratic Change Has Been Profoundly Underestimated
One of your central arguments is that the decisive innovation was not simply the emergence of the Tisza Party, but the rapid development of the decentralized network of Tisza Islands. Why were these semi-autonomous civic organizations able to succeed where traditional opposition parties repeatedly failed? More broadly, does this suggest that democratic resistance in authoritarian settings increasingly depends on civil society rather than party organizations?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: In my article, I make the argument that existing commentary and interpretations of the opposition’s recent electoral victory in Hungary pay a lot of attention to the emergence of the Tisza Party and its novelty, the charisma and skills of its leader, as well as the broader discontent with Fidesz rule after many years of economic stagnation that, in part, could be accounted for by the suspension of EU funds, as well as by extreme corruption and authoritarian overreach by Fidesz.
I argue that this is not the full story. To understand the opposition’s victory, we must take into account the extensive and unprecedented civic mobilization that occurred in Hungary around this election. In my article, I show that Tisza Islands—these semi-autonomous civic groups, small civic groups of at most 50 participants each—emerged across the country. Over 2,500 of these existed by the election. Within a span of a year and a half, they came to dominate civic and public life in Hungary.
They played an essential role in structuring political life, providing political information in their communities, and demonstrating the credibility of the party and the opposition as an alternative through highly visible activities, including extensive volunteering and local charity work that showed the opposition movement cared about the experiences and difficulties of everyday Hungarians. They also provided, basically, the campaign infrastructure for the Tisza Party throughout the election.
The party had very little money, very limited financial resources, in large part due to Fidesz’s actions and changes to party funding, as well as simply being a very new party. This meant that it did not have the resources for the kind of classic electoral campaign that we expect from political parties in democracies most of the time—one funded by donations or state funds, especially in Europe, and relying on an extensive party infrastructure, local offices, and so on. Instead, these Islands stepped up. They basically provided the campaign activists and even the financial resources for the campaign. That played an absolutely crucial role in Tisza’s eventual victory.
What this shows is that there are specific vulnerabilities, difficulties, and challenges for opposition parties in autocratizing and competitive authoritarian contexts. These include financial disadvantage, an absolute information disadvantage under an incumbent-controlled media infrastructure, and the total—or almost total—de-mobilization of the activist base and opposition voters who have become disillusioned with politics and opposition parties. This was definitely the situation Hungary found itself in in 2026, and it showed that the usual avenues for political change were no longer possible.
This is when we saw the very innovative collaboration between the Tisza Party and civil society through the Tisza Islands—these semi-autonomous groups that were only loosely connected to the party. This points to the fact that the role of civil society, the role we expect civil society to play, is absolutely underestimated. Parties will still be crucial, but we need to think about these innovative solutions and about how the strengths of civil society, the often-latent strengths of civil society, can be channeled into electoral competition.
Changing Governments Is Only a Precondition for Democratic Recovery
Tisza leader Péter Magyar begins a symbolic “one million steps” march to Nagyvárad, Romania, addressing reporters with supporters in Budapest, Hungary on May 14, 2025. Photo: Istvan Balogh / Dreamstime.
For sixteen years, Viktor Orbán systematically weakened constitutional constraints, reshaped electoral institutions, captured much of the media, and subordinated state institutions to partisan control. Which of these legacies do you regard as the most difficult to reverse? Is democratic recovery primarily about changing governments, or about rebuilding institutions that have been deliberately hollowed out?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: Changing governments is definitely only a precondition for democratic recovery. Democratic recovery cannot be achieved without rebuilding resilient democratic institutions and norms. And this is where the main challenge in Hungary lies today.
In Hungarian case, Fidesz was voted out of office. The electoral threat that Fidesz currently represents to the Tisza Party is very low. So, it seems that we do not have to be extensively afraid of Fidesz returning to power in four years. The bigger challenge, rather, is for the Tisza Party to effectively restore democratic institutions and norms while exercising self-restraint in the process.
We have seen them begin to address this challenge very early on with a great deal of energy, which has been very encouraging for many commentators and observers. Their first constitutional amendment was recently passed. They are taking steps to remove the previous president and are also beginning to hold Fidesz-affiliated elites accountable through judicial proceedings and investigations into corruption and other authoritarian transgressions.
We also know that they will begin the constitutional process of writing a new constitution. There is also a new head of the state media who has already been appointed to oversee the transition to a more pluralistic and more independent media environment.
The biggest challenge is to make sure that there are professional and lastingly independent checks and balances across all of these spheres. Tisza has an unprecedented mandate because it achieved a two-thirds parliamentary majority in the election. That means it can amend the constitution. There are basically very few, if any, institutional restraints on how it exercises its power.
So, what we want to see is that, across all these spheres—the judiciary, the media, and state institutions—they install not necessarily party loyalists but rather truly independent actors, and that they respect their independence and decisions, even when those decisions go counter to Tisza’s goals or electoral preferences in terms of ensuring its electoral support.
Hungary Shows That Pro-Democracy Civic Energy Is Easier to Mobilize Than We Assumed
Your research highlights the importance of latent civic capacity that survives even under prolonged authoritarian pressure. What does Hungary teach us about democratic resilience? Can civil society preserve democratic norms even when formal institutions have been substantially weakened?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: The Hungarian case definitely shows me, in a striking way, that civic capacity is latent rather than absent in cases such as Hungary. This is something I highlight in my article as well, because we have a very strong assumption in political science research and in public debates about democratic resilience and resistance to authoritarian pressure.
The assumption is that if we have an institutionally weak civil society, then effective democratic resistance is very difficult. It’s sort of a precondition for democratic resistance that there are existing civil society actors that can serve as a check, hold the government accountable, organize resistance, organize protests, and restructure public opinion around resistance. When this is missing, we assume that democratic reversals are much more difficult.
They are indeed more difficult. But the Hungarian case absolutely shows that it is much easier to bring pro-democracy civic capacity to the surface than we assumed. In Hungary, the Tisza Islands provided a loose organizational frame, and the Tisza Party provided the Tisza Islands with a purpose and a potential for democratic change that mobilized the population across the country, in localities and municipalities both big and small.
This points to a case for some positivity, some optimism, as well as a call for innovative approaches and a better understanding of citizens’ motivations, because political scientists, as well as pundits, assumed that such mobilization would not be possible and were taken by surprise by its scale and effectiveness.
If we take the opportunity and make the effort to talk to citizens more, understand their relationship with this regime, and recognize that there is this latent discontent that may not be expressed for fear of repercussions, but also because of a lack of hope that things could change, and if we can understand how citizens react to the provision of a credible alternative, to hope embodied in an opposition movement, then this might not take us by surprise. We might instead focus a little more on developing these innovative civic approaches in our attempts to achieve democratic reversals.
Economic Coercion Is One of the Most Overlooked Tools of Authoritarian Control
Former Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban.
In your broader research, you argue that economic retaliation constitutes one of the most overlooked mechanisms through which aspiring autocrats weaken political competition by deterring talented opposition candidates. How central was economic coercion to Orbán’s durability, and how much did overcoming fear of retaliation contribute to the opposition’s eventual breakthrough?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: One of the focuses of my research is the authoritarian strategy that I term economic coercion. I argue in one of my papers that this is a core strategy of authoritarian consolidation and control that we tend to overlook because we focus on the physical acts of repression that these regimes carry out, be it arresting opposition politicians and activists or banning opposition parties, et cetera.
But economic coercion is another crucial strategy. I define it as a credible threat of economic retaliation for opposition political activity. This means that not just opposition candidates, but activists or those who express public support for the opposition, they themselves or their family members, might face economic difficulties as a result.
Its employment-oriented form—one of its forms—carries the potential for employment loss, dismissals from jobs in the public sector, the state sector, or in regime-adjacent businesses. Its enterprise-oriented form focuses on retaliation against business owners and firms. If you participate in opposition politics, for instance as a candidate, or if you participated in Hungary during the Orbán period, you could very well expect that your firm would be subject to targeted tax audits, targeted tax penalties, or other forms of retaliation—basically, the denial of state contracts and grants that your firm might have previously received, as well as the turning away of suppliers and other businesses that were themselves afraid of retaliation for their association with the opposition.
This was an absolutely pervasive, indeed a defining, characteristic of the Hungarian regime and a major impediment for opposition parties. My interviews with opposition politicians, together with a survey that I conducted among opposition local politicians, pointed to this pervasive fear of retaliation and Fidesz’s media dominance as the two central reasons opposition politicians identified for their parties’—or their political side’s—weakness.
There are many examples of this. I talked to a number of opposition politicians who themselves were fired from their jobs. Or, for instance, if they had a partner who was a teacher, that partner was fired, and their businesses suffered extensive retaliation. But I also heard many stories of opposition activists being too afraid to put their face, appear in photos—for fear that they would face retaliation, to register as an activist for the party, or even to become a party member.
There are countless examples that opposition politicians would tell me. They would set up stalls for campaigns or for collecting signatures for different causes, and even acquaintances whom they knew very well in their private lives would be too afraid to look at them while they were out on the streets, for fear that their employer or their neighbor might see them, and that word would then spread through their social circle that they supported the opposition.
This presented a huge difficulty for parties, both in mobilizing activists for strong campaigns and in finding good candidates for electoral office. The Tisza Party actually faced many of these same challenges.
Conversations with lawyers at the Hungarian Helsinki Committee, one of the main civil liberties protection organizations in Hungary, revealed that the number of cases of retaliatory firings, or proprietary retaliatory actions, that they encountered and were approached with actually increased significantly in the years following the emergence of the Tisza Party. My conversations and interviews with Tisza politicians themselves also revealed a staggering rate of such retaliation among their activist bases.
The way they overcame this is very remarkable and offers many important lessons. One of the most important strategies they employed was the Tisza Islands themselves, which provided a very low-visibility form of activism. Many activists I talked to in these Tisza Islands told me that they and their fellow activists could choose the level and form of activism they were comfortable with, depending on the degree of visibility. The lack of overt—or direct—association with the party also allowed them to evade some of the strongest retaliatory actions that we had previously come across.
Another important way in which the Tisza Islands contributed to mitigating the effects of retaliation was simply by affording the opposition greater visibility. This provided examples of courage and also evidence of the scale of retaliation, because fear of it often outstrips its actual occurrence.
Finally, Tisza started polling above Fidesz roughly a year and a half before the election, which was also very important because fear of economic retaliation operates on an assumption of future enforcement. If the opposition begins polling ahead of the governing party for such an extended period of time, there is at least some expectation that the governing party may lose the election, in which case retaliation will not proceed, or that any retaliation opposition activists or politicians experience will be undone once the new party comes to power.
This was crucial in progressively encouraging participation and lending confidence to the opposition. But it remained a formidable impediment, and it required a great deal of courage from all of the opposition activists I spoke to, as well as from the politicians of the Tisza Party, to stand publicly with the opposition in the way that they did. That is absolutely one of the most commendable actions one could undertake in such a political environment.
When Propaganda Collides with Lived Experience, Its Credibility Begins to Collapse
Poster from political party Fidesz showing the opponents of Hungarian PM Viktor Orban surrounding billionaire philanthropist George Soros, Budapest, April 8, 2017.
Hungary has often been cited as perhaps Europe’s most advanced example of media capture. Yet despite overwhelming informational asymmetries, the opposition ultimately managed to reach voters. Does this suggest that grassroots civic networks can compensate for authoritarian control of traditional media, or were there broader structural changes—including digital communication—that weakened the effectiveness of media capture?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: These grassroots civic networks played a very important role. There was an almost total lack of access to independent news in many parts of the country, predominantly outside of the larger cities. Almost all news sources were controlled by Fidesz by 2024, around the time of the emergence of the Tisza Party. One of the especially important early functions of the Tisza Islands was simply to provide public spaces for these new, alternative information environments where politics could be discussed.
During their first few months, many of these Tisza Islands focused primarily on inviting outside speakers or holding public discussions, talks with experts, and conversations among activists about the political situation. They identified the most important local issues and explored how Fidesz’s wrongdoing, corruption, authoritarian actions, and mismanagement of the economy and public resources contributed crucially to the local problems and difficulties Hungarians were facing. Through these speaker series, the Tisza Islands allowed people to connect the dots between their local experiences and the broader authoritarian encroachment and entrenchment of Fidesz in the country.
Having these communities in which to discuss politics was also something very new. Many of the activists I interviewed noted that this was the first time they could speak openly about politics without fear and simply discuss political developments among themselves. It created a much better shared understanding of the political situation in the country.
Nevertheless, there were three other factors that were also crucial. Beyond the emergence of these Islands and these local information spaces, the growing importance of the digital sphere was absolutely significant, as was the increasing conflict between people’s personal experiences, their economic hardships, and Fidesz’s narrative of its own successes.
In terms of the digital sphere and social media, we could see by the early 2020s, especially after the COVID pandemic, a very important shift in the way online and non-traditional news sources gained ground. YouTube, podcasts, and other social media platforms became very important sources of news in Hungary. Partizán is one of these networks—the largest podcast and YouTube network for independent news in Hungary. Its videos routinely achieved hundreds of thousands of views in a country of fewer than 10 million people. That’s very significant.
Another important way in which the rise of the digital sphere mattered was how Péter Magyar, current prime minister and the leader of the Tisza Party, exploited and leveraged it masterfully to gain popularity. His campaigns and political activities were always online. We heard from many commentators throughout the election how important it was that Péter Magyar travelled across the country, visiting Hungarian towns and villages, both large and small, after entering Hungarian politics. For two years, he was almost constantly on the ground talking to Hungarian voters.
One of the most important aspects of this, however, was that every single one of his appearances was livestreamed on his social media platforms. This created an almost constant connection with Hungarian voters, made possible by the rise of social media in politics. It further enhanced his credibility by demonstrating how hard he was working and strengthened his direct connection with voters.
Finally, another important reason why Fidesz’s media dominance—and its effectiveness—began to weaken was the increasingly apparent conflict between Hungarians’ lived experiences and Fidesz’s official narrative. Beginning in the early 2020s, and especially after 2022, Hungary experienced significant economic stagnation and record inflation. Inflation averaged around 20 percent in 2022 and remained at a similarly high, though somewhat lower, level in 2023. Food price inflation was particularly severe.
When Hungarians experienced firsthand that they could afford much less than in previous years, while Fidesz continued to emphasize its achievements and the support it was providing through its distributive programmes, this sharply contradicted people’s lived experiences. As a result, the credibility of Fidesz’s propagandistic narrative in the media outlets it controlled declined substantially, and Hungarians increasingly began seeking out alternative sources of news.
Opposition Strategy Matters Just as Much as Authoritarian Strategy
Orbán’s governments demonstrated remarkable sophistication in redesigning electoral rules, constitutional institutions, and oversight bodies without formally abandoning electoral competition. Does Hungary demonstrate that authoritarian institutional engineering eventually reaches diminishing returns, particularly when legitimacy begins to erode?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: Definitely. What the Hungarian case points to with respect to this question is simply that competitive authoritarian regimes still rely on popularity to persist. So, however much electoral rules are redesigned, institutions are amended, and oversight bodies are captured, if unpopularity starts to emerge, if the regime loses its credibility and legitimacy—especially its performance legitimacy—then these institutional changes cannot guarantee that it stays in power.
Nevertheless, there are important caveats. First, the Fidesz regime employed limited physical repression and party bans. That is something we are starting to see in cases such as Turkey, which does not have the constraints of the EU and has shown a willingness to use these tools against the opposition. This can represent much more significant constraints and make it much more difficult for the regime’s unpopularity to translate into electoral change and opposition victory.
The other important caveat is that opposition strategy does matter. Having a broad-appeal electoral strategy and offering a credible alternative that promises competent governance in the interests of the Hungarian people—and can credibly deliver on that promise—is crucial if these governing parties are to start losing elections or even come close to losing them.
Looking, for instance, at the 2022 election in Hungary, where Fidesz actually achieved its strongest performance under its rule, even though the election took place amid record inflation, economic stagnation, extreme corruption, and authoritarian overreach, shows that voters rejected the opposition alternative. There were plenty of reasons to dislike the regime, plenty of reasons to want change, but that change simply did not materialize through the opposition.
Performance Legitimacy Mattered Even More Than Ethno-populist Appeals
Orbán has frequently been analyzed as one of the architects of contemporary right-wing populism, combining majoritarian rhetoric with illiberal constitutionalism. Looking back, to what extent was Fidesz’s success primarily rooted in populism, and to what extent did it evolve into a more conventional authoritarian patronage regime whose survival depended increasingly on state control rather than popular mobilization?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: Fidesz’s populism was important to its staying in power and its ability to consolidate its rule, but it was by far not the only factor that mattered. If anything, performance legitimacy in voters’ eyes was even more important than the populist, ethno-populist appeals that we saw, especially in the second half of Fidesz’s rule.
In terms of Fidesz’s populism, we could definitely see that these radical-right nationalist ethno-populist appeals became very prevalent, especially in the second half of the 2010s. We saw this when immigration became the cornerstone issue for Fidesz, and when this sort of anti-immigration rhetoric became a very powerful tool that allowed it to win the 2018 election with resounding popularity.
But even then, Fidesz’s distributive programs were crucial. A very important element was this kind of regime-to-voter patronage—not just giving resources to a small elite but also providing financial benefits directly to voters so that they saw a financial benefit in their own pockets from supporting the regime. This was very important, and Fidesz very consciously leveraged these strategies.
We saw that when these strategies failed, when the economic gains that people felt they had experienced under Fidesz rule disappeared, Fidesz became less popular. Its deployment of nationalism, its use of this outside-threat narrative, this classic populist narrative, was not enough to ensure that it stayed in power and continued to mobilize its base.
In sum, the transformation of the economy to ensure Fidesz’s continuity in power was very important. These distributive programs directed at voters were crucial. Of course, part of that also involved establishing a political elite, an economic elite that gave Fidesz its economic base—this sort of oligarchic network that supported its control over the media and made sure that economically independent opposition actors had a very difficult time gaining ground.
Those factors were important as well. But populism is just not enough of an explanation.
Hope for Change Required a Credible Political Entrepreneur
Peter Magyar, a popular opposition politician of celebrity status meeting the press at the site of a soccer arena and miniature train station in Viktor Orban’s village in Felcsut, Hungary. on May 24, 2024. Photo: Blue Corner Studio.
Your article emphasizes that civic mobilization required not only existing social networks but also what might be called a credible political entrepreneur in Péter Magyar. How important is leadership in activating dormant democratic capacities? Could similar civic energy have emerged without a figure capable of coordinating and legitimizing it?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: Coordination and the hope of change were absolutely essential to the civic energy that we saw in Hungary, and they had to come from a credible source. They had to come from a credible political entrepreneur or group that promised this. It did not necessarily have to be Péter Magyar, but he is a highly politically skilled politician. He was able to recognize these opportunities, as well as the vulnerabilities of the regime. This was very important in activating the civic energy in the country.
One of the preconditions is simply that there has to be a vision for political change. I think what Péter Magyar did right, why he was important, and why he was able to do this was the energy that voters saw in him as he travelled around the country on his nationwide tours, day after day, rally after rally, meeting after meeting, demonstrating that he took this seriously and that he was able to connect with people. Hearing him speak, hearing him identify the problems with the regime, and also hearing him present some possible solutions was also important.
