Abelardo de la Espriella.

Dr. Arnson: Building Legitimate State Presence in Colombia Requires More than the Military

As Abelardo de la Espriella assumes Colombia’s presidency on August 7, 2026, the country enters a defining moment in its democratic development. In this timely ECPS interview, Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson examines how insecurity, rather than ideological realignment alone, has reshaped Colombia’s political landscape and accelerated the rise of security-centered populism. While acknowledging widespread public demands for stronger state authority, she warns that democratic governance cannot be reduced to coercive effectiveness. Drawing on Colombia’s own experience with armed conflict, peacebuilding, and institutional reform, Arnson argues that “offering a blank check to the armed forces and police vis-à-vis accountability invites future abuse.” The interview explores the future of the Peace Accord, human rights, constitutional checks and balances, US-Colombia relations, and the broader implications of Latin America’s rightward turn for liberal democracy.

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

As Abelardo de la Espriella (ADLE) prepares to assume Colombia’s presidency on August 7, 2026, the country stands at a critical juncture in its democratic trajectory. His election concludes four years of Gustavo Petro’s unprecedented left-wing administration but simultaneously inaugurates a new political era shaped by mounting public insecurity, institutional distrust, and the growing appeal of punitive forms of governance. Across Latin America, deteriorating security conditions have fueled the rise of leaders who promise decisive action against crime, often accompanied by populist rhetoric that portrays liberal democratic constraints as obstacles rather than safeguards. Colombia now finds itself at the center of this regional transformation, raising fundamental questions about whether democratic resilience can be reconciled with demands for stronger executive authority and uncompromising security policies.

In this wide-ranging interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson—adjunct lecturer at the Johns Hopkins University School of Advanced International Studies and former director of the Latin American Program at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars—places Colombia’s political transition within the broader evolution of Latin American democracy. Rather than viewing ADLE’s victory as evidence of a sweeping ideological realignment, Dr. Arnson argues that insecurity, disappointment with governance, and anti-incumbent dynamics provide a more persuasive explanation. While acknowledging an observable regional rightward trend, she cautions that “it’s important not to exaggerate the anti-incumbency aspect” or “the degree of ideological realignment of the electorate,” emphasizing that Colombian voters remain positioned largely in the ideological center.

The interview’s central concern, however, lies beyond electoral politics. It focuses on the democratic implications of governing through an increasingly militarized conception of public security. Arnson argues that ADLE successfully capitalized on widespread perceptions that Petro’s Paz Total strategy had failed, allowing him to dominate the campaign through promises of an “iron fist” approach. Yet she also warns that the popularity of coercive policies should not obscure the institutional dangers they entail. Drawing on Colombia’s painful experience with the “false positives” scandal and other abuses committed during previous security campaigns, she insists that military effectiveness cannot be separated from democratic accountability and respect for human rights.

This concern reaches its sharpest expression in Dr. Arnson’s warning about the incoming administration. “The temptation during the ADLE administration to do away with human rights and legal constraints on the armed forces is high,” she cautions. While recognizing the urgency of restoring public security, she argues that “offering a blank check to the armed forces and police vis-à-vis accountability invites future abuse and a delegitimization of state forces.” In her view, indiscriminate coercion ultimately undermines the very objectives it seeks to achieve by weakening citizen trust and disproportionately harming Colombia’s most vulnerable communities.

Beyond security policy, Dr. Arnson examines the future of Colombia’s 2016 Peace Accord, the resilience of judicial institutions, relations with the United States under a second Trump administration, and the broader rise of security-centered populism throughout Latin America. Throughout the interview, she offers a nuanced reminder that democratic stability depends not merely on defeating armed actors but on preserving constitutional restraints, maintaining institutional checks and balances, and ensuring that the pursuit of order never comes at the expense of the rule of law. As Colombia enters the ADLE era on August 7, these questions are likely to define not only the country’s democratic future but also broader debates over populism, security, and democratic governance across the hemisphere.

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson.
Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson is an adjunct lecturer at the Johns Hopkins University School of Advanced International Studies and former director of the Latin American Program at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars

Here is the revised version of our interview with Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson, edited lightly to enhance clarity, readability, and overall flow for publication.

Anti-Incumbency Mattered, but It Does Not Fully Explain the Election

Colombia’s 2026 election has been interpreted by many observers as part of a broader regional resurgence of the populist radical right. Do you see Abelardo de la Espriella’s victory primarily as an ideological realignment, a backlash against Gustavo Petro’s presidency, or as another manifestation of the increasingly anti-incumbent nature of democratic politics in Latin America?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: There is undeniably a rightward trend in Latin American politics: since Donald Trump took office in January 2025, all 7 Latin American elections in South or Central America (Bolivia, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Ecuador, Honduras, and Peru) have been won by the center- or far right. Not all those elected are populists or outsiders; and most, but not all, reflected an anti-incumbent wave. Donald Trump’s explicit endorsement of victorious presidential candidates in Honduras and Colombia may have played a role, given the importance of the United States to both countries, but the impact is difficult to quantify.

Colombia’s Abelardo de la Espriella (ADLE) cast himself as an outsider and in certain aspects he was. A lawyer and businessman with his own luxury brands, ADLE created his own political movement and electoral vehicle—Defensores de la Patria—outside the established party system. Prior to his election he had never held political office.

A notable feature of the 2026 presidential election was the collapse of Colombia’s traditional right, represented by Paloma Valencia of the Centro Democrático party. She was endorsed by former president Álvaro Uribe and won a primary of rightist candidates that did not include ADLE.  In the first round, Valencia was attacked as one of the políticos de siempre(same old politicians) and garnered less than 7 percent of the vote. Meanwhile centrist presidential candidates together pulled in just over 5 percent, although centrist mayors govern five of Colombia’s largest cities. 

There was certainly an anti-incumbent aspect to ADLE’s election, as leftist candidate Iván Cepeda pledged continuity with many of the policies of President Gustavo Petro, including the widely criticized negotiations with criminal and quasi-insurgent groups under the rubric of Paz Total. But it’s important not to exaggerate the anti-incumbency aspect. Petro’s approval rates rose to over 46 percent in February 2026, following increases in the minimum wage. Moreover, ADLE won by an extremely narrow margin—just under 252,000 votes of the over 26 million cast, less than one percent. Without the votes of 390,974 Colombians living abroad, ADLE would have lost to Cepeda. 

Similarly, one must not exaggerate the degree of ideological realignment of the electorate. As political scientist Orlando Pérez has pointed out, the way Colombian voters defined themselves on a left-right spectrum changed very little between 2020 and 2024. On a scale of one to ten (with zero on the far left and 10 the far right), the Colombian average in 2024 was 5.3, up only 0.4 from 2020, and well below the 2002 peak of 6.8. 

De la Espriella Won by Owning the Security Narrative

You have long argued that Colombian democracy must be understood through the interaction of political institutions, armed conflict, and state legitimacy. To what extent does this election reveal that insecurity, rather than ideology, has become the principal driver of electoral behavior, allowing populist outsiders to redefine political competition around order rather than representation?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: One area of clear advantage for ADLE was on security issues. Petro’s signature policy of Paz Total was widely seen as a disastrous failure. Multiple indicators showed rising insecurity in rural and urban areas, including the assassination of a prominent center-right candidate in 2025, the territorial expansion of illegal armed groups and their dominance over local populations, increased kidnappings, extortion, and child recruitment, and the growth of criminal economies such as drug trafficking and illegal mining. Public opinion polls prior to the election overwhelmingly showed that “public order” was the principal concern of Colombian voters, far outstripping the second most reported issue, unemployment and the economy. Iván Cepeda’s pledge to continue Petro’s policy of negotiating with armed groups allowed De la Espriella to dominate the security narrative.