A strong performance in the 2024 European Parliament election also gave him and his party the ability to have voters’ expectations, or hopes for change, coalesce around them. That was crucial. He emerged at the right time, when there was very strong dissatisfaction with Fidesz but no opposition alternative or opposition option that voters really saw, and he had the skills to fill that role.
But it could have been someone else. It’s obviously very hard to know. What is crucial, however, is the coordinating and legitimizing role that a political entrepreneur provides.
Innovative Civic Mobilization May Be More Transferable Than Hungary’s Institutions
Many scholars have viewed Hungary as the model that inspired democratic erosion elsewhere, from Central Europe to Latin America and even the United States. Do you believe Hungary’s democratic recovery offers transferable lessons for opposition movements confronting competitive authoritarian governments elsewhere, or are Hungary’s political and institutional conditions too distinctive for meaningful comparison?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: I absolutely think that it offers lessons. Of course, if you look at a different case, you will always have to adapt the strategies and adapt the insights to the challenges that the opposition side faces against aspiring autocrats or competitive authoritarian rulers elsewhere. That is natural.
What we need is a very good understanding of the Hungarian case and of what features of the Hungarian case made this possible, and then a good understanding of the other local context to see how this could be adapted. Some notable traits of the Hungarian experience are sometimes potentially underestimated in commentary that uses the Hungarian case as a promise of hope for democratic change elsewhere.
It’s absolutely crucial that Fidesz was in power for 16 years, a very significant amount of time. In a lot of previous cases of reversal, we have seen less consolidated regimes. And there was very strong dissatisfaction with Fidesz by the time the Tisza Party came around, but that could not previously be channeled into electoral politics.
There was also very limited physical repression, so there were no arrests. There were also no party bans, et cetera, as I already mentioned. This is something that means these lessons, especially the lessons around civic mobilization, could be very different and harder to adapt in cases where such repression is very significant.
It is also important to recognize that the level of disadvantage for the opposition was actually more severe in Hungary than in a lot of other cases. This gives us hope for other cases—that if a reversal could happen here, then that can translate elsewhere. But it also might give too much comfort to opposition actors elsewhere, because it might have taken this level of disadvantage for the opposition to use innovations in civic mobilization, and for this new challenger, the Tisza Party, to emerge, and for voters to recognize that the existing opposition parties could not promise the kind of change they hoped for.
The model of this innovative civic mobilization, the model of a new credible challenger emerging that promises meaningful, positive change in Hungarian living conditions, and then promises good governance as well as the rooting out of corruption and democratic restoration, is very important.
We probably cannot get too comfortable. This level of disadvantage that the opposition had in Hungary is actually something that, maybe, shows that we do not need to reach that stage for other countries, for political entrepreneurs and political actors to take on these lessons in other cases. Maybe this avenue, this broad-based appeal that Tisza had, rather than just chipping away at Fidesz supporters or convincing only a few demobilized voters to turn out, is something that can work in other cases. Instead, creating a broad-based movement is something that can work in other cases and can promise much better opportunities for democratic restoration with a strong mandate afterward.
The Greatest Challenge Is Ensuring That the New Government Constrains Itself
A central feature of democratic backsliding in Hungary involved the gradual weakening of judicial independence and constitutional oversight. Following the recent constitutional reforms initiated by the new government, what principles should guide efforts to restore judicial autonomy without creating the perception that one form of politicization is simply replacing another?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: This is a very important challenge in Hungary right now. As I already mentioned, the Tisza Party entered office with an unprecedented mandate. It holds a two-thirds majority in parliament, which in Hungary permits constitutional amendments and essentially allows the party to unilaterally amend the constitution. There is no need for the support of the new opposition parties in parliament, and this gives Tisza extensive control over institutional reform.
They have already used this power, and they have promised to use it further in relation to the judicial system. A constitutional amendment was just approved on July 13 by the Hungarian parliament that restored a mandatory retirement age of 70 for Constitutional Court judges. This involves four of the 15 judges losing their mandates, including the president of the Constitutional Court, who was a very important Orbán appointee.
They have also promised to implement changes to the selection rules for the presidents of various judicial bodies. For instance, these changes would involve judges choosing or proposing candidates instead of the president independently selecting a nominee. But ultimately, all of these changes would still rest on ratification by a two-thirds majority in parliament. So they would still give Tisza the opportunity to make the final choice.
We see many positive changes that could introduce more independent rules and restore a more independent judicial sector in Hungary. But it is very important that the party exercises self-restraint and is potentially even braver and more resolute in making changes that constrain the Tisza Party itself.
Because even some of these proposed rules—for instance, leaving the appointment of the presidents of various judicial bodies to a two-thirds parliamentary majority—would still give the party essentially full discretion, or at least a very high degree of discretion, over who these officeholders are going to be. The biggest challenge is making sure that Tisza actually constrains itself and establishes a genuine separation of the judiciary from the executive branch and, to some degree, from the legislative branch through these reforms, thereby binding both itself and its successors. Whether Tisza ultimately carries out these changes that may also be politically uncomfortable for itself absolutely remains to be seen.
Democratic Restoration Must Never Become Political Retribution
The new government has promised to dismantle what it describes as the “Orbán system” while introducing sweeping constitutional reforms and anti-corruption measures. How can democratic governments dismantle authoritarian legacies without themselves appearing to engage in victor’s justice or constitutional overreach? Where should democratic restoration end and political retribution begin?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: This is a key challenge of democratic restoration and democratic restoration efforts. Ensuring that these efforts proceed in a rule-of-law-abiding manner is often very difficult, as we have seen, for instance, in Poland, and it is something that inevitably draws a great deal of public attention.
In Hungary, this challenge is also present. There is an exceptionally high degree of public legitimacy for dismantling the Fidesz system and holding Fidesz politicians and its oligarchic elite accountable for their wrongdoing and their actions against the national interest. Fidesz currently enjoys at most 20 percent support in the polls in Hungary, which is exceedingly low. We have also seen an absolute exodus of voters from the Fidesz camp, even after the party lost the election.
There is a clear public mandate. But this process of accountability should be pursued in a very careful manner. The most important thing, so far, is that Tisza is at least promising to pursue it through judicial channels. They have also emphasized that this will likely be a lengthy process.
That said, I do see two dangers. The first is that abandoning the judicial route could become a temptation, and that would absolutely undermine the legitimacy of dismantling the Orbán system in the eyes of many. I think it should, because democratic self-restraint is something this party has to practice and demonstrate if it wants to reintroduce it into Hungarian politics.
I also see another danger. To me, it is the possibility that Tisza may not allow Fidesz to be evaluated again by Hungarian voters as a political alternative in the full sense that we should expect in a democratic system.
For instance, Tisza’s recent proposal for a constitutional amendment introduced a 12-year term limit for MPs in Hungary that would apply retroactively. This follows the adoption of an eight-year limit for prime ministers, also applied retroactively, which many interpreted partly as satisfying voters’ demands that Orbán should not be able to return to power, while also serving as an act of self-restraint by Tisza.
That measure has enjoyed broad public support in Hungary, at least for now. But the proposed 12-year limit for MPs has generated much more public debate. Its retroactive application means that most of the high-profile Fidesz leaders we have seen in recent years would likely be unable to run for office again if this rule actually enters the Constitution.
To me, this does not give voters the opportunity to reject Fidesz themselves, which, in all likelihood, we think they would actually do at the polls in the next election. Instead, it appears more like a measure of retribution than one that serves the restoration of healthy democratic competition.
Lasting Democratic Trust Depends on Meaningful Citizen Participation
Supporters of the TISZA Party gather on Andrássy Avenue in Budapest during a national march led by Péter Magyar on Hungary’s March 15 national holiday, March 15, 2026. Photo: Istvan Balogh / Dreamstime.
Years of polarization, clientelism, and institutional capture often leave citizens deeply distrustful of politics itself. Beyond constitutional reforms, what strategies are necessary for rebuilding citizens’ confidence that democratic institutions can once again operate impartially and effectively?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: What is very interesting about the Hungarian case, and what is very closely related to the civic mobilization that we saw ahead of the election, is that there is an unprecedentedly broad interest in, and enthusiasm for, politics and following politics in Hungary, even after the election. That is very promising. The disaffection that we saw over more than a decade of Fidesz rule appears to have been reversed during this election and seems to persist even afterward.
But in many ways, there is still distrust of Tisza among many voters. Of course, the country’s experience over the past decade and a half has been one of politicians abusing public authority and public office for authoritarian entrenchment and private gain through corruption. There is, understandably, concern among Hungarian voters that any party—especially one with such a large mandate—could eventually fall victim to the same dynamics.
The more immediate concern is whether these participatory channels, this broad-based participation represented by the Tisza Islands and these activist groups, will continue to feed into politics itself or instead be discarded. Because maintaining them could build trust and strengthen the connection between citizens and politics.
Tisza has promised to institutionalize such participatory mechanisms. They are currently setting up the Institution for Functioning in Humane Hungary, which they describe as an institution for strengthening popular participation in politics through consultation with professionals, former civil society actors, as well as voters on proposed constitutional amendments, new public policies, and broader forms of public and civic involvement.
This is very promising, but it has not happened yet. We do not yet know exactly what it will look like. The party has asked voters and its activists for patience while it develops ways to channel this civic energy into politics and effective public policymaking in Hungary.
This is one of the most important questions that remains to be answered. The party can reasonably be granted some patience, especially as it is working very hard to meet the conditionalities required for EU funds to be restored to Hungary by the end of the summer. But after that, if this vision of popular participation in governance does not begin to materialize, some degree of public pressure would be very beneficial.
The EU Should Have Acted Earlier and More Decisively
Ursula von der Leyen, President of the European Commission arrives for a EU Summit, at the EU headquarters in Brussels, on June 30, 2023. Photo: Alexandros Michailidis.
The European Union has frequently been criticized both for responding too slowly to Hungary’s democratic backsliding and for possessing limited enforcement tools. Looking retrospectively, what lessons should European institutions draw from the Hungarian experience regarding the defense of liberal democracy among member and candidate countries?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: There’s been a great deal of excellent research, including by R. Daniel Kelemen, on the role that the EU played through its lack of action against Hungary, and at times even its support for Hungary and Viktor Orbán, in failing to become an effective obstacle to authoritarian entrenchment. Kelemen’s research shows that European party politics in the European Parliament plays a very important role. There were incentives within the European People’s Party (EPP) to support Orbán despite his authoritarian transgressions, in order to advance the EPP’s broader political objectives within the EU. That points to an important lesson: party politics within the European Union cannot be allowed to impede efforts to stop authoritarian entrenchment in an EU member state.
There have to be clear red lines. There have to be cordons sanitaires around far-right parties within the EU. We have already seen some steps in this direction. But the other important lesson—and perhaps the more important one—is that the EU should act more quickly and be more willing to invoke the conditionality of EU funding.
A large share of EU funding to Hungary was suspended in 2022, and that was one of the key reasons for the weakening of Fidesz’s support. It contributed significantly to the lack of infrastructure investment, the slowdown in economic dynamism, and the broader economic stagnation and difficulties that Hungary experienced over the past four years, all of which substantially increased public dissatisfaction.
Conditionality is a very powerful tool, and it is a legitimate one. Invoking conditionality in determining access to EU funding is entirely legitimate, and it should be used in cases such as this.
Where Violent Repression Is Limited, Peaceful Democratic Change Remains Possible
Some scholars have argued that competitive authoritarian regimes are inherently unstable because they continue to rely on elections for legitimacy, while others view them as remarkably durable hybrid systems. Has the Hungarian case altered your own understanding of the long-term resilience—or fragility—of competitive authoritarian regimes?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: For one, 16 years of Fidesz rule in Hungary is a remarkably long time. Even if the regime ultimately proved vulnerable to an electoral challenge, it still represented an unprecedented period of authoritarian rule within the European Union that we must take seriously. The fact that an authoritarian regime could emerge under the conditions that it did in Hungary is, in itself, an absolute testament to the power of these authoritarian movements.
Nevertheless, the main lesson is that these regimes, and their continuity, ultimately rest on popularity. It requires a much greater shift of voters away from the regime than in democracies for that to translate into an opposition electoral victory. But there is hope. There is real potential for that to happen. Civic mobilization and the electoral mobilization of voters behind the opposition are what can ultimately bring these regimes to an end. As long as there is limited capacity and infrastructure for violent repression, there remains the possibility of a peaceful transfer of power.
The Hungarian case shows that this middle ground of competitive authoritarian regimes—those that resort only limitedly to physical repression, banning opposition parties, and the kinds of tools that we see in some other contexts—is ultimately fragile. These regimes are vulnerable to a sustained loss of electoral popularity.
Defeating Authoritarianism Requires Strategies Beyond Those of Ordinary Democracies
Finally, Hungary has demonstrated both how democracies can gradually erode and how authoritarian incumbents can eventually be defeated electorally. Yet democratic recovery is often considerably more difficult than democratic decline. Looking ahead, what will determine whether Hungary becomes a lasting example of democratic renewal rather than merely another episode of political alternation? And what broader lessons should scholars of populism, democratic resilience, and authoritarianism take from Hungary’s extraordinary political trajectory?
Dr. Hanna Folsz: In terms of what Hungary will ultimately become an example of, I certainly hope that it will be a lasting example of democratic renewal. But that depends on several conditions. For one, it is important that we see self-restraint from the Tisza Party. Somewhat unfortunately, this is a situation in which we have to rely on self-restraint by the governing party because of its extraordinary political mandate.
But I also think it is crucial that we see the emergence of political alternatives to the Tisza Party in the coming years in Hungary. Entering the 2030 election with the Tisza Party facing only a very weakened Fidesz as its main opposition would be very disadvantageous for Hungarian politics if Fidesz continues to weaken in the way it has over the past couple of months.
It’s very hard to see that providing an incentive for voters to evaluate the Tisza Party against the strong benchmark that we would like to see in a democracy. There is also, for now, no real political alternative to Tisza on the left or liberal side in Hungary. We effectively have a political system with three right-wing parties. Tisza is currently very much a moderate party, but nevertheless its two challengers are on the right. Mi Hazánk, the third party in parliament, is a far-right party.
If this situation persists, it is difficult to see how voters could exercise meaningful democratic choice in the 2030 election. To me, that is very important for a successful democratic recovery. It would also place healthy pressure on Tisza, so that we do not have to rely solely on self-restraint by the party and on extra-parliamentary, extra-electoral mobilization to encourage Tisza to help Hungary achieve a strong democratic renewal.
In terms of the broader lessons from the Hungarian case and Hungary’s extraordinary political trajectory, I see a couple of important lessons that focus on the opposition and on opposition to authoritarian incumbents.
Very often, when we think about these regimes and the reasons for their popularity, we focus on the authoritarian strategies that governing parties employ. We examine institutional manipulation, authoritarian entrenchment, media capture, the capture of civil society, economic coercion, as well as ethnopopulist and distributive appeals to voters, together with voters’ willingness to tolerate these transgressions. But we also need to think seriously about the role that the availability of opposition and credible alternatives plays in allowing such regimes to survive and preventing a democratic alternative from emerging. Hungary shows that the combination of a new political party and a broad-based civic movement built around semi-autonomous civic organizations and civic groups can become a powerful vehicle for democratic change.
The Hungarian experience also offers two further lessons. First, it demonstrates that broad-based civic mobilization is possible. We should therefore think much more seriously about these possibilities and about what kinds of innovations enable opposition movements to overcome the distinctive challenges they face under authoritarian incumbents. We may simply need to be much more inventive.
Second, we cannot continue to operate under assumptions about democratic competition that are derived from established democracies when we are dealing with authoritarian contexts. The rules of the game are fundamentally different. Accordingly, the strategies that opposition movements must employ in these settings are also likely to be fundamentally different from those that work in democracies.
Drawing on comparative evidence from Colombia, Venezuela, Guatemala, Mexico, and beyond, Associate Professor Laura Gamboa offers a compelling rethinking of democratic resilience in an age of gradual authoritarianism. Rather than viewing democratic backsliding solely through the ambitions of would-be autocrats, she demonstrates that democratic survival depends equally on the strategic choices of opposition parties, constitutional courts, and civil society. Reflecting on Colombia’s 2026 presidential election, Assoc. Prof. Gamboa argues that the results present “a mixed story,” simultaneously revealing institutional resilience and new democratic vulnerabilities. She warns that contemporary authoritarianism advances incrementally—often becoming visible only when “it’s usually too late”—while urging democratic actors to address citizens’ grievances, strengthen institutional legitimacy, reduce polarization, and defend constitutional democracy without abandoning democratic principles.
The contemporary crisis of democracy rarely unfolds through dramatic coups or sudden constitutional collapse. Instead, democratic erosion increasingly advances through legal reforms, institutional manipulation, and the gradual concentration of executive power. This slow-moving process has transformed democratic backsliding into one of the defining political challenges of the twenty-first century, raising urgent questions about how constitutional democracies can defend themselves against elected leaders who weaken democratic institutions from within. Few scholars have contributed more to answering these questions than Associate Professor Laura Gamboa of the University of Notre Dame, whose work has fundamentally reshaped our understanding of democratic resilience.
Unlike much of the earlier literature, which focused primarily on aspiring autocrats, Assoc. Prof. Gamboa redirects attention to the democratic opposition itself. In Resisting Backsliding: Opposition Strategies against the Erosion of Democracy and New Forms of Democratic Erosion in Latin America, she argues that democratic survival depends not only on the ambitions of authoritarian leaders but also on the strategic choices of opposition parties, constitutional courts, legislatures, and civil society. By shifting the analytical focus from autocrats to democratic resistance, her scholarship offers one of the most original frameworks for explaining why some democracies withstand authoritarian pressures while others gradually succumb.
The timing of this interview is especially significant. Colombia’s 2026 presidential election has reignited debates about democratic accountability, populism, institutional resilience, and constitutional government across Latin America. While many observers interpreted the election as a straightforward ideological shift to the political right, Assoc. Prof. Gamboa argues that “the 2026 elections give us a mixed story.” She highlights both the resilience of Colombia’s democratic institutions and troubling warning signs, emphasizing that “both the candidate who won the election and the president’s unwillingness to recognize the election results are not good news for democracy.” Her assessment reminds us that electoral alternation alone neither guarantees democratic renewal nor necessarily signals democratic decline.
A recurring theme throughout the interview is the changing nature of authoritarianism. Contemporary autocrats rarely destroy democracy overnight. Instead, they rely on constitutional reforms, elections, plebiscites, and legal mechanisms to weaken liberal democracy incrementally. As Assoc. Prof. Gamboa warns, “by the time the threat becomes evident, it’s usually too late.” Because democratic erosion often proceeds under the appearance of constitutional legality, recognizing the danger of autocratization before institutions are fundamentally weakened has become increasingly difficult.