ADLE proposed numerous “iron fist” security measures, including robust military campaigns to retake territory, fumigate coca crops, build maximum security “mega-prisons” modeled on those in El Salvador, expand military budgets, and invest in intelligence, technology, and equipment for the armed forces and police. He also pledged a reinvigorated security alliance with the United States and Israel. Some of his proposals were unrealistic—he initially vowed to recapture territory in the first 90 days of his term. But his proposals, punctuated by worsening security indicators and a spate of deadly bombings in southwest Colombia before the election, resonated with the public.

Issues of social inclusion—a staple of populist politics—did not figure prominently in ADLE’s campaign. He vowed to shrink the size of the state by 40 percent and emphasized the role of free markets in growing the economy. He cited his private sector experience as the key to rapidly resolving one of Colombia’s most longstanding, thorny issues: land tenure. He also announced vague plans to address hunger by convincing prominent businessmen to purchase agricultural products in various departments of the country. At the same time, he appealed to voter sentiment by promising to come down with an “iron fist” (mano de hierro) against those who would steal public funds. He proposed the creation of an anti-corruption “search bloc,” the kind of specialized police unit that hunted down Pablo Escobar in the early 1990s. 

Security Populism Has Become a Staple of Latin American Politics

Colombia police.
Armed riot police on the streets of Bogota, Colombia on May 01, 2016. Photo: Dreamstime.

Throughout Latin America we increasingly observe candidates who combine anti-establishment rhetoric with promises of uncompromising law-and-order policies. Is Colombia witnessing the emergence of a distinctly Colombian version of right-wing populism, or does De la Espriella fit into a broader transnational family that includes leaders such as Nayib Bukele, Javier Milei, Donald Trump, and José Antonio Kast?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: The problems of crime and violence in Latin America are long-standing and profound. According to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), “Latin America and the Caribbean remain the region most affected by organized crime and gang-related violence.” Homicide rates vary in different sub-regions and within countries, but are the highest in the world, almost four times the global average. Regional homicide rates declined between 2015 and 2023, but the UNODC reported that “the level of lethal violence remains alarmingly high.”

Homicides reflect only part of the story, however. Security analyst Robert Muggah has underscored how “lived insecurity often manifests as extortion at shopfronts, robbery on commuting routes, spectacular high-visibility incidents, and a persistent suspicion that criminals exercise de facto authority in specific neighborhoods.” In many countries, the fear of crime outstrips actual indicators of crime and violence. Muggah argues that the “disjuncture between real and perceived violent crime is most evident in places once seen as comparatively safe but where organized crime and everyday violence have become more visible.” 

As a result, UNODC found that only 44 percent of citizens in Latin America feel safe walking alone in their neighborhood at night, the lowest percentage in the world and almost 30 percent lower than the global average. Chilean scholar Lucía Dammert has characterized the region’s security challenges in terms of the existence of multi-dimensional and deeply rooted structures of illegal power. These have emerged from a “perfect storm” of political crisis, corruption, criminal penetration of the state, powerful criminal economies, violent forms of dispute resolution, and the weakness of state institutions responsible for public safety.  

Against this backdrop, security populism has become a staple of political campaigns, as fearful citizens demand what Muggah has called “expanded coercive power.” Governments have responded by imposing states of emergency, granting expanded powers to the military to fight crime, and pursuing judicial reforms to limit the rights of the accused and impose harsher sentences. Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele has adopted the most draconian measures, improving security but at a horrendous cost to human rights, democracy, and the rule of law. His notorious anti-terrorism prison known as CECOT is a model which many leaders on the right look to emulate. ADLE’s pledge to construct ten mega-prisons reflects the appeal of the so-called “Bukele model.” Indeed, when a journalist asked De la Espriella to respond in one word to the name Bukele, he responded, “the future.”  

Elite Connections Do Not Prevent Anti-Elite Appeals

One striking feature of election campaign was the prominence of anti-elite discourse despite the fact that several leading candidates were themselves deeply embedded in political and economic elites. Does this suggest that contemporary populism has become less about social representation than about constructing a moral narrative that divides society between virtuous citizens and corrupt establishments?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: For all his anti-elite pretensions, Colombian journalists have pointed out ADLE’s numerous connections to Colombia’s political and private sector elite. During his legal career he defended right-wing members of Congress ultimately convicted for their ties to paramilitary groups (the so-called parapolítica scandal). He also served as a defense lawyer for other business and government figures accused of corruption, including the notorious Alex Saab, accused of massive corruption and laundering money for the Venezuelan dictatorship. In addition, ADLE has surrounded himself with well-known figures in Colombia’s political class. His vice-presidential running mate, José Manuel Restrepo, held two ministerial posts during the Iván Duque presidency (Minister of Commerce, Industry, and Tourism and Minister of Finance and Public Credit) and his choice for Interior Minister, Rodrigo Lara Restrepo, served as president of the House of Representatives and in the Senate. Miguel Gómez Martínez, ADLE’s designate for Finance Minister, is a former ambassador and deputy comptroller general. These individuals are expected to provide important governing experience for the new administration.

Despite his many elite connections, ADLE’s campaign featured a staple of populist discourse—the division of society between the virtuous “people” and corrupt elites. ADLE claimed to represent “los nunca” (the nobodies) against los de siempre (the usual suspects or established political class). The anti-elite messaging struck a chord considering the low regard of Colombian citizens for key political institutions. Polling by the Colombian firm Invamer in February 2026 showed that political parties, the judicial system, and the Congress were viewed more unfavorably than any other institution in Colombia except the ELN criminal insurgency. (The armed forces and the Catholic Church scored highest).

Another feature of populism is the view that opponents are enemies to be crushed, not legitimate political actors with whom to bargain. During the campaign, ADLE declared himself the “sworn enemy” of the left (which he threatened to “disembowel”), qualifying them as “criminals,” “bandits,” and “narcoterrorists.” Invoking an all-out Manichaean struggle between good and evil, he characterized the election as a choice between “totalitarianism and democracy.” He claimed divine inspiration for his decision to run, telling Spain’s El País that God had told him to enter politics at a moment of “extreme danger” to the homeland. The battle was not just political, he said, but also “moral and spiritual” given that “evil inhabits the Casa de Nariño,” the presidential house. 

ADLE emphasized conservative family values but was not above vulgar language and demonstrations of hypermasculinity. He boasted that women voters were attracted by the size of his genitals and claimed that he had the “balls” (cojones) to take on established interests.

It is an open question as to whether ADLE’s populist campaign tactics will spill over into his governing style and whether the inclusion of seasoned center-right politicians in his cabinet will moderate his propensity for disruption.  

False Claims of Fraud Erode Trust Even When Elections Are Fair

Colombia's President Gustavo Petro.
Colombia’s former President Gustavo Petro. Photo: Dreamstime.

The election was accompanied by allegations of electoral irregularities and public questioning of preliminary results. You recently warned that fraud narratives without evidence can undermine democratic institutions. More broadly, how dangerous is the normalization of electoral delegitimization in countries with otherwise credible electoral systems? Can repeated attacks on electoral integrity become a form of democratic erosion even when institutions ultimately withstand them?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: No one did more to undermine confidence in the electoral system that President Petro himself. For months he spread false narratives about fraud and refused to accept ADLE’s victory; a group of his supporters have filed a judicial complaint aimed at declaring the election null and void. Petro accused the National Civil Registry (Registraduría Nacional del Estado Civil), in charge of voter registration and vote tabulation, of manipulating results before the election. Petro also lashed out at Colombian and Israeli companies for their supposed electoral intervention. Even after Iván Cepeda himself recognized ADLE’s victory, Petro claimed that “the Colombian people have elected Iván Cepeda.”  

The fraud narrative was amplified on social media. According to the US-based Carter Center, the campaign marked the first “widespread use of artificial intelligence” in Colombian elections, contributing to the spread of disinformation. This included “false messages about voting, out-of-context videos suggesting fraud, alleged early results, and misleading narratives about the transparency of the vote count.” 

Despite repeated denunciations of fraud, Petro failed to present supporting evidence. An election observer team from the European Union praised the electoral system’s transparency, safeguards, and rapid publication of results. Observers from the Organization of American States and Colombia’s own Electoral Observation Mission (Misión de Observación Elctoral, MOE) acknowledged complaints and made recommendations to improve technical aspects of election administration but similarly found no evidence to support fraud allegations. 

Had Cepeda won the election, one presumes that Gustavo Petro would have desisted from claiming fraud. Insisting on the narrative will continue to erode faith in Colombia’s institutions, fostering ongoing polarization and ultimately damaging its democracy. 

Performance Matters as Much as Democratic Principles

Colombia’s 1991 Constitution was designed to broaden democratic inclusion after decades of political violence. Yet thirty-five years later, many Colombians appear willing to support leaders advocating exceptional measures against crime and armed groups. Does this suggest that constitutional democracy is increasingly being judged less by liberal principles than by its perceived capacity to deliver security and effective governance?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: It is probably not the case that citizens are indifferent to issues of democratic practices, civil liberties, and human rights. In its most recent survey in 2024, the Santiago-based polling firm Latinobarómetro found that 61 percent of Colombian’s agreed with the statement that “democracy may have its problems but it’s the best system of government.” At the same time, Latinobarómetro found that a scant 20 percent of Colombians were satisfied with the way democracy functioned. The gap demonstrates an important weakness in Colombia’s democratic system—its capacity to deliver things that citizens want and need: security and economic opportunity. An alarming majority of Colombians—52 percent—said they didn’t care if a non-democratic government came to power “if it solved problems.” Vanderbilt University’s LAPOP has consistently found that crime victimization and support for authoritarian measures go hand in hand. And in his book, The Crisis of Modern Capitalism, British financial correspondent Martin Wolf found that an essential ingredient of democratic stability was an economy that provided for a decent standard of living. Government performance, rather than abstract principles, is key to the future of representative democracy, in Colombia and elsewhere.

Security Without Accountability Invites Future Abuse

Colombia-Army
Bogotá, Colombia — January 18, 2009: Colombian soldiers march during a military parade in Plaza de Bolívar, the historic heart of Bogotá. Photo: King Ho Yim / Dreamstime.

Throughout your work you have emphasized that unresolved violence weakens democratic institutions. If Colombia shifts from Petro’s strategy of negotiation toward a far more coercive security doctrine, what lessons should policymakers draw from Colombia’s own history regarding the relationship between military effectiveness, democratic accountability, and respect for human rights?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: Of the many incoherencies of Petro’s Total Peace policy, the most important was a lack of strategic vision concerning the relationship between military force and political negotiations with insurgent or criminal groups (in recent years, the line has all but disappeared). Ceasefires with multiple armed groups allowed them to expand their territorial presence and increase their coercive control over the civilian population. By contrast, the peace accord between the government of Juan Manuel Santos and Colombia’s largest insurgent group, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), was concluded after a sequence of military operations, most notably between 2008 and 2012, that profoundly weakened the insurgency. 

The Colombian experience also demonstrates that military and political advances absent efforts to establish legitimate state presence throughout the national territory are easily reversible. Following the FARC’s demobilization in 2017, other armed groups, not the state, filled the vacuum of power. These groups competed amongst themselves for lucrative drug routes and other sources of illegal rent. The 2016 peace accord provided an historic opportunity to extend state presence throughout the countryside, in security as well as development terms. The failure to do so began late in the Santos administration, continued under the Duque administration, and accelerated during Petro’s term.  

That said, Colombia also illustrates the dangers of military force not bounded by democratic and human rights norms. Over a period of decades—but principally between 2002 and 2008—the military murdered over 7,800 young men from poor neighborhoods, dressing them up in guerrilla uniforms to inflate body counts. This was the “false positives” scandal, the worst blow to the prestige of the armed forces in recent times. Other undemocratic practices carried out in the name of security during the Uribe years included the illegal wiretapping of opposition politicians, Supreme Court justices, and journalists. This led to the dissolution of Colombia’s domestic intelligence agency, the DAS.

The temptation during the ADLE administration to do away with human rights and legal constraints on the armed forces is high. ADLE has proposed total judicial security for public security forces ….“an absolute priority to the public forces over the narcoterrorists regarding international humanitarian law.” However necessary it is to improve security in Colombia, offering a blank check to the armed forces and police vis-à-vis accountability invites future abuse and a delegitimization of state forces. The tasks of weakening violent actors and illegal economies, recovering state control of territory, and reinforcing citizen trust in the police and armed forces are undermined by indiscriminate tactics that inevitably have their greatest impact on poor communities.   

Sustainable Peace Depends on Governance, Not Only Coercion

How should we understand the relationship between populism and Colombia’s long-standing armed conflict? Does persistent insecurity create unusually fertile conditions for populist leaders who promise decisive action, or does populist politics itself risk further polarizing a society that has struggled for decades to build sustainable peace?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: During Petro’s term, a dynamic of confrontation between and among armed groups largely replaced confrontation between such groups and the government, with disastrous consequences for the civilian population. According to the International Committee for the Red Cross, the humanitarian consequences of the armed conflict in 2025 reached “the most serious level in the last decade.” Restrictions on movement (confinements), extorsion, forced recruitment, and displacement reflect a perverse gobernanza criminal in Colombia’s rural areas where the state has historically been absent. The increase in the number of combatants comprising Colombia’s eight principal illegal armed groups has been staggering since the peace accord with the FARC: from approximately 6,500 in 2017 to more than 27,000 today, according to government figures compiled by the Bogotá think tank, Fundación Ideas para la Paz. While significant increases took place under the previous government of President Iván Duque, the pace of growth accelerated between 2023-2025 during Petro’s term. 

This is the backdrop to ADLE’s victory. He laid out his security approach in a February 2026 interview with Colombia’s leading daily, El Tiempo. To combat all the forms of violence, he said, one had to begin by fumigating 333,000 hectares of coca, “the base of the pyramid” and source of income for criminal confederations. He also proposed bombing narcoterrorist camps and killing or capturing ten ringleaders in each Colombian department.