The interview also challenges conventional assumptions about populism. Rather than treating it as inherently incompatible with democracy, Assoc. Prof. Gamboa describes populism as “a double-sided coin,” capable of expanding political inclusion while simultaneously encouraging personalistic leadership and executive aggrandizement. Equally important, she argues that democratic oppositions must resist dismissing populist voters. “All of these would-be autocrats come to power because they tap into some kind of discontent,” she explains, emphasizing that democratic forces must address underlying grievances rather than simply condemn their political expression. Ultimately, her message is one of strategic democratic resilience: defend institutions, broaden coalitions, reduce polarization, and remember that “doing politics in a society that is not polarized is significantly easier than doing politics in a society that is polarized.” In an era of democratic uncertainty, Assoc. Prof. Gamboa offers a compelling roadmap for understanding—and resisting—the gradual erosion of constitutional democracy.
Here is the revised version of our interview with Associate Professor Laura Gamboa, edited lightly to enhance clarity, readability, and overall flow for publication.
Colombia’s 2026 Elections Give Us a Mixed Story
Credential-giving ceremony to President-elect Abelardo de la Espriella and Vice President-elect Jose Manuel Restrepo by the National Electoral Council in Bogota, Colombia on June 25, 2026. Photo: Anamaria Mejía / Dreamstime.
Professor Gamboa, welcome, and let me begin with Colombia’s recent presidential election. This election has been widely interpreted as a decisive shift to the political right following Gustavo Petro’s presidency. Yet throughout your scholarship, you have consistently argued that electoral alternation should not be confused with democratic deterioration or democratic recovery. What do the election results ultimately tell us about the health of Colombian democracy? Should this election be understood primarily as ideological realignment, democratic accountability in action, or as another manifestation of the broader anti-establishment politics reshaping contemporary democracies?
Assoc. Prof. Laura Gamboa: The 2026 elections give us a mixed story. On the one hand, when Gustavo Petro came to power, many Colombians were very worried that he was going to become “the second Chávez”—that he was not going to step down. And here we are. As far as I can tell, he’s planning to step down. Now, there’s the minor issue of his not recognizing the election results, which I’ll get into in a second. But he is stepping down, and Colombia’s main institutional infrastructure remains intact. Congress and the courts were able to check the president whenever they needed to, while also allowing some of his proposals to move forward. So I think that’s good news.
I also think this has probably been true since 2018, and it became significantly clearer in 2022, but these last four years have been, in many ways, a sort of spring for Colombian politics. For the longest time, Colombian politics revolved around security: How did we deal with the armed conflict? Over these past four years—and certainly during this past election—we’ve been discussing healthcare and pension reform. We’ve also been questioning, for good or for bad—you can agree or disagree with these questions—what used to be regarded as unquestionable macroeconomic orthodoxy, something we simply weren’t supposed to touch. For the first time, these issues have become part of the political conversation, and I think that’s important in any democracy. So I do think that there has been some kind of ideological realignment. We no longer have the simple pro-peace versus anti-peace divide, but rather a much more complicated political landscape in our electoral arena.
That being said, I also think that both the candidate who won the election and the president’s unwillingness to recognize the election results are not good news for democracy. I don’t remember ever seeing a president fail to recognize election results. Our elections are not perfect, by any means, but they’re pretty good. Our electoral system works well, and people generally trust the election results. So I think that’s bad news.
I also think Abelardo de la Espriella, who won the election, is a far-right candidate who ran a campaign based on emotions, outlandish statements, and sweeping proposals. He has claimed that he wants to govern by decree. He has appointed members of his cabinet who are anti-globalists and promoters of conspiracy theories. So I think none of that is good news for democracy.
The Path from Democratic Victory to Democratic Breakdown
ThroughoutResisting Backsliding, you caution against equating electoral victories by controversial or populist leaders with democratic breakdown. What analytical criteria should scholars use to distinguish between ordinary democratic alternation, constitutional conflict, and genuine democratic erosion? At what point does vigorous democratic competition become a threat to democracy itself?
Assoc. Prof. Laura Gamboa: I depart from the principle that, no matter how crazy someone may be, if you win a democratic election—one that is free and fair and won without cheating—you deserve to govern for whatever period the law provides, whether that’s a presidential term or a prime minister’s term. This is true for presidents like Joe Biden, who I believe has a normative preference for democracy. I also think it’s true for Donald Trump, who I really don’t think has a normative preference for democracy.
What I don’t think, however, is that you get to govern like a king. In a democracy, presidents, prime ministers, legislatures, and judiciaries are subject to constitutions and the rule of law. In that regard, authoritarian leaders who try to evade or ignore these constraints are a danger to democracy. That’s when we’re facing genuine threats to democracy.
Between someone being a danger to democracy and someone actually eroding democracy, however, there are two distinct steps. First, there is a person trying; then there is a person succeeding in those attempts. In many ways, we have to think about this sequentially.
Why Democratic Erosion Is Harder to Recognize Than Ever
You argue that twenty-first-century democracies rarely collapse through classic military coups but instead erode gradually through legal and constitutional means. Why has democratic backsliding become such a slow-moving institutional process rather than an abrupt rupture, and does this gradualism paradoxically make contemporary authoritarianism more difficult both to recognize and to resist?
Assoc. Prof. Laura Gamboa: This is one of the great achievements of the end of the Cold War. All of a sudden, we all like democracy, and we all want to be democrats. Citizens, foreign governments, and international organizations have all become supporters of democracy, broadly conceived, and no leader wants to be labeled undemocratic or anti-democratic. There are important symbolic and practical consequences to being “a dictator.” In order to avoid being called a dictator, leaders with authoritarian tendencies generally don’t resort to overtly abrasive actions like coups, self-coups, or the kinds of moves we used to see in the past. Instead, they turn to methods that are much more covert.
They still want to gain control over other branches of government. They still want to govern without limits. But they don’t want to do so in a way that would brand them as authoritarians or dictators. Of course, the problem with this kind of democratic backsliding is that, when these leaders try to undermine democracy without appearing to be dictators, they usually use and abuse the very levers of democracy. They try to change the rules. They invoke popular power to bypass other institutions. They resort to false information and other practices that are not necessarily visibly undemocratic, but are nevertheless undemocratic.
Precisely because these actions are not visibly undemocratic, they are very difficult to identify. It’s hard for someone who is concerned about democracy to say, “You are trying to undermine democracy,” when the only thing the president appears to be doing is proposing a constitutional reform. Or when the only thing the president appears to be doing is calling for a plebiscite. After all, plebiscites are supposed to be highly democratic. A lot of people are voting, so it’s really difficult to convey where the threat lies. And by the time the threat becomes evident, it’s usually too late.
The Double-Edged Nature of Populist Politics
The former president of Venezuela, Hugo Chavez (L) and Nicolas Maduro (R) in Cumana, Venezuela, April 17, 2009. Photo: Harold Escalona.
Much of the public debate assumes that populism inevitably produces democratic backsliding. Yet your work suggests a more nuanced relationship. Under what political and institutional conditions does populism become compatible with democratic inclusion, and when does it evolve into a vehicle for executive aggrandizement and democratic erosion?
Assoc. Prof. Laura Gamboa: Populism is a double-sided coin. I don’t think you get one without the other. On the one hand, all populists are vehicles for inclusion. They tend to mobilize people who were previously outside the political arena. This was true of Juan Domingo Perón in Argentina in the 1940s. It was true for Hugo Chávez in the 1990s and early 2000s, and it is also true for Donald Trump.
We see something similar in Colombia. The recent election, with Abelardo de la Espriella and Iván Zepeda running, produced an unprecedented turnout in Colombia’s recent history. These leaders clearly know how to speak to groups that have not been incorporated into the political arena. The problem is that their ability to bring these groups into politics is closely tied to the way they connect with people. They don’t rely on institutional channels—particularly political parties—to relate to their constituencies. Instead, they operate outside those channels. Not only that, but sometimes—and more often than not—they actively delegitimize those institutional channels, which makes them, and only them, the sole viable leader. That, in turn, makes them incredibly dangerous for democracy because, if you see yourself as the only translator of the popular will, then you can never leave office.
So, I think populism is, in that sense, a double-sided sword. On the one hand, populists tap into some kind of grievance, perhaps an unfulfilled need or a lack of representation. In doing so, they mobilize people who were not part of the political conversation before. But the way they do so is incredibly personalistic, charismatic, and ultimately authoritarian.
So, when they become presidents, you have this inherent tension: a leader who is able to mobilize large numbers of people who were previously outside the political arena, but also a leader who wants to remain in power because he sees himself as the translator of the popular will.
Democratic Survival Depends on Opposition Strategy
One of your book’s most original contributions is shifting attention away from aspiring autocrats toward the democratic opposition itself. Why do you believe the behavior of opposition parties is so frequently underestimated in explaining democratic survival? More fundamentally, can democratic oppositions unintentionally accelerate democratic erosion even while believing they are defending democracy?
Assoc. Prof. Laura Gamboa: Although my book was published in 2022, the analytical lens has increasingly shifted toward the opposition ever since Donald Trump came to power. If you ask me why scholars didn’t pay much attention to the opposition before, my first instinct is that these kinds of phenomena—populists coming to power, undermining institutions, and eroding democracy—were largely seen as phenomena of the Global South. So we simply didn’t think very much about democratic survival. But when Donald Trump came to power—when this became something that was happening in the United States—all of a sudden scholars, activists, and practitioners were forced to think seriously about democratic survival.
To a certain extent, the prevailing attitude toward the Hugo Chávezes, Evo Moraleses, and Rafael Correas of the Global South was: “Oh, yeah, those people gain power there. Of course they’re going to win there. These countries are poor, they’re weak, they have weak parties.” When Donald Trump won the election in the United States, however, we were suddenly confronted with the fact that these kinds of leaders could also win office in countries we considered consolidated democracies. And all of a sudden, we were confronted with a new question: We have to think about democratic survival. This has to be a real possibility.
There’s something about the way we think about dictators in general that makes it very difficult to see successes and failures as a byproduct of opposition strategies. The academic world has largely split into two camps. One camp believes that when would-be autocrats or dictators fail, it’s because the dictator was weak. So, of course, they were going to fail. It doesn’t matter who the opposition was or what the opposition did. The dictator was simply weak. Likewise, when dictators succeed, it becomes a kind of fait accompli: of course, the dictator was going to win because the dictator was strong.
Then, there’s the camp in which I position myself. But I’m really standing on the shoulders of some incredibly important scholarship, including one of my favorite books, Valerie J. Bunce and Sharon L. Wolchik’s work on the color revolutions in Eastern Europe. That scholarship looks at the other side of the bottle. Rather than focusing on strong or weak dictators, it focuses on strong or weak oppositions, or on strategically smart and well-organized oppositions.
If you’re in one camp, it’s very difficult to see what the other camp is seeing. So I think those are the two reasons why the opposition was so often overlooked.
The only reason I started thinking about the opposition is because I’m originally from Colombia. In 2012, we had a visitor here at Notre Dame, where I was doing my PhD, who was talking about how Hugo Chávez and Evo Morales who were able to erode democracy because they were so popular. At the time, I had just come out of Álvaro Uribe’s government. Of course, any Colombian knows that Uribe was incredibly popular, at least until fairly recently.
So all of a sudden, I found myself asking, “Okay, but hold on. If popularity is all that matters, then we should have expected Álvaro Uribe to succeed.” That question, of course, led me to start looking at what Tom Ginsburg and Aziz Huq call the “near misses.” Why do some countries succeed while others fail?
But I don’t think that question would have been obvious to anyone who wasn’t thoroughly familiar with the Colombian case. The assumption was simply that Álvaro Uribe was never going to succeed because he ultimately did not succeed. There’s a kind of tautological logic underlying many of these cases.
Your typology distinguishes between moderate institutional opposition and radical extra-institutional resistance. Yet when democratic institutions themselves become increasingly captured by elected autocrats, many opposition actors argue that extraordinary measures become necessary. How should democratic forces determine when institutional resistance remains democratic—and when radical resistance risks giving autocratizers the pretext they need to repress, delegitimize, or criminalize the opposition?
Assoc. Prof. Laura Gamboa: This is a very complicated question because, to a certain extent, it is connected to this duality, this double-sided nature of democratic backsliding. The fact that it happens slowly provides opportunities for the opposition. But the fact that it happens so slowly also makes it very difficult to identify exactly where the threat lies.
My book mostly analyzes presidents who come to power democratically. In other words, I don’t analyze Nicolás Maduro because he never came to power democratically. Nor would I analyze the later terms of Erdoğan, who I don’t think has come to power democratically in the past two elections. I focus on presidents who come to power democratically. And, to the extent that these presidents come to power democratically, it is incredibly important to respect the electoral process.
Not only because that’s the democratic thing to do—you cannot claim that the other side is violating democracy if you’re not willing to respect its basic tenets—but also because many of these leaders come to power by tapping into real grievances. They don’t come to power out of thin air. There’s something missing in the system that these leaders are responding to, and the people they represent deserve to have their voices heard.
When Hugo Chávez came to power, he did not inherit a perfect Venezuela. He came to power in a country where the political class had become corrupt, the economy was collapsing, inequality was through the roof, and the mechanisms of representation—particularly the political parties—had become deeply delegitimized. Yes, Hugo Chávez certainly contributed to the further de-legitimization of institutions. But the weakness of Venezuela’s traditional parties long predated Chávez’s arrival on the political scene.
So, I think these leaders tap into something that is real, and I don’t think we can simply ignore those grievances because we disagree with them. The same is true of the people who voted for Donald Trump. Yes, Donald Trump is a would-be autocrat, and I really don’t agree with—or think that—his positions on immigration or LGBTQ+ communities are going to make this country any better. But I do think the grievances that propelled him to power are real. People felt that their towns were changing because, all of a sudden, there were many newcomers. People felt that opportunities were going to someone else. Those feelings are real, and they need to be grappled with.
So, if you simply say, “Well, this president that you elected democratically is not a legitimate president,” you’re ignoring the grievances of those citizens. That’s a mistake. It’s much smarter to grapple with those grievances and figure out how to address them—not how to embrace the policies, but how to address those feelings of not being seen and not being heard, which are actually at the core of many of these problems.
Of course, as I mentioned before, autocrats don’t get to govern like kings. If they commit crimes or do things in office that they shouldn’t do, there are constitutional mechanisms to deal with them and remove them. Sometimes those mechanisms work, and sometimes they don’t. Most constitutions include some form of impeachment process. Parliamentary systems have votes of no confidence. There are institutional mechanisms for dealing with these situations that don’t require organizing in the streets, launching a coup, or organizing a strike to force the president to resign.
I think using institutions is, in general, a good idea, regardless of repression. I don’t think, however, that institutions, in and of themselves, function the same way in the early stages of democratic erosion as they do in the later stages. I hear this criticism all the time when people read my book. They come back and say, “Well, institutions weren’t going to work in Venezuela in 2015.” My response is: of course, they weren’t. Those institutions had already been co-opted. They were no longer impartial referees of political competition. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t participate in elections.
Choosing not to use those institutions simply means abandoning political space that you could still occupy. It does mean, however, that institutions alone are not enough. At that point, you have to think about whether it makes sense to combine them with certain extra-institutional strategies, as we saw, for example, in Guatemala in 2023. Bernardo Arévalo entered an election that he was very unlikely to win. The stars aligned, he made it into the runoff, and he ultimately won. But because the system had already been co-opted—and because, more specifically, the electoral authorities were effectively controlled by the attorney general—he was unlikely to actually become president unless something else happened. And that something else happened in the streets. Indigenous communities, peasant organizations, and urban groups mobilized to defend the election.
So, to answer the question, when there is a democratic electoral process and one of these leaders becomes president, they have earned the right to govern within the limits of the law. I also think that using institutions is a good idea regardless. And I cannot think of a single example in which extra-institutional strategies pursuing radical goals actually helped promote democracy.
In Latin America, we had one successful coup, the one against Manuel Zelaya. What ended up happening was that Zelaya was removed from office, but another authoritarian leader was installed in his place. Honduras remained close to authoritarianism during the first few years afterward and has been authoritarian ever since. So, I just don’t think that advances democracy. It may advance one side of the political spectrum, but it doesn’t advance democracy.
Successors Can Become Democracy’s Unexpected Defenders
Former Colombian President Juan Manuel Santos participates in the March for Life in Bogotá, Colombia, on March 8, 2015. Photo: Dreamstime.
Your comparison of Colombia under Álvaro Uribe and Venezuela under Hugo Chávez shows that similar institutional pressures can produce radically different outcomes depending on opposition strategy. Looking back from today’s vantage point, what is the most important lesson Colombia offers about resisting democratic erosion without abandoning democratic legitimacy?
Assoc. Prof. Laura Gamboa: The first lesson is the one I pointed out earlier. I think that kind of opposition protects democracy in the long term. By the time Álvaro Uribe stepped down, we still had a Constitutional Court, we still had a Congress that had not been co-opted, and we still had oversight agencies. I think that, in and of itself, is incredibly important.
There’s another lesson here, and I sometimes get criticized for it. People who read my book say, “How can you say that?” They argue that I end the Colombian chapter on an overly optimistic note, as though Colombia somehow just lived happily ever after in this blessed democracy, which is really not true.
So, let me put it this way. I don’t think moderate institutional strategies that stop democratic erosion are designed to advance democracy. They stop the bleeding. They stop the immediate threats to democracy. In doing so, they create windows of opportunity for others, later on, to deepen and expand democracy. That’s what happened in Colombia. Juan Manuel Santos came to power, pushed forward the peace agreement, and Colombia became a better democracy afterward than it had been when Álvaro Uribe stepped down.
There’s another criticism I sometimes receive about the Colombian case. People say, “What are you talking about? It was a member of Uribe’s coalition who actually came to power.” Uribe himself couldn’t run, but Juan Manuel Santos—his former minister of defense—won the presidency. To that, I would simply say: yes, but successors are not the autocrat.
We’ve been pleasantly surprised by a number of successors in Latin America and elsewhere. Lenín Moreno, who succeeded Correa, was not Correa’s puppet. Santos was not Uribe’s puppet. Luis Arce has had a more mixed trajectory, but, to a certain extent, after coming to power, he also veered away from Evo Morales and his attempts to remain in office. So, successors are not necessarily the same as their charismatic predecessors. That’s something we need to keep in mind, because sometimes those successors are our best chance to protect democracy.
Legitimacy Makes Courts Democracy’s Strongest Guardrails
In your recent work on “courts against backsliding,” you argue that independent courts can engage in “constitutional balancing” and slow or stop autocratization. What makes courts effective defenders of democracy in some contexts, while in others they become captured, politicized, or unable to contain executive power?
Assoc. Prof. Laura Gamboa: I’ll make a distinction first, and I don’t think it’s one we make often enough. Courts can be, and often are, potential guardrails against democratic erosion. But sometimes they are the drivers of democratic backsliding. To a certain extent, democratic erosion in countries like Guatemala—and, I say this more cautiously, the United States—has been driven by certain courts. Definitely not all courts, but certain ones.
So, when I talk about constitutional balancing, I’m talking about courts that are designed to be guardrails for democracy, not courts that are pushing the process forward.
This research—which is still ongoing—is something I’m conducting with Ezequiel González-Ocantos from Oxford and Benjamín García Holgado from the University of Delaware.