One does not have to discount the importance of a robust security strategy to weaken criminal groups and the illicit economies on which they rely to observe that force alone will not establish state legitimacy. Colombia’s peace agreement posited that rural development and creating the conditions for sustainable livelihoods, especially in coca-producing areas, were essential ingredients of governance and stability. That premise remains as valid today as it was in 2016. 

Undermining the Peace Accord Would Be Counterproductive

The 2016 Peace Accord remains one of the most ambitious peacebuilding projects in recent history. To what extent could a more confrontational security strategy alter the political consensus surrounding the peace process? Is Colombia entering a period of policy correction, or might it risk reversing some of the institutional gains achieved since the agreement?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: One of the biggest obstacles to peace accord implementation has been, precisely, the lack of consensus over its provisions. This was reflected most dramatically in the narrow victory of the “No” vote in an October 2016 plebiscite. But since then, the accord has been embedded in Colombian law and the constitution, providing for some, albeit uneven, degree of implementation over the last decade. Most important have been programs of reinsertion for some 11,000 former combatants as well as focused development programs, known as PDET’s, to provide development opportunities for conflict- and coca-affected communities. The Petro administration oversaw some advances in land restitution but most of the rural reform agenda remains pending, as do other important aspects of the accord. 

The University of Notre Dame’s Kroc Institute, which measures accord implementation, noted in June 2026 that “violence remains the primary impediment to sustainable peace.” The Institute noted the “gap between ambitious planning and territorial reality” and cited a “pressing need to accelerate structural reforms.”

To what extent, if at all, the ADLE administration will pursue further implementation of the 2016 accord remains to be seen, although it is unlikely. The Trump administration maneuvered in 2025 to narrow the mandate of the UN mission verifying implementation of the peace agreement, eliminating its monitoring of the accord’s ethnic chapter and the work of the transitional justice mechanism known as the JEP (Special Jurisdiction for Peace). ADLE has vowed to abolish the JEP; and although it has constitutional standing, he could simply starve the court of funds. The same holds true for other aspects of the accord, including programs to reincorporate demobilized fighters into civilian life. 

Efforts to undermine the peace agreement will likely prove to be counter-productive. Without judicial guarantees and sustainable livelihoods, hundreds if not thousands of demobilized guerrillas could be tempted to return to arms, worsening the security challenges.  

Human Rights Institutions Face Growing Political Pressure

Colombia, protest.
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.

You have written extensively about the importance of human rights in democratic consolidation. Around the world, however, populist leaders increasingly portray human rights institutions as obstacles to popular sovereignty and effective governance. How vulnerable are Colombia’s judicial institutions, constitutional safeguards, and human rights mechanisms to this increasingly widespread populist critique?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: Since winning the election, ADLE has vowed to eliminate several entities charged with overseeing peace and human rights issues, folding their functions into other ministries. Those on the chopping block include the office of the High Commissioner for Peace, and the presidential advisors for National Reconciliation and for Human Rights and International Humanitarian Law. Like President Javier Milei in Argentina, ADLE has plans to slash government positions and dramatically shrink the size of the state. There is undoubtedly a need for state reform and improved inter-agency coordination in Colombia. For example, Colombian scholar Michael Weintraub has identified over two dozen government entities involved in drug policy. Colombia has two institutions with important human rights responsibilities—the Defensoría del Pueblo and the Procuraduría General de la Nación (the People’s Defender and Inspector General, respectively.) The leaders of both institutions are elected by the Colombian legislature from a slate of candidates put forward by the executive branch and the courts. The heads of these agencies serve four-year terms which end in 2028 (Defensor) and 2029 (Procurador). Hence, while activities of both institutions can be affected by budget and personnel cuts, ADLE is not at liberty to remove the existing leadership.

Especially troubling is ADLE’s hostility to multilateral organizations and human rights bodies. He has tempered pledges made in 2025 to withdraw Colombia from the UN, OAS, and Inter-American human rights system, but he has made no secret that he views these organizations as biased, inefficient, and contrary to Colombia’s interests. Eliminating or reducing the UN and OAS presence within Colombia would be especially damaging, given the rising human and economic toll of conflict and violence. Multiple parts of the UN system, including the Verification Mission for the Peace Process, the High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR), and the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) all play critical roles. These include verifying the implementation of the peace agreement, providing assistance to displaced populations and refugees (nearly 3 million Venezuelan refugees and migrants have entered Colombia since 2014), and addressing the worsening human rights and humanitarian crisis in rural areas. All parts of the UN system, in Colombia and elsewhere, have suffered budget cuts that are largely a product of reductions in US assistance. For its part, the OAS provided extensive monitoring of the first and second rounds of the 2026 elections, pushing back against narratives of fraud and making numerous recommendations to strengthen electoral institutions and processes; and since 2004, the OAS Mission to Support the Peace Process has also provided important support for peacebuilding.  

ADLE’s plans to intensify military operations, if coupled with efforts to reduce the presence of key international actors, could significantly worsen the already dire situation facing conflict-affected populations.

Washington and Bogotá Are Entering a New Phase of Cooperation

Your recent work highlights both the enduring strategic importance of Colombia for the United States and growing tensions in bilateral relations. Under a new right-leaning Colombian administration and a second Trump presidency, do you anticipate a restoration of the traditional US-Colombia partnership, or could new disagreements emerge despite greater ideological affinity?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: US-Colombia relations will tighten substantially following the years of tension and near rupture during the Petro years. Deputy Assistant Secretary of War Joseph Humire visited Colombia in July 2026, pledging to take cooperation to “new levels” and invoking a “Plan Patriota 2.0,” an important symbolic reference to Álvaro Uribe’s 2002 security policy. Also in July, a high-level Colombian delegation visited Washington, including the incoming vice president and ministers of finance, trade, foreign affairs, and defense. The group held a whirlwind of meetings in the executive branch, Congress, and international development banks, with officials emphasizing a “new beginning” in bilateral relations. 

ADLE has called for tightening relations with the United States and Israel, citing needs for new military equipment, technology, intelligence and AI capacity, and expanded troop levels. His view that narcoterrorism constitutes not just a threat to Colombia but to the national security of the United States dovetails seamlessly with that of the Trump administration. Early in his term President Trump designated drug cartels and gangs as Foreign Terrorist Organizations and late last year informed the US Congress that actions by cartels “constitute an armed attack against the United States.” In that context, the United States has carried out dozens of attacks on so-called narcolanchas in the Caribbean and Eastern Pacific, killing hundreds in what critics decry as violations of the laws of war.  

Along with other conservative leaders in the hemisphere, ADLE is poised to eagerly join the Trump administration’s Americas Counter Cartel initiative and participate in the security alliance known as the Shield of the Americas. It remains to be seen, however, what concrete assistance will flow through these programs, despite the pressing need for regional collaboration in combatting organized crime. At the same time, a more direct US role in Colombian security operations—something alluded to in the White House Counterterrorism Strategy—could provoke a strong backlash among ADLE opponents who constitute roughly half the electorate.

ADLE’s and the Trump administration’s militarized approach to counter-drug strategy is likely to meet its most significant obstacles in the US Congress. This will be especially true if the US mid-term elections put Democrats in control of one or, potentially, both houses of Congress. Thus far, President Trump has relied on Republican majorities in the House and Senate to support, however narrowly, his foreign policy priorities. That said, the foreign aid bill signed into law in February 2026 contained provisions advanced by Democrats that conditioned 20 percent of military financing on progress in bringing human rights violators to justice, reducing threats and attacks on civil society activists, and protecting Afro-Colombian and Indigenous communities. Democrats will insist—as they have over the decades of US-Colombian cooperation—on the human rights, humanitarian, and development dimensions of bilateral relations. Restoring what had been a bipartisan consensus over the importance of US-Colombian relations will require accommodating not just the Trump administration and Republicans, but also congressional Democrats. Álvaro Uribe ignored such concerns to his peril, ultimately failing to overcome resistance to a long-sought bilateral free trade agreement (FTA) because of human rights concerns.  

The Trump administration is also likely to support financing from both the US Treasury and international financial institutions to stabilize Colombia’s economy. Government spending and public debt mushroomed during Petro’s presidency as he suspended the so-called fiscal rule designed to limit the debt-to-GDP ratio. The incoming ADLE administration inherits a fiscal deficit that has already resulted in a downgrading of Colombia’s credit rating. Cutting the budget to restore fiscal balance has the potential to detonate social unrest.

Executive Ambition Will Face Legislative and Judicial Constraints

Unidentified people in the senate meeting, in congress building in Bogota, Colombia on October 22, 2017. Photo: Pablo Hidalgo / Dreamstime.

Many scholars argue that contemporary democratic crises are increasingly characterized not by abrupt authoritarian breakdowns but by gradual institutional erosion. Looking ahead, what indicators should observers watch most closely in Colombia to distinguish democratic correction from democratic backsliding under the incoming government?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: Political scientist Michael Coppedge has identified two main paths to democratic backsliding: attacks on civil liberties and a free press, and the erosion of checks and balances (what the scholarly literature calls “horizontal accountability”). Backsliding is associated with power grabs by the executive branch, the weakening of judicial institutions, and efforts to undermine the independence of electoral and other institutions. 

ADLE may be tempted to rule by decree, but he is likely to face legislative and judicial checks on his power. The composition of the legislature since the March 2026 elections saw Petro and Cepeda’s Pacto Histórico party win the largest number of seats in the House and Senate, significantly more than Álvaro Uribe’s center-right Centro Democrático. According to Colombia Risk Analysis, a consultancy, Colombia’s traditional Conservative and Liberal parties, together with the centrist Partido de la U, captured 47 Senate seats. These parties constitute a “swing” bloc with which ADLE will have to negotiate, issue by issue, to enact parts of his agenda.

ADLE cannot even count on the center-right to back his priorities all the time. When the new Congress was inaugurated in July 2026, a bizarre left-right alliance between the Pacto Histórico and Centro Democrático kept ADLE’s preferred candidate from being elected legislative president. Recurrent obstacles of this sort might tempt ADLE to try to bypass the Congress altogether, but Colombia’s Constitutional Court has the ultimate authority to rule on the constitutionality of executive decrees and legislation. The Court is widely respected as a defender of Colombia’s rights-oriented 1991 Constitution. 

It Is Too Early to Declare a Permanent Rightward Turn

There were lots of Venezuelans crossing the border into the land of Colombia. This was captured in La parada, Colombia. Photo: Shutterstock.

Finally, stepping back from Colombia itself, do you believe Latin America is entering a new political cycle in which populist radical-right movements increasingly replace the left-populist wave or “pink tide” of the previous decade? Or are we witnessing something more profound—a regional transformation in which ideology matters less than citizens’ demand for security, state effectiveness, and political order?

Dr. Cynthia J. Arnson: The electoral successes of the far right in Latin America are a relatively new phenomenon (this excludes right-wing military regimes that took power by force). Thus, it is perhaps too soon to make sweeping conclusions about what their electoral victories bode for the region.  

Some analysts view the recent spate of right-wing successes as part of an anti-incumbency trend, in which the deep challenges of governance, particularly in confronting crime and organized crime, lead to popular frustration and a subsequent swing of the political pendulum. If this view is correct, and if the right proves no more successful in improving security and livelihoods than their left-wing predecessors, future elections could see the pendulum swing away from right-led governments. That said, three countries in Latin America—the Dominican Republic, Ecuador, and Mexico—bucked the anti-incumbency trend in their most recent presidential elections, suggesting that the desire for alternation may be less potent than before. Furthermore, polling by Latinobarómetro and others shows little evidence of a large ideological realignment of the region’s electorate, with most voters placing themselves towards the middle of the ideological spectrum.

Chilean political scientist Cristóbal Rovira Kaltwasser, co-editor of a 2026 volume, The Far Right in Latin America, has identified commonalities among far-right actors in Latin America, Europe and the United States; they are “capitalizing on feelings of status loss and declining political relevance among groups unsettled by the gradual incorporation of historically marginalized populations.” Low or mediocre economic growth, stagnating or declining real wages, the high cost of living (exacerbated now by the Iran war), culture wars, and the mistrust or rejection of elites provide a common backdrop for the rise of far-right leaders.

Whereas the “rise of the left” in Latin America in the aughts was associated with a critique of neoliberalism and the structural adjustment reforms advocated by Washington-based institutions, for Rovira and other analysts, the rise of the right is linked to cultural rather than economic issues. These include family, traditional gender roles, religion, and opposition to abortion and LBGTQ rights. Today’s right-wing governments inherit a longstanding feature of rightist politics having to do with crime-fighting strategies. Two decades before Nayib Bukele imposed a 2022 state of emergency and jailed close to 1.5 percent of the Salvadoran population, El Salvador’s right-wing presidents imposed mano dura and súper mano dura policies to curb gang violence. Rightists since the 1990s have rejected rights-based efforts to fight crime through policies aimed at fostering social inclusion, community policing, and youth-oriented crime prevention. Deteriorating security conditions in Latin America—both real and perceived—have created a backlash against policies viewed as “soft on crime,” creating a fertile climate for the emergence of “punitive populism” embraced by the right long before Latin America’s most recent electoral cycle.   

The anti-immigrant sentiment that has super-charged the right in Europe and the United States is reflected unevenly in Latin America. Chile’s rightist president José Antonio Kast made opposition to immigration a central tenet of his campaign, linking the rise in crime to foreign gangs such as Venezuela’s Tren de Aragua. By contrast—and despite the presence of close to three million Venezuelans in Colombia—anti-migrant sentiment did not figure in ADLE’s campaign.  

It is difficult to predict how long the current rightward shift will last. The salience of identity politics means that politicians will have to satisfy not only demands for improved performance in the security and economic arenas but also appeal to voters’ sense of self in relation to others in society.  Polarization is likely to deepen as core values become all-or-nothing objects of contestation. How this dynamic plays out will be central to determining liberal democracy’s future. 

Brazil’s elected President Luís Inácio Lula da Silva and former President Bolsonaro participated in the debate over Brazil in São Paulo on October 16, 2022. Photo: Isaac Fontana.