For these courts to be successful, they need to have some kind of legitimacy. One of the lessons from the Colombian case is that, to a certain extent, the Constitutional Court was able to curb Álvaro Uribe’s attempts to undermine democracy because the court itself enjoyed a high degree of legitimacy. It was in a position that, for instance, the Venezuelan Supreme Court—before Chávez changed the Constitution—was not.
So the first thing I would say is that it’s not so much about the court being independent or autonomous as it is about the court being legitimate in the eyes of the public and about people being willing to defend that legitimacy. I also think there’s something about how the court rules that is very important.
In the article you’re referring to, we talk about constitutional balancing. What we mean by constitutional balancing is that, when democracy is threatened by violations of horizontal accountability—that is, attempts by the executive, or others, to undermine checks and balances—the court can rely on a more orthodox jurisprudence to rule against those attempts and preserve the constitutional balance.
This orthodox approach to threats against checks and balances is usually more effective than a more heterodox approach because it is easier to defend and support. If you think about it, what usually happens is that you have a very popular incumbent trying to change the Constitution while claiming some kind of democratic mandate. Then you have an unelected court trying to stop that incumbent.
If the court relies on existing written law or long-standing jurisprudence, it can act much more forcefully than if it relies on some kind of out-of-the-blue theory to rule against the incumbent. This becomes very clear when you compare the case of Mexico with the case of Colombia, although it’s also true of Argentina and other countries.
In Colombia, during Álvaro Uribe’s government, the Constitutional Court relied on a constitutional provision stating that constitutional reforms had to follow a particular procedure. What the opposition did inside Congress was to signal to the court when Congress was violating that procedure. The court therefore ruled primarily on those procedural irregularities.
During Álvaro Uribe’s government, the court and some of its allies were developing what we call the constitutional substitution theory. That theory suggested that if constitutional reforms went beyond a certain point, they were no longer reforms but attempts to replace the Constitution, and that the Constitution could not be replaced through ordinary constitutional amendment. On that basis, the court could rule against those reforms. But in the early 2000s, this was still a very new theory, so the Constitutional Court in Colombia invoked it only very rarely in its rulings against Uribe. Today, we see the court invoking it left and right, but twenty years have passed.
Some scholars believed that the Mexican Supreme Court could invoke the same theory to stop the judicial reform that ultimately dismantled judicial independence in Mexico. The Mexican Court, to a certain extent, played with that possibility. But because the theory had never been used in Mexico, it was very difficult for the court suddenly to argue, almost out of thin air, that this judicial theory justified ruling against a very popular incumbent. So, we think jurisprudence matters.
There’s also other work that points to two additional factors I think are important. One is that the Colombian Constitutional Court has been very good at ruling even-handedly. In Spanish, we have a saying that the court gives to both God and the devil. The justices understood that they needed to protect both themselves and the institution, so they were very careful not only to constrain the government but also to present themselves as a balanced court.
The other line of research that is very important focuses on how courts build legitimacy through networks of allies, both inside and outside the judiciary. We’re talking not only about justices, but also lawyers, legal NGOs, and activists who have a vested interest in preserving the court. These actors help support the justices and make it much more difficult for an incumbent to fire them, dismantle the court, or undermine it in other ways.
Why Constitutional Constraints Matter More Than Speed
Your work with Sandra Botero shows how Colombia’s Constitutional Court indirectly expands the strategic repertoire of minority coalitions in Congress by allowing them to document procedural irregularities and challenge legislation. Can institutional obstruction be a democratic tool of resistance, and how can we distinguish legitimate constitutional defense from anti-democratic sabotage?
Assoc. Prof. Laura Gamboa: Like populists, institutional controls—or these kinds of institutional checks—are two-sided coins. On the one hand, they’re really good at curbing potential autocrats who leverage majorities, and they’re really good at protecting minorities, regardless of who those minorities are, from abuses of power. I think that’s a good thing. But, on the other hand, this also means that they sometimes curb the will of the majority and, in doing so, constrain policy reforms that many of us might regard as beneficial for the community or for the country.
I don’t know if you can have one without the other. I think this is a trade-off. If you want institutions that are able to check other branches of government—in this case, a court that can check both the executive and Congress—that court inevitably becomes a source of moderation for public policy. I don’t think there’s a way to have one without the other.
And I also don’t think this is an entirely bad thing. Let me explain why. Colombia has had many presidents, some of whom I supported and some of whom I didn’t. In 2016, Juan Manuel Santos was pushing for the peace process, which I strongly supported. He wanted to pass a reform that would have allowed him to introduce the legislation implementing the peace agreements to Congress and turn it into law while curtailing the ability of members of Congress to add amendments or modify it in any way, shape, or form.
This would have significantly sped up the implementation of the peace agreements and probably would have changed the ability of subsequent governments—both Iván Duque’s and Gustavo Petro’s—to undermine those agreements. That being said, it would also have created an incredibly dangerous precedent for future presidents, one that I fear could be used for purposes I would consider less “democratic” or beneficial for the community.
The court ruled against it. Indeed, implementing the peace agreement and turning it into law was arduous and complicated, and it certainly diluted some of its provisions. There’s no doubt about that. But I would rather have that than allow a president whom I don’t trust, and whom I think is inherently authoritarian, like Abelardo de la Espriella, to use that same power to push through measures that would violate human rights or allow him to govern without any meaningful constraints. That is incredibly dangerous.
As a matter of fact, it’s one of the reasons why I’m very hesitant—or very ambivalent—about my view of the filibuster in the United States. Most Democrats, and most of my colleagues, will tell you that the filibuster is terrible because Republicans have mostly used it to obstruct the Obama and Biden administrations—to block judicial appointments, obstruct policy agendas, and prevent the implementation of Democratic priorities. And I think they’re right. But I also think that the filibuster today is the last institutional tool Democrats in Congress have to stand on if they are to have any chance of even minimally curtailing what I see as an incredibly dangerous and authoritarian agenda on the part of the current government.
So, I don’t think you can have one without the other. But if I have to choose, I’d rather have a court that moderates the policy agenda while also protecting me from people whom I consider to be autocrats than a court that does not moderate the policy agenda and is also unable to protect me from people whom I think are authoritarian.
Lowering Polarization Is One of Democracy’s Strongest Defenses
Protesters march peacefully through Bogotá calling for the impeachment of President Gustavo Petro and opposing the government’s proposed reforms on April 21, 2024. Photo: Anamaria Mejía / Dreamstime.
Finally, drawing together your work on Colombia, Venezuela, Latin America, courts, opposition strategy, and democratic resilience, what would a global “democratic resistance playbook” look like today? What are the core mistakes opposition actors must avoid, and what principles should guide democratic forces confronting elected leaders who erode democracy from within?
Assoc. Prof. Laura Gamboa: I have a couple of ideas: One of the core mistakes—and I see this happening time and time again—is dismissing the reasons why the autocrat comes to power. All of these would-be autocrats come to power because they tap into some kind of discontent. Opposition parties and pro-democratic movements should take that discontent seriously. They should ask themselves how they can address it. My understanding is that, more often than not, this discontent reflects a lack of representation.
It’s not about whether people prefer stricter or more permissive immigration policies, or whether they support reproductive rights. It’s about people wanting to be seen by those who govern them and wanting to be understood by those who govern them.
What Hugo Chávez had that other politicians lacked was the ability to present himself as one of the people he represented. Álvaro Uribe had a similar strength. He, too, presented himself as one of the people he represented. The same is true of Trump. The same is true of leaders like Abelardo de la Espriella, and even Gustavo Petro, who is, in some ways, a Colombian populist on the left.
We really need to think very carefully about representation. When confronting one of these populist leaders in the executive, we need to reflect on what we’re missing and what we failed to tap into.
If we do this as pro-democratic activists, practitioners, and scholars—if we take these questions seriously—it will enable us to approach opposition differently.
Rather than approaching opposition as a mechanism for getting rid of everything the other side represents, we can approach it in a more respectful manner toward the voters—not the autocrat, but the voters who put that person into office.
It will allow us to see the coalition that brings these autocrats to power as more diverse than we often assume, and perhaps find allies at the margins. And allies at the margins are a great idea because they help us build broader coalitions. They are the Juan Manuel Santoses of the story.
That also reduces the feeling that you need to get rid of this guy today. In doing so, it allows you to develop longer-term strategies that protect democracy while also lowering polarization.
To have a polarized society, you need two sides. You need the polarizer, but you also need somebody to respond to that polarization. If you don’t respond to that polarization, it’s really hard to polarize. Ask Gustavo Petro. Doing politics in a society that is not polarized is significantly easier than doing politics in a society that is polarized.
A society that is not polarized allows you to build coalitions with the other side. It allows you to highlight the importance of protecting institutions beyond immediate policy interests. It allows you to draw voters toward more moderate candidates. So, in the long run, it allows you to accomplish much more.
Those are the two mistakes that I see opposition actors making time and time again when confronting these kinds of situations.
Hungary’s democratic transition has entered a decisive new phase following Péter Magyar’s electoral victory, but, as Professor Kim Lane Scheppele argues, defeating an autocrat is only the beginning of democratic restoration. In this timely interview, Professor Scheppele examines the constitutional dilemmas confronting Hungary’s new leadership: dismantling autocratic legalism without reproducing it, restoring judicial independence, ensuring accountability without political revenge, and rebuilding institutions capable of sustaining genuine democratic competition. Drawing broader lessons for democracies facing executive aggrandizement, she contends that successful democratic recovery requires more than electoral change. Hungary’s experience, she argues, may become a comparative model for constitutional reconstruction—provided that democratic reformers succeed in limiting their own power while rebuilding the institutional foundations of liberal constitutional democracy.
For more than a decade, Hungary has occupied a central place in comparative debates on democratic backsliding, constitutional capture, and the rise of legalistic authoritarianism. Under Viktor Orbán, the country became the paradigmatic example of how elected leaders could gradually dismantle liberal democracy not by suspending constitutional order but by systematically reshaping it from within. Through constitutional amendments, judicial restructuring, electoral engineering, and the concentration of executive authority, Hungary demonstrated that democratic erosion in the twenty-first century increasingly proceeds through law rather than outside it. Yet the electoral defeat of Orbán has fundamentally transformed the scholarly conversation. The central question is no longer how democracies decay, but whether they can be successfully rebuilt once authoritarian legal structures have become deeply institutionalized.
In this wide-ranging interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Kim Lane Scheppele, the Laurance S. Rockefeller Professor of Sociology and International Affairs at Princeton University, examines one of the most consequential constitutional experiments currently unfolding in Europe: Hungary’s attempt to move from autocratic rule toward democratic restoration. Drawing upon decades of research on constitutionalism, judicial independence, autocratic legalism, and democratic resilience, Professor Scheppele argues that Hungary may now become not only the world’s foremost laboratory of democratic backsliding but also an unprecedented laboratory of democratic recovery.
Throughout the interview, Professor Scheppele repeatedly distinguishes democratic restoration from ordinary democratic transition. Electoral victory, she insists, represents only the first step. As she memorably observes, “The real test of democracy is not the first election—but the next one.” The ultimate challenge is whether a new democratic government can dismantle institutions deliberately designed to prevent future political alternation while simultaneously avoiding the temptation to reproduce concentrated executive power.
One of the interview’s central contributions concerns what Professor Scheppele describes as the paradox of autocratic legality. Because Orbán entrenched political domination through constitutional and legal mechanisms, democratic reformers may confront situations in which “when law entrenches autocracy, following it may preserve the regime.” This raises profound constitutional dilemmas concerning judicial reform, constitutional replacement, accountability, and the relationship between legality and democratic legitimacy.
Professor Scheppele also explores the practical architecture of democratic reconstruction. She argues that “power must be limited even during democratic restoration,” advocates a constitutional process in which “the rules of the game” are democratically rewritten, and proposes a broader understanding of the rule of law rooted in European constitutional standards rather than exclusively in national legal continuity. Her discussion of judicial reconstruction, constitutional redesign, and transnational legal constraints offers an important comparative framework extending well beyond Hungary.
Perhaps most significantly, Professor Scheppele identifies the political conditions that made democratic change possible. Hungary’s experience demonstrates, she argues, that successful democratic opposition must “fight corruption, build a big tent, and take people out of fear.”
Looking ahead, she concludes that the durability of democratic recovery will depend upon three immediate institutional priorities: reforming the Constitutional Court, restoring meaningful judicial checks, and redesigning the electoral system. Whether Hungary succeeds or fails, she suggests, will shape how democracies around the world think about rebuilding constitutional government after authoritarian capture.
Here is the revised version of our interview with Professor Kim Lane Scheppele, edited lightly to enhance clarity, readability, and overall flow for publication.
The Real Test of Democracy Is Not the First Election—but the Next One
Péter Magyar speaks at a public demonstration near the Hungarian Parliament building in Budapest on April 6, 2024. Photo: Istvan Balogh / Dreamstime.
Professor Scheppele, welcome!To begin, in your recent Journal of Democracyarticle, you argue that Péter Magyar’s electoral victory represents only the beginning—not the culmination—of Hungary’s democratic recovery. Why is defeating an autocrat at the ballot box fundamentally different from dismantling an autocratic regime? More broadly, what distinguishes democratic transition from democratic restoration after more than a decade of constitutional capture?
Professor Kim Lane Scheppele: This is such a good question. It depends on what we think democracy is. There’s a very thin version of democracy in which democracy simply means that you’re ruled by whoever you last elected. But there’s also a separate question, and this is more how I tend to think about democracy and what it requires. Democracy is about getting to the next election so that you can rotate power. It’s not just about whether the people who are currently in charge were elected. In order to achieve a fully democratic transformation, you have to guarantee not only that the election you just had was free and fair and capable of rotating power, but also that whatever happens after that first election—or, shall we say, the election that brings new people into office—they will be able to guarantee democratic elections in the future.
This is where there has to be a pivot from winning a campaign, which is what a challenger has to do to overthrow an autocrat, to actually governing, which means dismantling the structures that any new democrat could simply walk into. I mean, Péter Magyar in Hungary could just step into the driver’s seat of this convoy that Viktor Orbán has built and drive it off into the sunset as Hungary’s newest dictator. He could do that. But the crucial question is whether he can actually transform the system so that it is capable of replacing even him. That’s a different kind of project and, in some ways, a much more difficult one because of the temptations of power.
When Law Entrenches Autocracy, Following It May Preserve the Regime
Throughout your scholarship, you have shown that contemporary autocrats increasingly govern through law rather than outside it—a phenomenon you famously conceptualized as “autocratic legalism.” If authoritarian consolidation has been accomplished through constitutional amendments, ordinary legislation, judicial appointments, and legally entrenched institutions, can democratic restoration also proceed exclusively through legal means, or are there moments when strict constitutional fidelity risks preserving the very architecture of autocracy?
Professor Kim Lane Scheppele: Another great question. These new legalistic autocrats—and Viktor Orbán really sets the gold standard for how to do this in a bad way—show that one thing you can do is simply lock down all power by law. That was what Viktor Orbán did. He was able to do it because he had this kind of constitutional majority, with two-thirds of the parliamentary seats. When he was elected, he was able to install a friendly president. They expanded the number of judges on the Constitutional Court to capture it. They basically legally changed the entire environment in which they operated, so that within only three years, Orbán controlled all of the levers of government that could make a real difference in governing.
Now Péter Magyar walks into that system. The Orbán holdovers are still there. The problem is that he can’t govern as long as those holdovers block anything he does that either makes the outgoing Fidesz party accountable or prevents its return to power. So this is the dilemma. In order to remove those folks, it turns out they’ve all been protected by the laws that Viktor Orbán put in place. Just to give you one example, the president of the country—who’s sort of a figurehead—has one important task, which is to sign all laws and constitutional amendments. Now, he can block anything the parliament passes, even with Péter Magyar’s overwhelming majority. His term, however, lasts three more years.
So, what do they do about him? It turns out the law on the presidency was amended just last year to remove the one avenue the parliament would have had to impeach him. Which is to say, there are no legal avenues left for the Parliament to remove the President without hitting another roadblock, which is the packed Constitutional Court. And then, if they go after the Constitutional Court, the only way to get rid of judges is for the other judges to vote to remove their colleagues, which they won’t do because the institution’s packed. So, when you’ve got a situation like that—where it’s been deliberately constructed to make it impossible for the next government to actually govern—you may have to break the law to get to the point where democratic recovery is possible.
If democratic recovery means getting to the next election so that rotation of power is possible, you’ve got to get rid of the roadblock. This is what Péter Magyar is up against now. There’s a constitutional amendment that may be voted as we speak, that would have the effect of removing the president and changing the composition of the Constitutional Court, among many other things. It’s being attacked by “rule-of-law advocates” because it doesn’t actually follow legal procedures.
So this is where you have a choice. Do you follow the law set up by the autocrat to preserve their capture even when they lose elections? Or do you have to break that law to create the possibility of a more robust democracy? I’m in favor of the latter. I know a lot of international organizations are in favor of the former. That’s where we have the debate.
Power Must Be Limited Even During Democratic Restoration
Supporters of the TISZA Party gather on Andrássy Avenue in Budapest during a national march led by Péter Magyar on Hungary’s March 15 national holiday, March 15, 2026. Photo: Istvan Balogh / Dreamstime.
One of the deepest dilemmas facing any post-autocratic government is how to dismantle institutions deliberately designed to prevent democratic change. How can a democratic government undo constitutional capture without itself appearing to engage in the same kind of majoritarian constitutional engineering that characterized Viktor Orbán’s rule? Where should democrats draw the line between constitutional correction and constitutional overreach?
Professor Kim Lane Scheppele: Again, this is great, and it follows from what we were just talking about. Basically, Péter Magyar has to get rid of these roadblocks. There’s just no way he can govern without doing that. In some sense, he will have to break the law to make the law. That’s where he is.
Now, what people are nervous about—and ironically, what Orbán’s followers have been doing—is saying, “What about checks and balances? What about the rule of law?” At that point, you want to say, “Look, you guys had 16 years in which you abolished checks and balances and designed the rule of law so that it only benefited you.” So I don’t think those are the folks we need to listen to here. But here’s the dilemma. It’s entirely possible for somebody who comes into Péter Magyar’s position, with this level of parliamentary support, to run off the rails and create the next dictatorship. It’s absolutely possible. So there have to be checks on that process.
Here are a couple of things that give me hope about the Hungarian transition.
The first constitutional amendment that Péter Magyar put before the Parliament was one that would limit the lifetime occupancy of the prime ministership to eight years over a lifetime. Now, that law—which the president signed, although he signed it with a signing statement that makes it ambiguous what the law does, but that’s for the next challenge—disqualifies Viktor Orbán from coming back. But it also disqualifies Péter Magyar from serving more than one more term. He said, “I will follow this law and only stay here a maximum of eight years, provided you reelect me the next time.” That’s good. That’s a power-limiting move. There are some other power-limiting moves that they’ve been making as well.
One of the things they’ve also done is limit the terms of members of parliament to 12 years. That will also prevent a lot of Orbán’s cronies, who helped set up that system, from coming back. It controversially also excludes a lot of the old communist dissidents who sat in parliament for many years and are still around, still useful, and still helpful. So it’s a controversial amendment, but again, it’s a kind of cleaning house. We don’t want anybody to be in power forever. All of those are good signs.