Brazil’s 2026 Election: How Culture Wars Reproduce Social Division

Brazil’s 2026 presidential election is widely portrayed as another contest between left and right. In this commentary, Dr. João Ferreira Dias argues that this interpretation overlooks the deeper forces shaping Brazilian politics. Rather than replacing social inequalities, culture wars moralize them, transforming disputes over race, religion, gender, education, and social mobility into competing visions of national identity. Dr. Ferreira Dias contends that both Lulism and Bolsonarism have evolved into enduring social identities sustained by negative partisanship, while culture wars function as a mechanism for reproducing political polarization across electoral cycles. The commentary offers a timely framework for understanding why Brazil’s 2026 election is unlikely to resolve the country’s profound social divisions, regardless of which candidate prevails.

By João Ferreira Dias

Four years ago, after Lula da Silva’s narrow victory over Jair Bolsonaro, I described Brazil as a country “without communicating vessels” (Ferreira Dias, 2022). Lula won the election, but he did not defeat Bolsonarism. Bolsonaro lost the presidency, but he did not lose his electorate, his cultural influence or his capacity to define the language of the Brazilian right.

The 2026 presidential election confirms that this division was not a temporary consequence of Bolsonaro’s government. Lula is again the candidate around whom the Brazilian left organizes itself, while Flávio Bolsonaro is attempting to transform his father’s political movement into a family inheritance. The candidates have partly changed, but the political and social frontier separating their respective camps remains remarkably stable.

Brazil is therefore not simply preparing to choose between competing governments. Once again, it is being asked to choose between two moral representations of the country.

Culture Wars and the Social Question

Culture wars are often described as conflicts over abortion, sexuality, gender, religion, education and national identity. Yet in Brazil they cannot be understood as a superficial distraction from economic and social problems. 

Culture wars do not replace the social question. They moralize it.

Brazil remains marked by extreme inequality, racial hierarchy, regional asymmetries and the unequal presence of the state. These divisions are older than Lulism and Bolsonarism. What contemporary political actors have done is translate them into narratives about merit, family, religion, authority and national belonging.

A dispute over access to higher education becomes a conflict over merit. Racial affirmative action becomes “reverse discrimination.” The recognition of LGBT rights becomes an attack on the traditional family. Environmental regulation becomes a conspiracy against agribusiness and national development. Secular public institutions become agents of religious persecution.

Material conflicts do not disappear. They acquire a moral language.

The political importance of this translation became particularly visible during the governments of Lula and Dilma Rousseff. The expansion of higher education, affirmative action and social policies altered the composition of institutions previously occupied disproportionately by white, middle- and upper-class Brazilians. Black, brown and lower-income students gained greater access to universities and other spaces of social recognition (Francis-Tan & Tannuri-Pianto, 2024).

For the beneficiaries, these changes represented an extension of citizenship. For some members of historically privileged groups, however, inclusion could be experienced as the loss of exclusivity. Social democratization was consequently presented as unfair advantage, ideological imposition or the destruction of merit.

It would be simplistic to argue that social inclusion caused Bolsonarism. Bolsonaro’s rise also reflected economic recession, corruption scandals, public insecurity, institutional discredit and hostility towards the political establishment (Hunter & Power, 2019). Nevertheless, his movement successfully aligned these crises with pre-existing divisions involving race, religion, gender and social status (Layton et al., 2021).

Bolsonaro did not invent Brazil’s divisions. He gave them a common grammar.

Lulism and Bolsonarism as Social Identities

Brazilian polarization can no longer be described solely as ideological distance between left- and right-wing voters. It has become affective and social. Citizens increasingly define themselves through rejection of the opposing political camp. Anti-petismo and anti-Bolsonarism operate as negative identities: voters know whom they oppose, fear and distrust, even when their own positive political commitments are less clearly defined (Areal, 2022). 

Lulism and Bolsonarism have therefore become more than electoral preferences.

For millions of Brazilians, Lula represents the memory of increasing wages, social mobility, access to consumption, higher education and recognition by a state that had historically marginalized the poor. Lula is not merely a candidate. He is the political archive of a period during which many citizens believed that their children might live better than they had.

This explains his durability. It also reveals the principal weakness of the Brazilian left. The social memory created by Lulism has not produced an institutionalized political succession. Its principal custodian remains Lula himself.

Lula’s fourth presidential campaign is therefore simultaneously evidence of political strength and proof of institutional failure. The left remains united because Lula is still present. It does not know whether it will remain united when he is gone.

Bolsonarism faces a different succession problem. It has survived Bolsonaro because it is no longer merely the relationship between one charismatic leader and his followers. It possesses parliamentary representatives, evangelical networks, digital infrastructures and a political language through which supporters interpret the world.

Within that worldview, the authentic Brazilian is Christian, productive, patriotic, supportive of the police and suspicious of universities, journalists, artists and progressive movements. Political opponents are not simply mistaken. They are portrayed as corrupt, communist, immoral or hostile to the nation.

Flávio Bolsonaro’s candidacy represents an attempt to transmit this political identity through the biological family. In a movement strongly dependent on personal authority and weakly institutionalized through parties, the family becomes the most credible mechanism of continuity.

The irony is evident. A movement that presented itself as a rebellion against Brazil’s traditional political oligarchies is attempting to establish a dynasty of its own.

A Technology of Electoral Reproduction

Culture wars have consequently become a technology of electoral reproduction. The mechanism is relatively simple. First, social transformation is represented as loss. The extension of rights, visibility or opportunities to historically marginalized groups is interpreted as the dispossession of those who previously possessed greater status.

Second, this perceived loss is attributed to an organized enemy. Feminists, Black activists, universities, journalists, environmentalists and LGBT movements are represented as components of a single progressive project.

Finally, political disagreement becomes a civilizational conflict. Every election is presented as the last opportunity to save Brazil from communism, fascism, moral collapse or authoritarianism.

This mechanism survives both victory and defeat. Electoral success confirms the righteousness of the group. Governmental failure can be attributed to hostile institutions, courts or the media. Electoral defeat becomes evidence of persecution or conspiracy.

Each camp also supplies the other with its principal justification for continuity. The left returns to Lula because it fears the populist right. The populist right returns to the Bolsonaro family because it defines itself through hostility towards Lula and the Workers’ Party.

The two camps are not democratically equivalent. Lulism’s personalism and inability to organize its succession cannot be equated with Bolsonarism’s attacks on the electoral system, nostalgia for military rule and tendency to represent political opponents as illegitimate enemies. Social polarization can be bilateral without democratic responsibility being symmetrical.

Brazil’s problem is not the existence of conflict. Democracies depend upon political disagreement. The problem begins when disagreement becomes evidence that the other half of the country does not legitimately belong to the national community.

The 2026 election will choose a president. It is less likely to resolve the division that makes this electoral confrontation possible. Once again, Brazil will vote on its future by returning to the unresolved conflicts of its past. One side offers the permanence of a leader. The other offers the foundation of a dynasty. Whoever wins may govern the country. Neither has yet demonstrated how to reconnect it.


 

References

Areal, J. (2022). “‘Them’ without ‘us’: Negative identities and affective polarization in Brazil.” Political Research Exchange, 4(1), Article 2117635. https://doi.org/10.1080/2474736X.2022.2117635

Ferreira Dias, J. (2022, November 4). “Culture wars in a fragmented Brazil: A guide to understanding what happened in the Brazilian election.” European Center for Populism Studieshttps://www.populismstudies.org/culture-wars-in-a-fragmented-brazil-a-guide-to-understanding-what-happened-in-brazilian-election/

Francis-Tan, A., & Tannuri-Pianto, M. (2024). “Affirmative action in Brazil: Global lessons on racial justice and the fight to reduce social inequality.” Oxford Review of Economic Policy, 40(3), 642–655. https://doi.org/10.1093/oxrep/grae027

Hunter, W., & Power, T. J. (2019). “Bolsonaro and Brazil’s illiberal backlash.” Journal of Democracy, 30(1), 68–82. https://doi.org/10.1353/jod.2019.0005

Layton, M. L., Smith, A. E., Moseley, M. W., & Cohen, M. J. (2021). “Demographic polarization and the rise of the far right: Brazil’s 2018 presidential election.” Research & Politics, 8(1), 1–7. https://doi.org/10.1177/2053168021990204

Cockroach Janata Party.

India’s Gen Z Cockroach Protests: Youth Mobilization, Democratic Dissent, and the Limits of Modi’s Populism

Dr. Amir Ali examines the emergence of India’s Cockroach Janata Party protests as the country’s first distinctive Gen Z protest movement, arguing that what began as a satirical online response to an official’s derogatory remark rapidly evolved into a nationwide campaign against educational injustice, government unresponsiveness, and democratic decline. Situating the movement within the broader trajectory of Indian politics, he explores how youth mobilization, meme culture, digital activism, and street protests combined to challenge the perceived invincibility of the Modi government. The article further assesses the movement’s implications for state-society relations, media credibility, educational governance, and the future of democratic dissent, suggesting that the Cockroach protests may represent a turning point in India’s contemporary politics.

By Amir Ali

When Gen Z protests took place in Nepal and Bangladesh in India’s neighborhood, and further afield in Morocco and Madagascar, a question arose in people’s minds whether such extraordinary political events could ever happen in India. India’s Cockroach Janata Party was the country’s very own bespoke Gen Z movement. The protests were prompted by remarks made by Chief Justice of India, Surya Kant. He disparagingly suggested that unemployed youngsters gravitating towards journalism and social activism were like cockroaches. An Indian student pursuing a master’s degree in public relations in Boston University in the US, Abhijit Dipke, saw an opportunity to make a meme out of the mention of cockroaches by the Chief Justice. He created the Cockroach Janata Party (CJP), parodying the nation’s formidable ruling party led by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). The result was an internet sensation as the CJP’s social media following easily surpassed that of the ruling BJP. 

From Student Anger to Political Accountability

These events played out in the middle of May of 2026 when Dipke was still in the US. A few days earlier the National Eligibility cum Entrance Test (NEET) that close to two million youngsters in India had taken to gain admission to medical courses across the country, was cancelled. Dipke was set to return to India on the 6th of June. He announced that he would be going straight from the airport to a designated protest site in Central Delhi, called the Jantar Mantar, named after an 18th century astronomical observatory, that still stands. There was speculation that Dipke would be arrested on his arrival at the airport. He emerged in the glaring presence of India’s notoriously raucous media channels. He held a copy of B.R. Ambedkar’s autobiography to indicate his respect for the man whose name is associated with the drafting of the Indian constitution, and who is the iconic leader of India’s historically oppressed Dalit community.

Dipke was not arrested and he proceeded to Jantar Mantar where there was an underwhelming crowd that received him. This was perhaps the slightly disappointing first day of the movement that would in less than two months’ time extract a resignation from Narendra Modi’s Cabinet in the form of the Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan. Modi’s government in the twelve years that it has been in power has become synonymous with not yielding to demands for resignation on moral grounds from the opposition and civil society. There have been some exceptions such as Minister of State for Foreign Affairs, MJ Akbar, who had to resign in 2018 when allegations of sexual assault were made against him. 

Pradhan is a member of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangha (RSS) which is an ultranationalist and supremacist political movement whose political front is the ruling BJP. The Cockroach Janata Party demanded Pradhan’s resignation as Education Minister as it was under his authority that regular leaks of questions for entrance examinations to prestigious courses like medicine and engineering happened. The NEET for medical courses that had been cancelled in mid-May, had been rescheduled for late June and there was youth discontent that the Cockroach movement was able to very effectively channelize. 

How the Cockroach Movement Gathered Momentum

The Modi government throughout June and most of July remained intransigent on the question of education minister Pradhan’s resignation. The mentality of the Modi government seems to be that resignation signals weakness on its part. This stonewalling and lack of responsiveness has become something of a character trait of the Modi regime. The earlier rare exception that underlines this intransigence was in late 2021 when the Modi government backtracked on a set of farm laws it was pushing through parliament as it had angry farmers from neighboring regions blockading major arterial roads into the capital city New Delhi, with their tractors.

The Cockroach Janata Party protests received a shot in the arm when Abhijit Dipke was joined by an educational reformer and environmental activist from a remote region in the Himalayas. This was a man called Sonam Wangchuk from Ladakh. Wangchuk had recently been in jail for protests he had organized and he promptly decided to go on hunger strike to express his solidarity with the Cockroach Janata Party. One of the features of agitational Indian politics is the hunger strike undertaken as a kind of imitation of the prolonged hunger strikes that India’s founding father, Mahatma Gandhi was known to take recourse to. Wangchuk’s health kept deteriorating with the Modi government showing no signs of budging. 

When the Modi government finally moved on Saturday 18th July, exactly a week before Pradhan’s resignation on the next Saturday, it was to remove Sonam Wangchuk from the protest site by policemen who took him to a government hospital to monitor his health condition. Wangchuk demanded that the matter of examination paper leaks be taken up in the upcoming session of parliament, before breaking his hunger strike in the presence of senior government ministers. Meanwhile, the young ‘cockroach’ protesters at the Jantar Mantar protest site kept growing and the protests seemed to have graduated far beyond Sonam Wangchuk. 

When Youth Protest Shook the Modi Government

On the first day of the new parliament session on Monday July 20 when the protesters marched to Parliament, they were met by very heavy-handed police measures. Not only were they tear gassed and baton charged by the Delhi Police, but there were also allegations of pellet guns being fired. Protests were also happening across the country and in major provincial capitals like Patna and Kolkata, where provincial assembly elections had very recently returned governments from Mr. Modi’s BJP, consolidating his formidable political grip over the country. And yet, just as electorally his political grip was being strengthened in provinces which for many years had not yielded to the BJP’s political dominance, Mr. Modi was being challenged by impudent youngsters right under his nose in New Delhi.

The week beginning from Monday 20 July when the Delhi Police brutally responded to protesters, up to Saturday 25 July, when Education Minister Pradhan resigned, progressed in a politically feverish sort of way. There was speculation that there would be a cabinet reshuffle to respond to the situation, but not a resignation. 

A veritable meme revolution started as youngsters mercilessly mocked the carefully cultivated media image of Modi as a great and strong leader. Modi seemed to desperately respond with a midnight Instagram post with his haggard face far too close to the camera, eyes appearing like slits. Modi appealed to youngsters with a supposed Gen Z style of addressing them as ‘friends,’ instead of the trademark nasalized Hindi word mitron that he frequently uses. This Instagram post was interpreted and ridiculed as a sign of Modi being nervous and ruffled.

The Cockroach protests made very clear demands in addition to the resignation of the education minister, like dropping all police charges on protesting students. Soon after the resignation announcement, the protests at Jantar Mantar were a little hastily withdrawn. After yielding on the resignation, the Modi regime is unrepentantly doubling down, evident in the choice of Mr. Pradhan’s successor as Education Minister, another RSS member, which means the same educational agenda.