What they’re also doing now with this new giant 17th Amendment to the Constitution is shortening the terms of office of some of the officeholders. One way Orbán entrenched himself was by appointing the public prosecutor for nine years, the head of the Constitutional Court for 12 years, and all of these key offices that lasted beyond elections, through multiple electoral rounds. So they’re shortening the terms of office of a number of those officials, which is good because it makes entrenchment harder.
They’re also, through this 17th Amendment, trying to make it much more difficult for the government to capture policy. Another thing Orbán did was to create almost 50—what are called in Hungarian cardinal laws, as they get translated, or constitutional laws for those who do comparative constitutional politics. These are laws that require almost the parliamentary strength of a constitutional amendment to amend.
Orbán locked down everything from social welfare policy—just across the board—on issues that ought to rotate with a rotation of power. Orbán locked his system in. So they’re also reducing the number of two-thirds laws, which makes it easier for any successor government to change whatever it is that the Magyar government is doing. In other words, they’ve looked at the whole system and they’re trying to un-entrench it, so that whoever follows them in power is not bound by the same strictures that they have to govern with. They have to break the law to do that. That’s what they’re doing. A lot of it is power-limiting on their behalf.
When the Rules of the Game Are Captured, the Rules Must Be Rewritten
Your work repeatedly warns that legal continuity may paradoxically preserve autocratic power. How should democratic reformers approach inherited constitutions that remain formally valid but have been systematically transformed into instruments of executive domination? Is there a point at which constitutional legality itself becomes an obstacle to constitutional democracy?
Professor Kim Lane Scheppele: The point of a constitution is to set the rules of the game, politics being the game. What happens when politics captures the rules of the game? That’s what happens under autocratic capture, where autocrats design the rules of the game so that only they can win. It was something of a miracle that Péter Magyar was able to break through Orbán’s electoral system, which has guaranteed Orbán these supermajorities.
Magyar was only able to do that by essentially reverse-engineering Orbán’s system and campaigning in the countryside because, under Orbán’s system, the votes in the countryside counted two or three times as much as votes in the cities. That’s another story. I have another Journal of Democracypiece, published right after the election, that shows how he did that. Once he breaks through that system, you’ve got this whole other problem with the constitution, which locks in the rules of the game to benefit Fidesz.
So what Péter Magyar has now said is that they’re going to start, in September, a constitutional drafting process that will be inclusive, that will review all of this, and that, under his watch, will produce a new constitution. These two amendments—the 16th, which limits the prime minister’s term of office to eight years over a lifetime, and this new, very large 17th Amendment, which essentially removes the president and some of the Constitutional Court judges, cuts back the number of two-thirds laws, and shortens the terms of office of these officeholders—are all meant to be provisional. They are intended simply to allow the government to govern in the meantime until it reaches a new constitutional drafting process. They haven’t announced what that process looks like. But that’s one way to overcome an autocratic constitution: involve the public, through a democratic process, in rewriting it. That’s what they’ve said they’re going to do.
Europe’s Rule of Law Must Help Democracies Escape Autocratic Capture
Flags of Hungary and the European Union displayed together in Budapest. Hungary has been an EU member since 2004. Photo: Jerome Cid / Dreamstime.
You have written extensively about the systematic dismantling of judicial independence in Hungary and Poland. Once a judiciary has been politically captured over many years, can genuine judicial independence simply be restored through new appointments, or does democratic reconstruction require a more fundamental rethinking of judicial institutions, appointment mechanisms, and constitutional guarantees?
Professor Kim Lane Scheppele: In Hungary and Poland, the judiciaries were captured in different ways, and that’s why you need different mechanisms to undo the capture. In Poland, when the Law and Justice Party (PiS) government came into power, they just took a sledgehammer to the courts. They put judges onto the Constitutional Court unlawfully because the PiS government did not have the constitutional majority that Orbán had to change the Constitution. So they just rammed their folks onto the Constitutional Court, changed the procedure for appointing constitutional judges, and captured the court by brute force. It wasn’t literally force, but the point was that it wasn’t legal.
They, then, changed the system for appointing judges so that judges were appointed through an overtly political process. After eight years of PiS, which was the pro-autocratic party—there had been 3,500 judges appointed. What do you do with that? You don’t have a spare judiciary. What the Ombudsman Adam Bodnar, who became the Justice Minister, tried to do was to say, “Let’s dissolve the Constitutional Court and start over.” The Venice Commission, which is the advisory body of the Council of Europe, came in and said, “No, you can’t do that.”
To which—and I have a critique of the Venice Commission in Verfassungsblog—my response is that you’ve got to actually help these governments get over autocratic capture, or nothing else matters. Unfortunately, the Venice Commission is not doing that.
So that was the first proposal. The Constitutional Court remains there. Instead, what the government has been doing in Poland is simply refusing to publish its decisions, at which point they can’t take effect. It’s not an elegant solution, and it’s not a legal solution, but it keeps the court from becoming an obstacle to the transition.
As for the ordinary judiciary, the Bodnar proposal was to classify judges into multiple categories. One approach was to recognize that, in most of Europe, the judiciary is a civil-service-type organization. You go to law school to train to be a judge. You come out as a baby judge. You get appointed to a small judgeship and then get promoted through the ranks. Bodnar’s proposal was that anyone who came through that system should get to stay because it was not a politically influenced process.
Then there were the judges who were already judges when PiS came to power, and PiS promoted them through this politically charged process. Bodnar said, “Okay, you take all those judges, and you put them back where they were when PiS came in.” So they’re not going to lose their jobs; they’re just going to lose their promotions.
Then there’s a set of judges that PiS brought in from the outside to populate especially the highest reaches of the judiciary, and they were really the political force within the judiciary. Bodnar proposed firing them. The Venice Commission also didn’t like that.
So we’re sort of between a rock and a hard place. You’ve got the Venice Commission—and now Human Rights Watch on the new Hungarian proposals. These organizations are committed to the rule of law, and their view is that you can’t escape autocratic capture unless you do every step by lawful means.
My worry about that is that if the law was put in place to prevent a transition to any other government, you’re never going to get out of it if that’s your view of the rule of law. So what I proposed was something else. Actually, I’m going to say something about Hungary, and then I’ll come back to that broader point.
In Hungary, it’s a little bit easier to deal with the judiciary. The Constitutional Court is totally packed. That really has to be either dissolved or dealt with by either putting new judges on or taking judges off. You cannot live with that court as it stands.
In the Hungarian case, I’ve proposed that the parliament establish a court above the Constitutional Court, which can review all Hungarian legislation—all Hungarian normative acts, as they’re called, meaning acts that have legal force—for their compliance with European law. So there’s a double review. The Constitutional Court does whatever it does with the Constitution as it stands. Then you’ve got this other court that tries to bring Hungary into line with European standards. I don’t know if they’re going to do that, but that’s one way out without firing the judges.
This gets me to my broader proposal. The great thing about being in Europe is that Europe has a very dense network of transnational organizations. It has the European Union for Hungary and Poland. It also has the Council of Europe. Between those two bodies, there is a really substantial set of laws and principles to which any constitutional government should adhere.
The European Court of Justice, just after the Hungarian election, handed down its pending case against Hungary concerning Hungary’s abolition of LGBTQ rights. In that judgment, Commission v. Hungary, the Court said that Article 2 of the Treaty on European Union—that’s the provision requiring member states to honor democracy, the rule of law, and human rights—actually has an independent legal force above and beyond other violations of European law.
That gives us a framework for thinking that there is a set of standards outside the national governments that they have to adhere to in order to be a constitutional democracy in good standing. The European Court of Human Rights also has an additional body of law that can be used to stabilize these governments.
So what I’ve been suggesting is a different conception of the rule of law. You can have the rule of law as the Venice Commission and Human Rights Watch understand it, which is to say, you just look at the national law and ask, “Is it following national law?” If you’ve been through all these years of autocratic capture, national law is awful. Or national law is designed to keep the autocrats in place.
If you’re in a place like Europe—or, actually, the same works with Latin America and the Inter-American Court system—you’ve got transnational law that also binds your country. That actually counsels the restoration of democracy. If you violate national law in order to bring your country back into alignment with transnational law, that is what I call the rule of law writ large. You’re not violating the rule of law. You’re resolving a conflict-of-laws problem, as lawyers would say, between national law and the European standards to which all these countries have pledged themselves and which are legally binding.
So, we should understand this as an ordinary conflict-of-laws problem. What happens when you’ve got two laws in a legal system that clash with each other? You’ve got to resolve that somehow. This is a standard conflict-of-laws problem where you resolve the conflict in favor of European law, and that gives you the wiggle room, in some sense, to violate national law as long as you’re following these standards. And this goes back to one of your earlier questions: What constrains these new democrats—let’s call them democrats for now, the people who just won the election? What prevents them from simply engaging in a power grab? The answer is that they’re constrained by these transnational standards. There is a rule of law that they are accountable to. As long as that’s true, and as long as the transnational organizations pledge to work with these countries through the transition, I’m much less worried about the violation of national law than I would be otherwise.
Make Orbán Poor Again—Not Necessarily a Prisoner
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.
Many Hungarians understandably demand accountability for corruption, abuse of power, and constitutional dismantling under the Orbán government. Yet democratic transitions have often struggled to distinguish legitimate accountability from political revenge. How can a new government pursue meaningful legal and political accountability while preserving due process, judicial impartiality, and the rule of law that it seeks to restore?
Professor Kim Lane Scheppele: This is a very important question. Right after the election in Hungary—and also in Poland several years ago—the first reaction was simply joy. “Oh my God, we’ve gotten rid of them. We have this chance to start over. We have this possibility of democratic renewal.” People were dancing in the streets of Budapest. Hungarians are not always an optimistic lot.
I keep saying that one of the reasons why I moved to Hungary, learned this crazy language, and decided to focus on Hungary was that when they translated Winnie-the-Pooh into Hungarian, the most important character became Eeyore the donkey. It was completely changed in the translation, and Eeyore is really depressive. Everything is kind of awful. So there’s a kind of national tendency to be suspicious of people who are too optimistic. Yet, after this election, it was just amazing. As many of my friends wrote to me—I couldn’t be there for the election—it was like a totally changed country. It was just amazing. So, there’s this kind of euphoria. Then what starts to happen is that people remember what the prior government did to them.
We’re now seeing people writing. By the way, if you want to follow Hungary, Facebook is the place. We’re seeing a lot of people writing: “The Orbán government deprived me of my career. The Orbán government shut down my business. The Orbán government prevented my kid from getting into college. The Orbán government made me leave the country.” You see all of these things as the cost of dictatorship, which was real for many people.
Now you’re seeing that Péter Magyar promised during the campaign that this would no longer be a country without consequences. He said there would be consequences for the people who stole democratic government in Hungary. Now there’s this debate about what those consequences should be. You do see an increasing number of calls to take Viktor Orbán and his inner circle and put them all in jail. That’s not what Péter Magyar, so far at least, has talked about.
From what I can tell from his pronouncements—and I must say I agree, if this is what he intends—he wants to disqualify them from coming back into government again. That’s an absolutely reasonable militant-democracy move. This is what happened after World War II, when neo-Nazi groups were prevented from governing across Europe. By the way, communist groups that promised to overthrow the government were also banned.
There has to be a sense that if you’re an enemy of democracy, you can’t stand for election again. That’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do. There’s always a question about how far down you go, which of Orbán’s people were simply carrying out orders and would carry out the orders of any other government, and which people were really the engineers. But it’s a small country. That’s the first thing.
The second thing is that Orbán’s government was not a government that engaged in massive crimes against humanity or war crimes. Yes, perhaps against refugees and asylum seekers. That was where the carnage was, and that’s a separate matter. But with regard to Hungarians, it was mostly a matter of depriving people of their livelihoods, and it was mostly a matter of stealing all the money in sight. So, my slogan has been: “Make Orbán poor again.” Claw back the assets that they spent all those years stealing.
Now this has also been one of Péter Magyar’s priorities. As part of the next round of constitutional amendments, there’s an amendment on the floor of parliament to establish something called the National Asset Recovery Authority. Along with parliamentary committees that have already started work, it would be tasked with figuring out what happened to all the corruption in the Orbán regime. Who benefited? Where did all this money go?
The budget is now deeply in debt. The oligarchs around Orbán, his family, and his close circle are all massively rich. They stole public funds, so the goal is going to be to claw back those public funds and make them poor again. That’s revenge enough. I would not go the route of criminal prosecutions and prison because, once you start talking about depriving people of their liberty, you’re really in a different world—one in which not only do you need due process protections, but you also need to be able to convict them of crimes that existed at the time they were committed. So, I’m in favor of disqualification and disgorgement as kind of my slogan: keep them from coming back, take away all the assets they stole, and be done with it.
Fight Corruption, Build a Big Tent, and Take People Out of Fear
Labour Day celebrations at Old Town Square in Prague on May 1, 2017, featuring a banner depicting democracy as a leaf eaten by caterpillars labeled Putin, Kaczyński, Orbán, Babiš, Trump, and Fico. Photo: Jolanta Wojcicka.
Hungary has frequently served as the laboratory of democratic backsliding, with institutional innovations later appearing elsewhere. As countries across Europe and beyond confront increasingly sophisticated forms of executive aggrandizement, should Hungary now also become a laboratory for democratic recovery? Which lessons from Hungary’s experience do you believe have the greatest comparative significance for democracies facing similar trajectories?
Professor Kim Lane Scheppele: I’m a Hungary specialist, so I always think Hungary is a laboratory for everything interesting. But here’s the thing: I do think it’s a really interesting model for democratic recovery.
We can start with elections. One of the dilemmas with elections in autocratic systems is that the autocrat, the autocrat’s party, and its cronies spend a lot of time delegitimizing the opposition. They also rig the electoral system. So, it becomes very difficult to change power through elections. That’s really what autocracy means. The question is how you achieve a change of government in a peaceful, lawful manner. This is where Hungary provides a really good lesson.
First of all, Péter Magyar is a very unlikely candidate. He was a member of Orbán’s party for 20 years. He broke with the party in February 2024. Before that, very few Hungarians knew who he was. He essentially emerged out of nowhere because there was a corruption scandal in Hungary. What had happened was that the president of the country, allegedly with the support of the justice minister, engineered a pardon for a man who had covered up a pedophilia scandal in a state school.
Orbán’s government had been presenting itself as “Mr. Christian Europe,” defending children and all that kind of stuff. Once people realized they were pardoning pedophiles, this became a moral crisis for the government. Viktor Orbán responded by firing the justice minister, whom he said had recommended the pardon, and by calling on the president to resign, which she did. These were the only two women in Orbán’s governmental orbit. Suddenly, he had an all-male cabinet again.
At that moment, Péter Magyar stepped out of obscurity into the public spotlight and said, “Viktor Orbán, how dare you hide behind women’s skirts?” Macho thing, right? To understand why he did that, it’s important to know that this is where the story becomes very personal. At the time, he was going through an acrimonious divorce from the justice minister, Judith Varga. He had emerged from that marriage—and every woman I know finds this immensely creepy—having secretly taped their dinner conversations in order to have dirt against her in the divorce. During those conversations, she also exposed some of the corruption of the Orbán regime.
So he emerges from all this and this is not a promising start. It starts to raise the broader question—we’re in the middle of the Graham Plattner scandal in the United States at the moment—of how abusive these people are who suddenly become charismatic political figures. So I was skeptical from the beginning, given this background. He comes out of the marriage, gallantly defends his wife and the president who had just resigned, and then uses the tapes to say, “I know all about the corruption in the Orbán government, and we need to get rid of it.” That attracts a crowd. Then, in February 2024, he suddenly realizes, “Geez, I can actually cobble together a party and run in the June European Parliament elections.”
Which he does. He attracts crowds with his anti-corruption message. He cobbles together a party. I don’t think he knew half the people who were on his party list. They stand for election, and that’s when it becomes evident that there is so much anger at the Orbán government and such a desire for a new face. It’s a center-right face. This is a center-right country. You’re not going to get a left-wing victory out of this electorate except under very unusual circumstances.
Suddenly, in the European Parliament election, he gets one-third of the vote. You can build something out of nothing, and it was all centered on corruption. That became the theme. The first lesson, then, is: don’t campaign on left-right issues. Corruption was not something unique to the left. It’s not like campaigning on gay rights—which, much as I believe in them, is divisive in a center-right country. Nor was it campaigning on immigration, which is the far right’s hot-button issue.
He campaigned on corruption, and then he began saying: corruption is what has deprived you of all the things you expect the state to provide. The healthcare system is falling apart. You know that because you go to hospitals and they’re simply not up to standard. The transportation system is terrible. Public transit breaks down all the time. Your schools are failing. Why? Because they stole the money. That became the foundation of his campaign. He stayed relentlessly on that message: they stole the money, and that’s why you don’t have services. And how do you recover what the state should be providing? You recover your democratic voice and get rid of the autocrats. He stayed on that message for two years.
Let me just say a couple more things. That’s one lesson. If you build a big tent around a political message that is neither left nor right, you can attract support across the political spectrum. Péter Magyar also very carefully studied the electoral system. He’s a lawyer. They’re all lawyers in Hungary. As a law professor, I love that because it means I understand how they think. He clearly understood how the electoral system worked. Rural votes were where all the action was. If you could win the countryside, you could win the election.
Under the Hungarian electoral system, there was a tipping point where, if you reached a certain number of rural votes, you received bonus seats that produced constitutional supermajorities. So, Péter Magyar spent two years campaigning in villages. Sometimes he visited four, five, six, even seven villages in a single day. There’s a wonderful election map showing everywhere he went and comparing those places with the areas that voted for Orbán and those that voted for Magyar. Overwhelmingly, the villages he visited voted for him.
He would arrive with no security and tell people, “You don’t have to live in fear. We should not live in fear in this country.” Because one thing autocrats do—and we’re seeing this now in the United States—is to wield the power of the state. If they decide to go after you, they can crush you through criminal prosecutions, tax audits, or by making sure your family loses access to social benefits.
I had one friend who had lived abroad for a while, and suddenly those years disappeared from his pension calculations, cutting his pension in half. The state can do all kinds of things to individuals if they stand up to it. So, people retreat. They begin to treat politics the way they treat the weather. It’s terrible today, so I’ll put on a raincoat, but I’m not going to try to change it because I can’t. You have to bring that passive population, captured by fear, back into the active electorate.
The Magyar rallies mattered not only because of what he said. He talked about everything I’ve just described. But he also sang patriotic songs, recited the poetry everyone learns in grade school, waved the Hungarian flag, and projected patriotism. That was crucial for winning conservative voters in the countryside. Most importantly, though, he kept saying, “We shouldn’t live in fear.”
As people came to those rallies, they saw that their neighbors were there too. That emboldened them to bring in others who had still been hiding from politics. The rallies became moments when people could finally see that everyone else felt exactly as they did—that the Orbán regime had become intolerable. All of this is a way of saying that you can build an election campaign around a centrist message focused on corruption and state dysfunction.