What Did the Cockroach Protests Achieve?

There is no doubt, as mentioned at the beginning of this article, that these were India’s unique and indeed idiosyncratic Gen Z protests. Further, the Cockroach protests are very different from the India Against Corruption movement that happened 15 years earlier in 2011, the same year as the Arab Spring and Occupy Wall Street movements took place in different parts of the world. The India Against Corruption Movement did not share the global concerns of those significant protests, democracy in the case of the Arab Spring and inequality in the case of Occupy Wall Street. 

The India Against Corruption movement was backed by the ultranationalist RSS. It contributed significantly to the catapulting of Modi to power three years later in 2014. On the contrary, the Cockroach protests have targeted the RSS and BJP’s polarizing politics of sowing division between majority Hindus and minority Muslims. Some of the slogans at this year’s Cockroach protests emphasized unity between the two religious communities. That way the Cockroach protests can be seen as extending the Shaheen Bagh protests initiated by Muslim women in a locality in Southeast Delhi to protest the Citizen’s Amendment Bill that was passed by the Modi Government in December 2019 and that threatened the citizenship status, especially of Muslims. Right wing media commentators supportive of the BJP argued that the Cockroach protests need to be suppressed. 

Continuing with the contrast between the India Against Corruption Movement of 2011 and the Cockroach protest of 2026, the differing role of the mainstream media is glaring. The 2011 India Against Corruption Movement was supported by and virtually a creation of the mainstream electronic media. Large sections excitedly beamed visuals of protestors holding candles, waving flags, and singing the national anthem to ward off corruption, in what Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) political scientist Ajay Gudavarthy called a television soap opera. That very same mainstream media became the infamous lapdog Godi media as they are called now in India (Godi means lap in Hindi) that has thrown all journalistic standards to the wind by never questioning the Modi government. It has also injected large doses of communal animosity into the Indian body politic by organizing inflammatory prime time debates, many blatantly Islamophobic. With the Cockroach protests, the same lapdog Godi media has met its comeuppance with Gen Z protesters chasing them away and ridiculing them for their biased and skewed coverage.

The cockroach protests have made a significant dent on the impregnable character of Modi’s government. They have done so by removing a pervasive fear across the country about criticizing the government and expressing dissent. The Cockroach protests forebode the inevitable end of the Modi regime at some point in the future. Mr. Modi’s powerful Home Minister, Amit Shah has arrogantly claimed that his party will be in power for at least another fifty years. If that were to happen, then today’s Cockroach protesters would have advanced from middle age to become elderly citizens in their sixties. The BJP’s regular electoral victories in provincial assembly elections, and especially its recent success in crucial provinces like West Bengal and Bihar, have led some to believe that it is electorally invincible. This invincibility arises in the view of its critics from a combination of massive party funds, the Election Commission of India forfeiting its constitutional neutrality by favoring the BJP, and a controversial electoral roll revision exercise called the SIR (Special Intensive Revision) that seems designed to disenfranchise some sections of the electorate. 

The Cockroach protests have laid bare India’s education crisis that twelve years of BJP rule have exacerbated. Those years have intensified the desperate situation of India’s Gen Z who would have been children when Mr. Modi came to power in 2014. Prior to the Modi regime, India’s educational system showed severe structural infirmities like unemployable graduates, and school children whose literacy and numeracy skills were way below desired levels. The BJP through its parent organization the RSS has foisted an educational policy that is uncritical, unscientific and chauvinistic in terms of claimed civilizational achievements. Rewritten textbooks are full of errors, spelling a lost generation. This is compounded by doubts about Mr. Modi’s claimed educational qualifications. Multiple Right to Information requests seeking details of his degrees have been routinely turned down.  

Cockroach Coda

The Chief Justice of India’s choice of word to characterize India’s youngsters was extremely unfortunate. In 2022 the Editors Guild of India noted a dangerous plunging of the media discourse when it compared India’s mainstream television media with Radio Rwanda, a reference to Radio Television Libre des Mille Collines that during the 1994 Rwanda genocide conveyed the chilling message to kill the cockroaches. The embrace of the word cockroach by India’s youngsters is the most significant challenge to Modi’s populist regime, jaded and clueless about how to handle India’s restive youngsters and their demands for a good education and proper employment. 

The Smithsonian National Museum of American History.

From Conspiracy Theory to State Policy: Trump, MAGA, and the Specter of ‘Cultural Marxism’

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.

By João Ferreira Dias

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.

Musk, Bezos

From Wealth Concentration to Anti-Immigrant Populism: The Strategic Alliance Between Super-Rich and the Far Right

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.

By Bulent Kenes

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 PenAlternative 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.

UK PM Andy Burnham.

Burnham, Post-Neoliberalism, and the Rematerialization of the Left

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.

By João Ferreira Dias

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

Hopkin, J. (2020). Anti-system politics: The crisis of market liberalism in rich democracies. Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780190699765.001.0001

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

Rodrik, D. (2021). “Why does globalization fuel populism? Economics, culture, and the rise of right-wing populism.” Annual Review of Economics, 13, 133–170. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev-economics-070220-032416

Professor Danielle Allen.

Prof. Allen: AI Should Strengthen Human Judgment, Not Replace It

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.

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

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.
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 Democracy article, 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.
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.
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.
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

AI
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.

Climate Change, Bangladesh.

Why Environmental Displacement Is the Next Frontier in Populist Politics

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.

By Dr. Oludele Solaja

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

Benhabib, S. (2004). The Rights of Others: Aliens, Residents, and Citizens. Cambridge University Press.

Caney, S. (2010). “Climate change and the duties of the advantaged.” Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy, 13(1), 203–228.

Gemenne, F. (2011). “Why the numbers don’t add up: A review of estimates and predictions of people displaced by environmental changes.” Global Environmental Change, 21(S1), S41–S49.

Gemenne, F. (2015). “One good reason to speak of ‘climate refugees’.” Forced Migration Review, 49, 70–71.

Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. (2022). Climate Change 2022: Impacts, Adaptation and Vulnerability. Cambridge University Press.

Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre. (2024). Global Report on Internal Displacement 2024. IDMC.

International Organization for Migration. (2024). World Migration Report 2024. IOM.

Laclau, E. (2005). On Populist Reason. Verso.

Marshall, T. H. (1950). Citizenship and Social Class and Other Essays. Cambridge University Press.

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.

Müller, J.-W. (2016). What Is Populism? University of Pennsylvania Press.

Shue, H. (2014). Climate Justice: Vulnerability and Protection. Oxford University Press.

Dr. Hanna Folsz.

Dr. Folsz: Even Deeply Entrenched Competitive Authoritarian Regimes Have Vulnerabilities

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.

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

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 OrbánDr. 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
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

Fidesz, Soros.
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.

Associate Professor Laura Gamboa

Assoc. Prof. Gamboa: By the Time the Authoritarian Threat Becomes Evident, It’s Usually Too Late

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.

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

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

President-elect Abelardo de la Espriella and Vice President-elect Jose Manuel Restrepo.
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

Throughout Resisting 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.

Ignoring Citizens’ Grievances Strengthens Would-Be Autocrats

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.
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

Colombia, protest.
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.