You have to build a big tent. You have to bring people out of the defensive crouch they adopt under autocracy, where they’re simply trying to stay beneath the radar of a government that can crush them through the machinery of the state. Once you’ve built that kind of political force, you can win. What Péter Magyar ultimately did was to win the countryside and hit that tipping point. It’s like winning the lottery. Suddenly, he has 53 percent of the vote and 71 percent of the seats in parliament. Then you’re living in a completely different political world.
Just one last thing. In Brazil, the United States, and Poland—other cases where aspirational autocrats were defeated through elections—the margins of victory were very narrow. That meant the incoming governments had much less room to remove the autocratic holdovers left behind by their predecessors. Sure enough, in Brazil we see Bolsonaro’s son leading in the polls. He was recently damaged by a financial scandal, but absent that, it looked as though he would surely have won. Bolsonaro’s movement remains strong enough to return. We’ve had the re-election of Donald Trump. And PiS remains very strong in the polls in Poland, and we still don’t know how things will unfold there.
In other words, unless you break the cycle of autocrat-democrat —which always occurs along a declining trajectory for democracy because the new democrats lack the strength to dismantle the autocratic capture left behind by the previous government—the autocrats simply come back and deepen the process. That’s why you need this kind of overwhelming electoral victory. That’s what Péter Magyar’s victory teaches us, and it’s something other countries should aim for.
There’s going to be a second part to this story: Will Magyar succeed in overcoming all of these autocratic roadblocks without installing himself as the new autocrat? That’s where we are now. I think the signs are optimistic. But I’m also a little nervous, because any political power without checks is potentially devastating. When you have this kind of parliamentary majority and you’re dismantling the existing checks while saying, “Look, in the future we’re going to have more checks,” that’s a very vulnerable moment. We’ve all got to keep our eyes on the prize here. Is Hungary going to come back? We hope it will—and that it will become a model.
The First Years Will Determine Whether Democracy Truly Returns
Finally, if you were advising Hungary’s new democratic leadership today, what would you identify as the three most urgent priorities during the first years of democratic reconstruction? And perhaps even more importantly, what mistakes must democratic governments avoid if they hope not merely to remove an autocrat but to build a constitutional democracy capable of enduring long after today’s political moment has passed?
Professor Kim Lane Scheppele: Okay, that’s hard. The first thing is that, in the Hungarian system—and this is where every system is going to be a little bit different—you have to draw what Viktor Orbán himself would call a power map. Where is power concentrated? Where are the choke points?
In the Hungarian system, the most important choke point is the Constitutional Court. If I were Péter Magyar, I would have gone after the Constitutional Court first, rather than the presidency and many other offices, because that’s really where everything funnels together, and it’s going to be his biggest roadblock. So I would say the first priority is figuring out how to deal with the Constitutional Court. I think there are ways to do that. For example, changing its jurisdiction by law so that it can’t review many of the things the government is about to do. I also think the idea of putting a court above it has merit. There are a lot of possible approaches, but the Constitutional Court would be the first priority.
The second priority is putting checks on the new government. I think those checks can come in several different ways. Take this National Asset Recovery Authority, for example, which they’re setting up to investigate how state money was stolen. My concern is that the draft proposal doesn’t build in judicial review. It needs checks on these essentially unlimited prosecutorial powers.
Then there’s the ordinary judiciary. I mentioned the Constitutional Court, but I didn’t talk about what happened to the ordinary judiciary in Hungary. It’s much easier to fix than it is in Poland. The way they captured the judiciary in Hungary was by appointing the court presidents, appointing enough friendly judges on every court, and giving the court presidents the power to assign any case to any judge. Most judges in Hungary are still independent. If you get rid of the court presidents and deal with that small group of friendly judges on each court, you don’t have to replace the entire judiciary as you would in Poland, where you’ve got 3,500 judges. Getting rid of the court presidents alone would do a great deal to restore judicial independence. Then you need to build judicial checks into some of the new institutions that the Magyar government has created.
The third priority is that—not immediately, but not too far into the future—they need to revisit the election law, because it was designed to produce these constitutional supermajorities. Hungary needs to return to a proportional representation system. That has to be put in place so that the Magyar government can guarantee that, even if it is reelected, it won’t come back with another two-thirds majority. You need to make all of these changes while they still have this parliamentary majority. But you also need to reassure the public that the next election will not allow any single party to dominate the system like this again.
So, my top three would be: reform the Constitutional Court, restore the ordinary judiciary by building checks throughout the system, and then change the election law.
Colombia’s 2026 presidential election has reignited fundamental debates about populism, democratic resilience, institutional legitimacy, and the future of representative democracy in Latin America. Is the country experiencing a conventional ideological shift, or does the election reveal a deeper transformation in democratic politics? In this ECPS interview, Professor Michael Shifter argues that Colombia’s election was driven less by ideology than by widespread anti-establishment sentiment rooted in persistent insecurity, weak state capacity, and public frustration with successive governments’ failure to deliver results. Examining the rise of security populism, the erosion of political moderation, the resilience of Colombian democratic institutions, and the evolving relationship with the United States, Professor Shifter offers a nuanced assessment of Colombia’s political trajectory and its broader implications for comparative studies of populism and democratic governance.
Colombia’s 2026 presidential election marks one of the most consequential political turning points in contemporary Latin America, raising fundamental questions about populism, democratic resilience, institutional legitimacy, and the future of representative government. The election of Abelardo de la Espriella, following the historic presidency of Gustavo Petro, has frequently been interpreted as evidence of a regional shift from the left toward the populist radical right. Yet such an interpretation, while politically intuitive, risks overlooking the deeper structural forces reshaping democratic politics across the hemisphere. Is Colombia witnessing an ideological realignment, or does the election reveal something more profound about the changing nature of democratic representation itself? As insecurity, organized crime, institutional distrust, and dissatisfaction with political elites intensify across Latin America, electoral competition increasingly appears to revolve less around competing ideological projects than around public demands for effective governance, security, and political renewal.
Few scholars are better positioned to interpret these developments than Professor Michael Shifter, Adjunct Professor at the Center for Latin American Studies (CLAS) at Georgetown University and Senior Fellow at the Inter-American Dialogue. For decades, his scholarship has examined the intersections of democratic governance, state-building, political violence, US–Latin American relations, and institutional development. In this wide-ranging interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Shifter offers a nuanced interpretation of Colombia’s election that challenges conventional narratives about ideological polarization and instead places anti-establishment politics at the center of democratic change.
Professor Shifter argues that the conventional interpretation of Colombia’s 2026 election as simply a shift from left to right overlooks a deeper transformation taking place in the country’s democratic politics. “The conventional narrative… is that we’re seeing a turn to the right… I think that’s only part of the story,” he explains. “If we focus only on that, we’re missing something more profound and more fundamental,” namely “profound discontent, widespread anger, and a strong anti-establishment sentiment.” In his view, Abelardo de la Espriella’s victory represents not merely a rejection of Gustavo Petro’s left-wing government but the continuation of the same anti-establishment dynamic that first brought Petro himself to power in 2022. “It is not simply a shift from the left to the right,” he observes, “but a continuation of anti-establishment politics.”
Throughout the interview, Professor Shifter explores how declining confidence in traditional political parties, the rise of social media-driven campaigning, persistent insecurity, and frustration over governments’ inability to deliver tangible results are transforming democratic competition throughout Latin America. He explains why contemporary electoral behavior is increasingly shaped by emotional appeals rather than coherent political programs; why “security populism”has become an increasingly powerful electoral force; why the apparent rise of a unified global populist right often conceals significant ideological differences among its leaders; and why Colombia’s political center continues to erode under the combined pressures of institutional failure and rejectionist voting. At the same time, he cautions against reducing contemporary Latin American politics to simplistic ideological categories, emphasizing instead the diversity of populist experiences across the region.
Despite his concern about growing populist pressures, Professor Shifter ultimately offers a measured assessment of Colombia’s democratic future. One of the most important—and, in his view, most overlooked—developments of the Petro years was “the resilience of Colombian institutions: Congress, the courts, civil society, and the press.” While acknowledging the serious challenges posed by insecurity, polarization, and anti-establishment politics, he concludes on a cautiously optimistic note, expressing confidence that Colombia’s democratic institutions remain capable of preserving constitutional order and maintaining effective checks and balances in the years ahead.
Here is the revised version of our interview with Professor Michael Shifter, edited lightly to enhance clarity, readability, and overall flow for publication.
The Real Story Is Colombia’s Deep Anti-Establishment Anger
Credential-giving ceremony to President-elect Abelardo de la Espriella and Vice President-elect Jose Manuel Restrepo by the National Electoral Council in Bogota, Colombia on June 25, 2026. Photo: Anamaria Mejía / Dreamstime.
Professor Shifter, welcome!Let me begin with your recent New York Times essay, in which you describe Colombia’s 2026 presidential election not simply as a swing from left to right but as “a leap into the void.” Why do you believe this election represents something more profound than an ordinary alternation of power? What does it reveal about the current relationship between democratic representation, institutional legitimacy, and public demand for radical political change?
Professor Michael Shifter: The conventional narrative in Colombia, as well as in other recent elections in Latin America, is that we’re seeing a turn to the right, from governments of the left to governments of the right. I think that’s only part of the story. If we focus only on that, we’re missing something more profound and more fundamental, which is illustrated very clearly by Colombia’s recent election. That is the existence of profound discontent, widespread anger, and a strong anti-establishment sentiment.
If we look at the Colombian case in particular, we can go back to the elections four years ago, in 2022, with the election of Gustavo Petro from the left. It’s also worth remembering that his opponent in that election was Rodolfo Fernández, who was himself something of a political outsider and largely unknown. He lost the election, and Petro won, marking the first time Colombia had elected a leftist government. But that outcome clearly reflected widespread discontent with the establishment political parties and their failure to address the country’s profound problems.
Petro did some things that were positive. He put his finger on some legitimate grievances. He increased the representation and inclusion of previously excluded groups—Afro-descendants, Indigenous communities, women, and others who had long lacked access to political power in Colombia. That was an important achievement. But he also leaves behind a rather problematic record, particularly on the issue of security. We now see Abelardo de la Espriella tapping into that same discontent and anti-establishment sentiment, which is quite widespread in Colombia and elsewhere, and capitalizing on it very effectively and skillfully, principally through social media—not through a political party or any traditional organizational structure, but through social media.
So, I don’t think this is simply a turn toward a more conservative political option. It is, rather, a reflection of something much deeper: an anti-establishment sentiment that, in some ways, represents a continuity with Gustavo Petro. It is not simply a shift from the left to the right, but a continuation of anti-establishment politics.
Colombia demonstrated remarkable resilience under Petro, and the central question—which I try to highlight in that essay—is whether Colombia will be able to demonstrate the same resilience over the next four years under De la Espriella.
Frustration with Failed Governments Is Reshaping Democratic Competition
You argue that contemporary Colombian politics is increasingly driven by anti-incumbent sentiment rather than ideological commitment. To what extent does Colombia illustrate a broader transformation of democratic politics in which electoral behavior is shaped less by coherent political programs than by frustration, distrust, and a desire to punish governing elites?
Professor Michael Shifter: What we are witnessing, not only in Colombia but across Latin America and even globally, is politics that is driven and shaped less by coherent political platforms than by emotional appeals that tap into how people feel about not receiving the results that candidates promised on security, economic issues, and governance. It is also driven by the growing frustration that fundamental problems are not being addressed effectively or successfully. That’s precisely what we’re seeing in Colombia, and that’s why there was both an anti-incumbent and an anti-establishment sentiment, which De la Espriella very skillfully and astutely capitalized on to win the presidency.
Now, of course, we’ll have to see how he governs. But, more importantly, we’ll see whether Colombia’s institutions and civil society are truly up to the challenge of keeping in check any temptation to go beyond the country’s constitutional and institutional limits. That’s what we’ll be watching very closely. Hopefully, De la Espriella will prove to be someone who respects democratic norms and institutions. If so, that will lessen the burden on Colombia’s Congress, the courts, civil society, and the press. But we’ll simply have to wait and see.
Traditional Parties Failed to Learn the Lessons of 2022
Abelardo de la Espriella and Gustavo Petro emerged from opposite ends of the ideological spectrum, yet both successfully presented themselves as anti-establishment outsiders. Does this suggest that contemporary Colombian populism is increasingly ideologically flexible—less a coherent doctrine than a performative strategy built around anti-elite rhetoric, moral polarization, and promises of national redemption?
Professor Michael Shifter: Of the two candidates and political figures—Petro on the left and De la Espriella on the right—the more ideological is Petro. After all, I don’t think they should be put in the same category. Petro has a long political history. He’s been in Congress for many years, and he was the mayor of Bogotá. He is clearly an ideologue of the left.
De la Espriella, by contrast, is someone who is new to politics. He has held no political office and has no administrative experience. He saw an opportunity to embrace positions that are considered to be on the right. But he is less of an ideological figure than someone who is simply very skillful and, much like Donald Trump in some ways, adept at capitalizing on public discontent and championing issues that resonate with the Colombian people—in the case of 2026, the deterioration of the security situation in Colombia.
They belong to different categories of leaders. But, both of them were very astute in sensing anti-establishment sentiment and riding that wave. Petro rode it in 2022, and De la Espriella did so, this year.
What I find astonishing—and unfortunate—is that some of the more centrist and traditional political parties and figures were not sufficiently responsive to the message that Petro sent in 2022. That message was that they had to become serious about addressing the country’s persistent problems of violence, inequality, and the lack of state presence across much of the country. They didn’t do that. Even if you look at the platforms in 2026, there was not sufficient attention to, or focus on, the social agenda. That is a clear lesson of Petro’s presidency that was not adequately heeded by the more traditional political figures and parties.
Strengthening State Capacity Remains Colombia’s Unfinished Democratic Project
Protesters march peacefully through Bogotá calling for the impeachment of President Gustavo Petro and opposing the government’s proposed reforms on April 21, 2024. Photo: Anamaria Mejía / Dreamstime.
More than two decades ago, you warned that Colombia’s central challenge was not simply defeating insurgent groups but strengthening state capacity and public institutions. Looking back at your earlier work on state-building, do the 2026 election results suggest that Colombia’s institutional weaknesses remain fundamentally unresolved despite years of security gains?
Professor Michael Shifter: This is the perennial question in Colombia, one that nobody has been able to answer adequately: Why has it been so difficult to extend an effective and legitimate state presence across much of the country over such a long period of time? Is it a lack of capacity? A lack of political will? This remains a subject of enormous debate, and I don’t think there are any definitive answers.
It’s important not to be too sweeping in our criticism or assessment of Colombia, because one has to recognize that there were some gains—although they were too modest—under Uribe in the early 2000s, and later under the government of Juan Manuel Santos, who served as president for eight years and oversaw both a peace agreement and a peace process. Those efforts did address some of these long-standing structural problems, but clearly not enough. They were not completely successful, nor have they been sustained.
So, it’s important to acknowledge the progress that has been made, while also recognizing that it has not been sufficient and that something fundamental has remained lacking. Many of the issues I identified years ago remain unresolved today. In 2000, I wrote a report on Plan Colombia, which, on balance, I considered a positive initiative, although I was critical of many of its elements and aspects. In that report, I emphasized the importance of strengthening state capacity across much of the country. Unfortunately, the conclusions of that report remain remarkably relevant 26 years later.
Colombia’s Crisis Reflects Both Structural Weaknesses and Government Failure
Your scholarship has long emphasized that persistent violence, inequality, and weak state presence have undermined democratic legitimacy in Colombia. How much of today’s electoral volatility reflects unresolved structural problems rather than the successes or failures of any single government?
Professor Michael Shifter: One has to recognize that it’s a complex picture. There is a combination of longer-term, chronic structural problems in Colombia that persist, coupled with the inadequate—or simply poor—performance of particular governments, in this case the Petro administration. There certainly was a rejection of Petro by many voters. Many of them had concerns about De la Espriella, but they really did not want continuity—another four years of the Historic Pact, the leftist coalition created by Petro and from which Iván Cepeda, the candidate of the left, emerged.
So, I think it’s a combination of dissatisfaction with the government’s performance. Petro promised a great deal. He was a very good campaigner and a good orator, but he wasn’t very effective at governing or delivering results. That is clearly part of the explanation for why his candidate lost, although it should be emphasized that it was by a razor-thin margin. This was not a decisive victory for De la Espriella. The country is divided in two, and it’s important to keep that in mind.
But it also reflects a broader sense of discontent with yet another government that, like those preceding Petro, failed to deliver on its promises, as well as a desire to try something different—to see whether someone like De la Espriella, who had no record in government and about whom relatively little was actually known, might offer an alternative. Many Colombians seemed to think: we tried the traditional political parties, and that didn’t work very well; then we tried a leftist alternative, and that also wasn’t very successful. So, let’s go in another direction. I think that was the way many Colombians approached their vote.
Populism Is Often Better at Making Promises Than Delivering Them
Throughout Latin America, citizens increasingly appear willing to prioritize effectiveness over procedural liberalism. Are we witnessing the rise of a populist conception of democratic legitimacy, in which leaders claim direct authorization from “the people” to bypass institutional constraints if they can promise security, economic stability, and public order?
Professor Michael Shifter: This is unquestionably a global trend. People increasingly give priority to results and tangible benefits as a source of political legitimacy. It’s not that democratic norms or institutions are unimportant; rather, they are simply not as important as achieving results. We’ve seen this reflected for many years in polling and surveys across Latin America. When people are asked whether they would be willing to sacrifice some democratic safeguards in exchange for a government that effectively addresses security, economic problems, and other pressing issues, many of them say yes.
Perhaps the clearest example is El Salvador, where you have a president who enjoys approval ratings of 80 to 90 percent despite showing very little regard for democratic or human rights norms. So, I don’t think this phenomenon is peculiar to Colombia. Of course, we’re seeing it in my own country, the United States. I’m from the United States, and this fits very well with that analysis and interpretation. People want results, and they are willing to sacrifice some democratic protections in order to achieve them.
In that sense, populist legitimacy is defined by the ability to deliver. The problem is that populism, by its nature, is often very good at making promises but much less effective at delivering on them. As a result, the legitimacy gains that initially appear possible often fail to materialize because populist leaders—we see this in the case of Hugo Chávez in Venezuela—promise dramatic transformation but ultimately fail to govern effectively.
Look at Venezuela today. One can go back even before Maduro, to Hugo Chávez, who governed for 13 years and made enormous promises of transforming the country. Today, Venezuela is in a disastrous situation and is now trying to cope with the aftermath of these horrific and tragic earthquakes. That situation derives from the populism of Hugo Chávez, who was a great orator, promised a great deal, but did not know how to govern and failed to deliver.
So, populism generates legitimacy only if it produces concrete results that people can actually experience. But, with very few exceptions, I don’t think populism has a particularly strong record of providing that kind of legitimacy.
Law-and-Order Leaders Still Have to Deliver Results
The 2026 campaign unfolded amid worsening insecurity and renewed concerns about organized crime. How do rising levels of violence reshape democratic competition? Do they create fertile ground for law-and-order populism or penal populism, where candidates transform fear into demands for strongman leadership, militarized security policies, and executive concentration of power?
Professor Michael Shifter: I think no one denies that we’re seeing, in country after country across Latin America, the spread of what I would call security populism, driven by the expansion of organized crime and violence in many countries, including some that, until recently, were relatively safe and secure but are now facing enormous threats to public order. This tends to favor candidates with a more right-leaning agenda—the so-called mano dura, or iron-fisted, approach. We’re seeing political figures capitalizing on that. We saw it in Chile, we saw it in Ecuador, and, of course, we saw it in Colombia. We’ll also see what happens in Brazil in October. We saw it in Peru with the recent election of Keiko Fujimori. This issue, which is becoming increasingly salient and a greater concern for many voters, tends to favor candidates and political figures who advocate law-and-order policies and come from the political right.
That being said, they still have to deliver. They have to produce results. And I’m not sure why people assume that these political figures are necessarily going to be more effective than those from the center, or even the left, in reducing criminality and violence in their countries. If you set Bukele aside—which reflects the very particular circumstances of El Salvador, a small country with the specific phenomenon of gangs rather than the massive transnational organized crime you see in Ecuador, Colombia, Mexico, or Brazil, which are very different cases—you are not seeing many successful examples of these right-wing governments.
We’ll see what happens in Colombia, but certainly in Ecuador, which has become more militarized and where there has been greater cooperation and joint military operations with the United States, you’re not really seeing results. If there are no results, people will once again become frustrated and disappointed, and they’ll begin looking for other alternatives. Those alternatives could come from any point on the ideological spectrum.
I don’t think this is fundamentally an ideological question. It’s a question of effectiveness and efficacy. Some of these right-wing governments that are now coming to power may prove to be quite short-lived because people are impatient. They want results quickly, and when they don’t see them, they begin looking for other alternatives. So, there may be an immediate political effect stemming from the crisis of insecurity and organized crime in some countries, but it’s important to be cautious about interpreting this as a long-term trend that will necessarily reshape politics in Latin America for many years to come.
The Central Lesson of Petro’s Presidency Is That Competence Matters
Colombia’s President Gustavo Petro. Photo: Dreamstime.
You have argued for many years that Latin American democracies often struggle to reconcile demands for social inclusion with effective governance. Looking at Gustavo Petro’s presidency, what lessons should future reformist governments draw about the relationship between ambitious political agendas, institutional constraints, and governing capacity?
Professor Michael Shifter: The central lesson of Gustavo Petro’s presidency is that competence matters. It’s not simply about ideology. You may have your heart in the right place. You may take important steps to include people who have long been excluded from power and incorporate them into the political process, and that’s an important achievement. But it’s not enough.
You also have to demonstrate governing capacity and competence, and that was lacking during Gustavo Petro’s presidency. His candidate carried the burden of that record into the 2026 election. Again, even though the election was extremely close, and even though there was a very strong political party—perhaps the strongest political party in Colombia today is the left-wing Pacto Histórico, which Petro created—the party machinery worked only up to a point. In the end, it was not enough to secure victory.
So, there does need to be a reformist agenda to tackle issues such as inequality, informality, and the other longstanding problems that have bedeviled Colombia and much of Latin America. But I’m not sure this was truly a reformist presidency. It was an administration that brought new voices to the table, and that deserves a great deal of recognition and credit. I’m hopeful that future Colombian governments will preserve that aspect of the Petro presidency while combining it with a genuine commitment to reform and a greater capacity to address the country’s long-term challenges. I don’t think the Petro administration was very successful in that regard, because achieving those goals requires a level of competence that this president did not demonstrate.
The Global Populist Wave May Be Losing Momentum
Donald Trump’s endorsement of Abelardo de la Espriella inevitably invited comparisons with the global circulation of right-wing populist ideas. To what extent are contemporary Latin American populisms becoming embedded within transnational populist networks that share anti-left, anti-elite, nationalist, and security-centered narratives?
Professor Michael Shifter: There has unquestionably been an increase in, and strengthening of, globalized networks. Latin American populist right-wing leaders have participated in meetings in Europe and elsewhere alongside other leaders of the right. But it’s important to make two qualifications.
First of all, there may well be increased networking, greater contact, and more sharing of ideas and experiences. I’m not sure, however, that this has enormous significance in terms of effective policy coordination, because I don’t really see many signs of that. One thing is to talk about shared ideas and shared visions. Another is to work together effectively to address the problems these leaders articulate in their campaigns, and I don’t see much evidence of that happening, either within Latin America or in cooperation with other figures around the world, including President Trump.
The second point is that I’m not sure where this global swing toward populism stands at the moment. There have been some setbacks. We see the most striking case in Hungary. We also see changes in Donald Trump’s relationship with Prime Minister Meloni in Italy, and so on. So, the picture is much more complex. One really has to examine it on a country-by-country basis. I’m simply not sure where this trend stands at the moment. It may well be losing some momentum.
Again, there is a great deal of emphasis on performance, media, and projecting a sense of unity. But I don’t think that will be sufficient to generate broader support for these ideas unless these leaders can actually produce results. I don’t think they have been very effective in doing so. Donald Trump is a clear example. People are having a difficult time, and the promises he made during his 2024 campaign have not been fulfilled. As a result, there is considerable disillusionment, and every indicator we have—from opinion polls to other studies—points in that direction.
So, I’m just not sure about the strength or durability of this trend. Moreover, if you scratch beneath the surface and move beyond the superficial similarities, you find enormous differences among these leaders. To describe them as a single bloc, even within Latin America, is misleading. If you compare Bukele with Milei, for example, José Antonio Kast is very different from either of them, yet people tend to place him in the same basket as part of this broader shift to the right. But they are, in fact, very different. Daniel Noboa, President of Ecuador is also very different. A deeper analysis would show that there are at least as many differences as similarities among these so-called right-wing populist political figures.
Not All Populists Belong in the Same Category
Your work on Latin American populism has consistently cautioned against treating all populist leaders as a single phenomenon. How does the current Colombian experience refine our understanding of the similarities—and equally important differences—between left-wing and right-wing populism across the region?
Professor Michael Shifter: One thing we can say about the Colombian example is that De la Espriella, although he clearly had extensive contacts and some support from establishment figures during his campaign, and of course now that he’s president-elect, really is an outsider with virtually no political experience. So, we can make a lot of distinctions. Nayib Bukele was the mayor of San Salvador. José Antonio Kast served in Congress for many years. Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil was a member of Congress for many years. Even Javier Milei served in Congress. The backgrounds and biographies of each of these leaders are very different.
Obviously, Hugo Chávez was a military leader. Each of them comes from a different background, and that shapes, quite significantly, the way they approach the presidency and the way they govern.
De la Espriella is someone about whom there is a genuine debate among analysts. To what extent does he really hold strong ideological convictions, or is he simply a very skillful opportunist who saw an opening in Colombia, recognized widespread discontent, knew how to capitalize on it, and proved extremely effective in using social media and his considerable talents as a showman?
That is quite different from José Antonio Kast in Chile, who is not a showman but rather a more traditional conservative, clearly on the right, with long-standing ideological convictions. The same could be said, in different ways, of Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil.
It’s understandable that there is a temptation to group all of these leaders together. That is valid in some respects. But, it’s important to look beneath the surface, because then you begin to see very different positions.
Take Javier Milei, for example, the president of Argentina, who is probably the leader most closely aligned with Donald Trump and who openly admires him. His foreign policy is largely in lockstep with Donald Trump’s. Yet they hold vastly different positions on economic and trade policy. Milei is a champion of free markets, whereas Donald Trump is a protectionist. Trump has said that his favorite word in the English language is “tariffs.” He calls it the most beautiful word, and, if there is one thing he has consistently believed in throughout his life, it is tariffs. That is diametrically opposed to Javier Milei’s economic philosophy. So, it is important to take these differences into account as well.
Traditional Parties Lost Credibility Because They Failed to Deliver
One striking feature of Colombia’s recent politics is the apparent collapse of the political center. What explains the declining electoral appeal of moderate, institution-oriented parties across Latin America, and is this erosion primarily driven by structural socioeconomic factors, institutional failures, or changing political communication?
Professor Michael Shifter: Political communication, particularly social media, is undoubtedly a new and growing factor shaping Latin American politics and global politics. I don’t think it favors centrist, sensible, moderate political options or political figures. Instead, it tends to favor the extremes and to radicalize sectors on both the hard left and the hard right, which contributes to increasing polarization. I think that is certainly a factor. It’s not the only explanation, but it is one that is hard to deny and has become increasingly important over the last five to ten years in shaping politics.
But I think the more important explanation is simply the failure of these traditional parties, which became calcified and discredited in the eyes of their constituents because people felt that they were not performing well, were not fulfilling their promises, and were not delivering results. As a consequence, people became disillusioned with those options and increasingly turned toward the more extreme alternatives that we are seeing across many countries.
What we’re also seeing in elections—and I think this is important to emphasize—is the growing importance of the anti-vote, or rejectionist vote. More and more people voted for De la Espriella because they feared the left remaining in power under Iván Cepeda and his agenda. At the same time, many people voted for Cepeda because they were fearful of what De la Espriella would mean for Colombia.
We saw the same pattern in Peru. A very strong anti-Fujimori vote explains why Roberto Sánchez, the candidate of the left, actually received more votes within Peru than Keiko Fujimori. She won because she received more votes from Peruvians living abroad. But much of her support also reflected fear of the left, fear of Roberto Sánchez, and fear of communism coming to Peru.
We’re seeing the same dynamic in the Brazilian election as well. There has always been an anti-vote that helps explain electoral outcomes, but it strikes me that it is becoming an increasingly important factor in explaining how voters make their decisions.
Bogotá and Washington Are Likely to Enter a Period of Closer Cooperation
Photo: Dreamstime.
For many years you have examined the interaction between domestic political developments and US–Latin American relations. How might the return of a Trump-aligned government in Bogotá reshape bilateral relations, regional diplomacy, and Colombia’s role within the wider Western Hemisphere?
Professor Michael Shifter: There’s no question—and really no debate—that we’re going to see a stronger alliance between Bogotá and Washington, at least while Trump is in power and has control of Congress, which he does today, than we saw over the last four years under Gustavo Petro. There is going to be greater engagement and closer cooperation between the two governments. It’s not only President Trump, but there are also members of the US Congress, including Senator Bernie Moreno of Ohio and representatives from Florida, who are very enthusiastic about this new presidency and very relieved that they will not have to deal with Iván Cepeda. They see significant opportunities for deeper cooperation and collaboration.
That said, it’s important to be cautious. It’s easy to get carried away and become overexcited, but caution is warranted. Trump no longer has the political capital he enjoyed when he first came to power in the United States. He has lost a considerable amount of support, and many people have become disillusioned with him. Moreover, it appears most likely that Democrats will control the House of Representatives, and possibly the Senate as well, next January, meaning that De la Espriella will have to work with a Democratic-controlled Congress.
There may be a degree of irrational exuberance, to borrow an old phrase, surrounding this new relationship. It would be wise for the new government in Bogotá to take advantage of its alignment with Trump. There are clear benefits for Colombia. At the same time, however, it should avoid turning the relationship into an entirely partisan issue. For many years, Colombia has enjoyed bipartisan support in the United States. It would be extremely unfortunate and very damaging for both Colombia and the De la Espriella administration—if the relationship became tied exclusively to one party in an increasingly polarized US political environment, particularly one that is itself changing. It’s changing in a direction where Trump may no longer enjoy the complete control and dominance that characterized the first year and a half of his presidency.
I also think it’s important for Colombia to exercise caution from a regional perspective in its relations with other Latin American governments. It’s true that a number of leaders are now aligned with Trump, but there are also sharp differences among them. Some of them are hedging their bets. They are aligning themselves with Trump because they don’t want a confrontation or a fight with him—or with the United States—and that’s completely understandable. But Trump has also shown that he is not an entirely trustworthy partner. He can change his mind and turn on leaders at any moment.
It’s also unclear how many meaningful resources the United States will actually make available to assist governments struggling with an array of challenges, including organized crime and security. So, there are a great many caveats, and I hope the De la Espriella administration will develop a more sophisticated approach to managing its relationship with Washington.
Democratic Political Culture Remains the Strongest Defense Against Populism
Finally, Professor Shifter, stepping back from Colombia itself, what broader lessons does the 2026 presidential election offer for scholars of populism, democratic resilience, and political representation? Does Colombia represent an exceptional national case, or has it become an important window into the wider transformation of democracy taking place across Latin America and beyond?
Professor Michael Shifter: The 2026 elections in Colombia are very instructive in a number of ways. One is that they underscore the cost of failing to address long-standing problems by traditional, establishment-oriented, more centrist political parties and leaders.
This is what happens when you fail to heed what the electorate is telling you, which is clearly what voters were telling political leaders in 2022, if not earlier. Yet the inability to adjust and take those messages into account proved very costly. Colombia ended up with two options at opposite ends of the ideological spectrum, even though many Colombians were not particularly happy with either of them. So, that is one important lesson.
On the more positive side—and I really want to emphasize this because I think it was perhaps the most underreported story of the Petro presidency—is the resilience of Colombian institutions: Congress, the courts, civil society, and the press. To me, that’s the other major lesson.
Populism is emerging in places like Costa Rica, where one never would have expected it to emerge. It also emerged in Colombia, and there were various attempts by President Petro to go beyond the limits of his office, to interfere in government, and to disregard certain constraints and checks on his power. It certainly wasn’t for a lack of trying. What was striking, however, was the degree of pushback and resistance that Colombia demonstrated. That is an important lesson: democratic political culture is not trivial.
Countries that possess that democratic experience and tradition are going to be tested, just as Colombia was tested between 2022 and 2026, and they will continue to be tested in the years ahead. But I’m confident they will be able to preserve the democratic order and keep checks and balances intact, despite all the pressures and strains that will inevitably arise.
As the European Union implements its new Migration and Asylum Pact amid growing populist pressures, fundamental questions are emerging about the future of European constitutionalism. In this exclusive interview with the ECPS, MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar argues that the Return Regulation represents “a violation of EU fundamental values” and warns that migration governance is increasingly being reshaped by radical-right narratives. Reflecting on the erosion of the cordon sanitaire, the “Melonization” of European migration policy, and the normalization of exclusionary rhetoric, MEP López Aguilar contends that “migration is a fact, not a crisis,” while insisting that “asylum is a right” that must remain protected. The interview offers a timely reflection on populism, democratic backsliding, human rights, and the future of European integration.
At a moment when migration has become one of the most polarizing issues in European politics, the European Union finds itself confronting a profound constitutional dilemma. The implementation of the Migration and Asylum Pact, together with the Return Regulation, has reignited fundamental debates about sovereignty, solidarity, fundamental rights, and the future of European integration. Once conceived as a legal and political project founded upon supranational cooperation, shared responsibility, and the protection of human dignity, the European Union is increasingly facing accusations that it is redefining migration governance under the growing influence of populist radical-right politics. Against a backdrop of geopolitical instability, demographic change, electoral realignments, and increasingly contested debates over migration, the central question is no longer simply how Europe manages migration, but whether it can continue to do so without compromising the constitutional and humanitarian values upon which the Union itself was built.
Few policymakers are better positioned to reflect on these developments than Juan Fernando López Aguilar. A Member of the European Parliament (MEP) representing Spain’s Spanish Socialist Workers’ Party (PSOE) since 2009, López Aguilar previously served as Spain’s Minister of Justice and chaired the European Parliament’s Committee on Civil Liberties, Justice and Home Affairs (LIBE) between 2019 and 2024. Trained as a constitutional lawyer and widely recognized as one of Europe’s foremost authorities on constitutionalism, the rule of law, migration governance, and fundamental rights, he has played a central role in shaping EU migration and asylum legislation over the past decade. His long engagement with the negotiations surrounding the Migration and Asylum Pact places him at the heart of one of the Union’s most consequential constitutional debates.
In this wide-ranging conversation with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), MEP López Aguilar argues that the Return Regulation represents far more than a technical adjustment to migration management. Rather, he contends that it constitutes “a violation of EU fundamental values” and departs from the legal architecture painstakingly constructed through the Migration and Asylum Pact. Rejecting the growing trend toward externalizing asylum responsibilities, he warns that “migration management cannot come at the expense of the rule of law,” insisting that migration must be addressed through a genuinely European response grounded in “shared responsibility and binding solidarity” rather than bilateral arrangements with third countries.
Throughout the interview, MEP López Aguilar situates the transformation of European migration policy within broader processes of democratic and political change. He argues that the European People’s Party’s (EPP) increasing cooperation with radical-right parties has effectively dismantled the traditional Brandmauer or cordon sanitaire, allowing what he calls the “Melonization” of European migration policy to become mainstream. In his assessment, attempts to externalize migration control, normalize return hubs, and securitize asylum are inseparable from the wider normalization of populist narratives within European politics. At the same time, he cautions that Europe risks undermining its own credibility as a global defender of human rights through increasingly visible double standards in both migration and foreign policy.
Perhaps most strikingly, MEP López Aguilar rejects the assumption that migration itself constitutes Europe’s principal challenge. “Migration is a fact, not a crisis,” he argues, insisting that “reducing migration to zero is not only impossible—it is stupid.” Likewise, he defends asylum as a non-negotiable legal obligation, declaring that “asylum is a right. It must be respected, no matter the cost.” For MEP López Aguilar, the real danger lies not in migration itself but in the gradual erosion of Europe’s constitutional identity through the normalization of policies and rhetoric that once belonged exclusively to the political fringes. The interview therefore offers not merely a critique of current migration policy, but a broader reflection on populism, democratic backsliding, constitutionalism, and the future of the European project itself.
Here is the revised version of our interview with MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar, edited lightly to enhance clarity, readability, and overall flow for publication.
Migration Management Cannot Come at the Expense of the Rule of Law
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar is interviewed by ECPS’ Selcuk Gultasli in his office at the European Parliament on July 2, 2026. Photo: Umit Vurel.
Juan Fernando López Aguilar, welcome! You argue that the new Return Regulation marks a constitutional rupture rather than merely another migration reform. Where, in your view, is the precise red line beyond which migration management ceases to be compatible with the European constitutional project?
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar: The red line is the lack of a European scale of response and the lack of consistency with EU fundamental values. Let me explain. We worked really hard to fulfil the mandate of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union, which is part of the Treaty of Lisbon. Article 67 and Article 77 make it clear that there should be not only an EU migration and asylum policy but also a migration and asylum system based on EU law. It wasn’t easy because migration is obviously the most divisive issue around, and it contaminates not only asylum policy and lawmaking in the member states but also policymaking at the European level. Yet there should be a European migration and asylum system based on law, and we worked for two consecutive mandates—10 years—to make it happen by combining eight pieces of legislation.
The underlying idea is that there should be a European-scale response. You know why? Because no member state can deal with it on its own. It cannot be only a Greek problem when migrants arrive on the Greek islands in the Aegean. It cannot be an Italian problem when migrants arrive on the Pelagic Islands, such as Lampedusa, in the Mediterranean, coming from the African shore. Nor should it be a Spanish problem that we receive 47,000 people a year on the island of El Hierro in the Canaries, coming from Senegal, Mauritania, Guinea-Bissau, and Guinea-Conakry. No, there should be a European-scale response, based on shared responsibility and binding solidarity.
That is the idea behind the Migration and Asylum Pact. But what is the idea behind the Return Regulation? It is to give the member states back the competence to negotiate bilateral agreements with third-country rulers so that, in exchange for money, they keep migrants out of our sight. Is it worthy? Is it consistent with EU values? My answer is no.
There is no European-scale response in Melonizing Europe, in Melonizing migration policy. Giving member states the authority to negotiate bilaterally with whomever is willing to be paid to keep migrants out of our sight in a so-called return hub—which is, let’s face it, a concentration camp for an unlimited period of time—should not happen under EU law. That is inconsistent with the very idea of the Migration and Asylum Pact. And, of course, in my view, it amounts to a denial of EU fundamental values, which are rooted in the principle that the EU is bound by international law, including human rights and international humanitarian law, which encompass shelter, rescue, and disease.
So, the conclusion is that this Return Regulation is not only a mistake; it is a violation of EU fundamental values and of EU law as enshrined in the Migration and Asylum Pact.
Reducing Migration to Zero Is Not Only Impossible—It Is Stupid
Only two years ago, you defended the Migration and Asylum Pact as the best achievable European compromise. Today, you argue that the Return Regulation fundamentally betrays European values. Did Europe cross a legal threshold, or has the political center itself shifted toward positions once associated exclusively with the far right?
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar: Both. We worked so hard to put in place a migration and asylum system based on EU law precisely because it is difficult and deeply divisive. It is obvious that migration is geographically divisive. The perception in the Baltics is not the same as it is in the western member states of the European Union, let alone along the southern external border—namely Greece, Italy, Malta, Cyprus, or Spain—not only in the Mediterranean but also in the Canaries. Different member states have different views of the problem, and they also have different views of the importance of a European-scale response.
Still, it was possible precisely because the balance of forces in the previous mandate of the European Parliament made it possible. Of course, it took time. It was only after a long and difficult struggle that, at the end of the previous mandate—in December 2023—we finally reached an agreement, and the entire package of regulations was ultimately adopted in June 2024. That is why, two years later, in June 2026, it has finally entered into force. But what has happened since the 2024 elections? Yes, we now have a balance of forces leaning to the right and the far right more than ever before.
For the first time in the history of the European Parliament, the EPP, together with three far-right political groups, accounts for 60% of the vote, marginalizing the second-largest group, the Socialists, as well as the Greens, Renew, and the Left. The far right is dominating the House and shaping policy. And that means a great deal when we talk about migration and asylum policy.
It means that a negative vision of migration is dominating the political landscape in Europe. In my view, that is a terrible mistake. Migration is not a threat, let alone a crisis. Migration has always been a fact. It is a permanent fact in the history of mankind. Should we panic because migrants are hoping or longing to make it to Europe? We should not panic. We can handle it. We can handle it as long as we do it together, according to EU law, and without betraying EU values. If we do it that way, then we may succeed. If we do it separately, member state by member state, in contradiction with EU values, then we are doomed to fail. And, of course, trying to reduce migration to zero is also doomed to fail. It is not only impossible, but also stupid.
Return Hubs Without Legal Safeguards Betray European Values
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar. Photo: Umit Vurel.
Supporters argue that external processing restores public confidence without abandoning humanitarian obligations. You contend that it instead erodes the Union’s constitutional identity. Why are they wrong?
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar: Because once you authorize returns to third countries with no meaningful link to the returnees, you are prepared to transfer human beings—their families, vulnerable people, trafficked women, and minors—to countries where they do not belong, where it is impossible to ensure that their fundamental and human rights are respected. It is equally impossible to ensure that the Charter of Fundamental Rights is implemented because there is no obligation to apply the Charter when they are in Egypt, Niger, Tunisia, or Rwanda. Yet this has become the obsession of too many around the table of the Council of Ministers of the Interior of the European Union and also within the European Parliament. That is absolutely inconsistent with the obligation to put in place an EU-scale response that is bound by EU law and consistent with EU values.
You’ve got to make sure that fundamental rights are observed and respected. Even when you return people, there has to be a meaningful link, whether it is a country of transit or a country of origin. But it is unacceptable to send them back anywhere, as long as you are paying the ruler there to keep them out of your sight for an unlimited period of time.
Once they are in the European Union—and this is also, of course, subject to criticism—you may hold them in a retention center, in a so-called migration facility, for two years. That’s much too long. But once they are in a third country with no meaningful link to the returnees, there is no time limit. They can be held there forever, stockpiled forever. Is that acceptable? Is that consistent with EU law? The beauty of the Charter of Fundamental Rights lies precisely in the fact that it protects all human beings, not only European citizens. That’s the beauty.
Anyone under EU law is protected by the Charter of Fundamental Rights, whether you are a European citizen or not. If you, a Turkish citizen, are on European soil, you are also protected by the Charter of Fundamental Rights. It is not the case that it does not apply to you because you are not a European citizen. No, you are protected by EU law, by the EU Charter of Fundamental Rights, because you are under EU law and on European soil. That is the beauty of it. And that is also denied by the fact that people are being returned to third countries to which they do not belong, simply for the sake of paying a ruler who is willing to accept them. That is absolutely, in my view, in contradiction with the very idea of European law and the European Charter of Fundamental Rights.
Treating Migration as a Threat Is a Terrible Mistake
You write that asylum is no longer treated as a fundamental right but increasingly as an administrative inconvenience. Has the EU effectively redefined refugees from rights-holders into security risks?
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar: The EU is a union of 27 member states. But the majority, for now, is leaning in that direction. It is allowing a negative approach to migration to prevail as the dominant political view: the denial of migration, the belief that migration can be reduced by discouraging migrants, and the idea that you can simply send them back.
As the far right chanted in a stunning ovation following the adoption of the Return Regulation in the plenary session in Strasbourg—and I quote—”Send them back, send them back, send them back.” The idea that you can send back all migrants in the European Union is preposterous. It is self-damaging and ultimately self-defeating. The European Union is ageing. We are losing weight. We are losing GDP in comparison with the world’s major powers and global competitors. We are also losing population in comparative terms. So we need to change our stance on migration.
In Spain, there is an alternative. In Spain, there is a positive view of migration because there is a progressive government. For one thing, Spain has, for several years now, surprisingly become the number one engine of growth and job creation. Spain is growing four times as fast as Germany, France, and Italy, while creating jobs and making economic growth compatible with social justice. That means the minimum wage is rising, pensions are rising, social protection is expanding, and social services also benefit from the contribution of migrants who are willing to pay taxes in order to finance the services needed to fulfil social rights and fundamental rights altogether. So, Spain is demonstrating that there is an alternative. Yet Spain is not only being minoritized; it is actually isolated in this approach. The prevailing view is a negative one, and that approach is both self-defeating and self-damaging for the future of the European Union.
Double Standards Are Undermining Europe’s Global Credibility
Row of EU Flags in front of the European Union Commission building in Brussels. Photo: VanderWolf Images.
The European Union often presents itself as a global normative power. Can Europe continue to lecture the world on human rights while simultaneously exporting asylum responsibilities beyond its own borders?
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar: Of course, I share the ambition that the European Union should grow—and grow fast—and become a relevant global actor. Of course, I agree that the European Union has to exercise hard power, not only soft power. I also agree that the European Union should join forces to build a truly credible and effective European diplomacy and combine its strengths so that it can become a meaningful actor in the global arena—one that is heard, respected, and worth listening to when engaging with other global powers. I mean talking to the United States, talking to Russia, talking to China, talking to India. That is what becoming global means. So, yes, I share that ambition. And yet I am also among those who criticise the fact that the European Union is still far from reaching that goal.
On the contrary, I am deeply critical of the evidence that the European Union is indulging in double standards. It is absolutely unforgivable that the European Union has tried to be hard and tough on Russia after Putin’s aggression against Ukraine while saying nothing about the genocide in Gaza and doing nothing about the genocide in Gaza. In my understanding, it is absolutely obnoxious and unacceptable that the Trump administration has imposed unilateral sanctions on members of the International Criminal Court who dared to call genocide a genocide.
And the European Union has not activated the Blocking Statute to protect members of the International Criminal Court who happen to reside in the EU. The International Criminal Court is located in The Hague, in the Netherlands, within the European Union. They should be protected by EU law. Yet the European Union says nothing, so as not to disturb Trump—the abuser, the bully, the bullying abuser in the global arena. That double standard, of course, damages the European Union’s reputation and credibility. I say this with sadness. I am not complacent.
I say it harshly because I am a fighter. I would like to bring about change so that we overcome those contradictions and double standards and actually gain leverage in the global arena by setting an example, by leading through example. That should be the idea. That should be the inspiration. Of course, I hope we learn how to do that in the foreseeable future.
There Is No Brandmauer Left in European Politics
You argue that the agreement became possible because the European People’s Party increasingly relies on cooperation with the radical right. Has the so-calledcordon sanitaireeffectively collapsed in migration policy?
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar: Absolutely. There is no cordon sanitaire anymore. In German, they call it Brandmauer. Es gibt keine Brandmauer mehr (there is no firewall anymore) in the European Union. There is no cordon sanitaire whatsoever. I have seen it with my own eyes. I have chaired the Committee on Civil Liberties and Human Rights for 10 years now, and I am the spokesperson of the S&D Group on constitutional affairs. And what do I see? Ever since we voted to invest the second European Commission with the votes of the EPP, the S&D, the Liberals, and the Greens, from that very moment—which marked the beginning of this parliamentary legislature—a so-called new majority has emerged, the Neue Mehrheit (New Majority), as they call it in German. It consists of the EPP together with three far-right political groups. They call themselves Conservatives, Patriots, and Sovereignists.
They are the majority. They are the ruling majority in the Parliament, in the Commission, and in the Council. And, of course, that means a great deal. In practical terms, it means there is certainly no cordon sanitaire anymore. None whatsoever. The EPP has broken all barriers against the rise of the far right. On the contrary, it is cooperating actively with the far right, and it is serving the far right’s self-congratulatory agenda. We saw that in the European Parliament when the far right, together with the EPP, secured the majority to adopt the Return Regulation, which was notorious and obnoxious in my view. They all stood up in a standing ovation and began chanting, “Send them back, send them back.” That is the picture. No Brandmauer, no cordon sanitaire anymore.
Progressives Have Been Better at Diagnosis Than at Therapy
Many observers argue that mainstream parties have not defeated populism but instead absorbed its migration agenda. Has populism already won the migration debate without necessarily winning elections?
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar: I’ll tell you something. I am a progressive. I am a Spanish socialist, and I have been involved in socialist- and progressive-led platforms and think tanks for many years now. That means I have taken part in countless roundtables, seminars, symposiums, congresses, and conferences of progressive parties dealing with the populist agenda and the rise of populism. My first point is this: we progressives are very good at diagnosis, but we are very bad at therapy. We are very good at analyzing what is going on, but we have not been effective so far in reversing the rising tide of populism.
Of course, we do know what populism is about. Populism is a way of simplifying complexity. It is a way of lying to people, of infantilizing them by scapegoating individuals or entire groups in order to exploit the anger directed against those who are being scapegoated. The idea is simple. You’re in pain, you’re in trouble, you’re in disarray, you feel discomfort. Are you angry? I tell you something: I don’t have a solution for you. I have something better. I have someone for you to hate, and I will point my finger at someone for you to hate.
Of course, migrants are the number one choice. But it can also be Muslims, Black people, LGBTQ people, or women, because men are supposedly becoming impoverished as women advance. That is also a very common idea on the far right. You, a young man, are told that you have fewer opportunities than your father did because your father did not have to compete with so many empowered women. Because women are empowered, you have fewer opportunities. And then young people move to the far right all over the place. It’s very tempting, but it’s stupid.
Of course, it should be challenged. It should be fought against. But still, populism is on the rise. Of course, it has heavily contaminated the migration agenda. Populism has managed, first and foremost, to spread fear everywhere: We have been invaded. Migration is out of control. Sooner or later, you’re going to be replaced. Europe is not going to be white and Christian by tomorrow evening. By tomorrow evening, Europe is going to be Black and Muslim. Don’t you see? They are invading us. They are out of control. You have to react. You have to do something about it.
That kind of fear is spreading everywhere. Of course, it is evil rhetoric. It has to be fought against. It has to be dismantled. To begin with, it is not true. It is not true that migration is massive. It is not true that migration is out of control. It is not true that it is a conspiracy. It is not true that Europe is changing color or religion. It is simply not true. It is simply a lie. But still, it works.
That is why we progressives have a challenge: not only to be good at diagnosis, but also to become good at therapy. What should we do to reverse this trend? That is a huge challenge for progressive thinking and for progressive policymaking.
The Return Regulation Europeanizes the Meloni Model
Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni and EU Commission President Ursula von der Leyen meet in Brussels, Belgium on November 03, 2022. Photo: Alexandros Michailidis.
You have repeatedly criticized what you call the ‘Melonization’ of European migration policy. To what extent has Giorgia Meloni succeeded in redefining the migration agenda not only in Italy but across the European Union itself?
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar: Take a look at the Return Regulation. What happened? First, Meloni tried to strike a deal with neighbouring Albania in order to establish return hubs outside Italy through an agreement based on an exchange of money. But then, the Italian courts struck down what is, in my understanding, a sick idea. They rejected the initiative on the grounds of Italian law.
Meloni then went to the European Commission and essentially said: “Hey, listen, I need an umbrella. I need an EU umbrella for this because the Italian umbrella is not enough. The Italian courts are rejecting the legality of what I’m trying to do with Albania. We should put it into EU law.” And that is how they Melonized the return policy. They effectively elevated the Italian idea—the Meloni idea—to the European level. But the bad news is that the Return Regulation contradicts the very principle that migration and asylum legislation at the European level should be based on shared responsibility and binding solidarity. There is no shared responsibility in negotiating with a third-country ruler to establish a return hub financed by your own budget. There is no European added value in legalizing and Melonizing return policy and legislation.
There is simply no added value. It is left to the member states to negotiate. Of course, Spain is not compelled to do that. Spain is not doing it, as long as the Spanish government remains in progressive hands. But others may try. They may ask, “Why shouldn’t I pay the ruler of Tunisia? Why shouldn’t I pay some African dictator so that I can fly some Black people out of my country?” Of course, as I have already explained, the idea itself is evil-minded. To begin with, I heard many times during the negotiations: “Fly them to Rwanda.” And my question was always: “Why Rwanda?” Only because you think it makes no difference as long as they are Black. As long as they are Black, you think it doesn’t matter whether they are in Rwanda. It doesn’t matter whether they come from Mali, Niger, or Uganda—you simply fly them to Rwanda because, supposedly, it makes no difference there as long as they are Black.
Is that not racism? Is it racist? Absolutely racist. You have to care about people, about human beings. You cannot fly a Malian or a Nigerian to Rwanda because there is no purpose. There is simply no point in flying them to Rwanda just because you are paying Paul Kagame, the ruler of Rwanda for 35 years now. That is a preposterous idea. And yet, that is the Melonization of return policy.
Asylum Is a Right That Must Be Respected, Whatever the Cost
The Commission argues that stronger returns are indispensable for preserving public support for legal asylum. Is Europe sacrificing liberal constitutionalism in an attempt to save political legitimacy?
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar: Respect for asylum seekers must remain unwavering. The European Union is bound by international law, which includes both international humanitarian law and human rights. And, of course, the Geneva Convention relating to the protection of asylum seekers—the Refugee Convention—is international law, indeed one of the fundamental pillars of international law. So, yes, migration is a fact, not a crisis, not a threat. It is simply a fact. But you know what? Asylum is a right. It must be respected, no matter the cost, no matter what. It must be respected.
The problem is that there is now a prevailing idea within the current political landscape we have been discussing, one that is increasingly leaning to the right and the far right. That idea is that most asylum seekers are fraudulent. They are portrayed as economic migrants seeking better opportunities. According to this logic, they all have to be discouraged. Migrants are discouraged, and asylum seekers are discouraged as well. Because, as the ministers of the interior argue, most asylum seekers are actually fraudulent. They are not people being persecuted. They are not people whose physical integrity is at risk. They are simply people seeking better opportunities. So seeking asylum is presented as nothing more than legal advice given to them by their counsel. And they, too, have to be discouraged. That is deeply worrisome.
We should protect asylum seekers because that is part of the European Union’s identity and its commitment to human rights. It is both a fundamental principle and a legal obligation. Every member state, individually, is a signatory to the Geneva Convention. And the European Union itself is bound by international law, including international humanitarian law and human rights.
No Human Being Should Ever Be Described as Illegal
Disembarkation of 300 migrants from Libya from the German rescue ship Sea-Watch 3 in Pozzallo, Province of Ragusa, Italy, on June 9, 2022. Photo: Alec Tassi.
And lastly, you have warned that Europe risks normalizing practices that were once politically unthinkable. Looking beyond migration, do you see this normalization as part of a broader process of democratic backsliding within the European Union itself?
MEP Juan Fernando López Aguilar: We’ve got to care about it. I do care. I’m a fighter against that trend. I’ve always tried to stand up whenever I have seen signs of it unfolding before my eyes, here in the European Parliament and elsewhere. Of course, you can see that things are changing for the worse in the European Parliament in that regard as well.
For instance, when I first came to the European Parliament, no one talked about illegal migrants. They spoke about irregular arrivals, but never about illegal human beings. Now it’s the new normal. You hear it a thousand times in every plenary session in Strasbourg. And you know what? No one notices anymore. No one stands up anymore and says, “Hey, listen, this is unacceptable. Are you talking about illegal human beings or what?” That’s unacceptable.
Migrants are not guilty because they tried, even in the worst of circumstances. Take, for instance, the boats coming to El Hierro in the Canary Islands. We receive 46,000 people a year in the Canaries, arriving by wooden boats departing from the western coast of Africa. It is the most perilous and deadliest route to the European Union. The Atlantic is much rougher than the Mediterranean. The waves are much higher in the Atlantic. And you know what? None of those trying to reach the European Union through the Canary Islands—because the Canary Islands are part of the European Union, absolutely—ignores the risk of perishing in the attempt, the risk of losing their lives. And still they try.
When they sink to the bottom of the sea, tragically, they are, in effect, saying, “Hey, listen, I’m dying, but still I had to try. I do not regret it because I had to try.” It’s terrible. That means a great deal. It means they are not taking a frivolous step, or trying to commit fraud, or trying to be troublemakers, or trying to create problems, or bring their problems to a foreign land. They are trying to do something with their lives out of despair. And that life is the only one they have. They are willing to sacrifice it for the sake of making it. That deserves respect.
The point I’m making is that the new normal is losing that human understanding of the tragedy I am describing. Instead, through aggressive rhetoric, those human beings are portrayed as illegal, as an invasion, as a threat to your security or to your identity. That is completely unworthy of the European Union. The European Union should not be like that.
So, I’m a fighter. Whenever I see that happening in the European Parliament, I react. But still, the question is: how long will it go?
