Dr. Amir Ali.

Dr. Amir Ali: Democratic Backsliding Is Global, but India’s Crisis Is Unfolding on a Far More Dangerous Scale

In this ECPS interview, Dr. Amir Ali, Assistant Professor at Jawaharlal Nehru University, offers a sobering assessment of India’s democratic trajectory after the 2026 state elections. He argues that while democratic backsliding is global, India’s crisis is unfolding on “a particularly worrying scale,” driven by polarized electoral mobilization, institutional weakening, and Hindutva majoritarian consolidation. Dr. Ali examines the BJP’s breakthrough in West Bengal, anti-Muslim rhetoric in Bengal and Assam, voter-roll deletions, and the narrowing of Indian pluralism into a majoritarian national project. Comparing India with Turkey, Hungary, Brazil, and Trump-era America, he warns that India is increasingly marked by institutional complicity, shrinking opposition space, and the remaking of “the people” around Hindutva identity.

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

Over the past decade, India has increasingly become central to global debates on populism, democratic erosion, nationalism, and the transformation of liberal constitutionalism. Once widely celebrated as the world’s largest democracy and as a paradigmatic example of postcolonial pluralism, India now occupies a far more contested position within comparative political analysis. The 2026 state elections—marked by the BJP’s (Baharatiya Janata Party) historic breakthrough in West Bengal, the consolidation of Hindu majoritarianism in Assam, and the continued dominance of Narendra Modi’s political project—have intensified concerns regarding institutional capture, majoritarian citizenship, the shrinking space for dissent, and the future of secular democracy in South Asia.

In this context, the insights of Dr. Amir Ali, Assistant Professor at Jawaharlal Nehru University, offer a powerful and deeply unsettling diagnosis of India’s current political trajectory. Drawing on his extensive scholarship on populism, Hindutva nationalism, democracy, secularism, inequality, and the transformation of the public sphere, Dr. Ali situates India’s democratic crisis within a broader global wave of democratic backsliding, while insisting that the Indian case now possesses a uniquely dangerous scale and intensity.

“Democratic backsliding,” he argues, “is certainly not unique to India; it is occurring across the world. But in India, it is unfolding on a particularly worrying scale.” For Dr. Ali, what distinguishes India is not simply the electoral success of the BJP, but the convergence of “a highly polarized form of electoral mobilization together with the apparent complicity of constitutional institutions.” In his view, this combination signals “the deteriorating condition of Indian democracy.”

Throughout this wide-ranging interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Dr. Ali examines how Hindutva has evolved from a project of symbolic domination into what he describes as an attempt at “the complete erasure of many aspects of Muslim society.” Reflecting on recent developments in West Bengal, he argues that the public sphere is no longer merely being “imprinted with Hindutva national symbols,” but is increasingly shaped by efforts to erase Muslim cultural, symbolic, and religious visibility altogether.

The interview also explores the transformation of Indian nationalism itself. According to Dr. Ali, the BJP has systematically narrowed the “bandwidth” of Indian nationalism, replacing the plural and inclusive vision associated with Gandhi, Nehru, and Ambedkar with a far more exclusionary conception of national belonging. The rhetoric of the “infiltrator,” he argues, functions as a mechanism of otherization designed to portray Muslims as outsiders who do not truly belong to the nation.

Equally significant is Dr. Ali’s analysis of institutional decline. He contrasts the relative independence once exercised by figures such as T. N. Seshan and James Michael Lyngdoh with the contemporary weakening of institutional autonomy under BJP dominance. In his assessment, the Election Commission increasingly appears “an instrument in the hands of the ruling party,” while electoral revision exercises have contributed to the disenfranchisement of Muslim voters.

At the same time, Dr. Ali situates India within a broader comparative landscape alongside Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, Viktor Orbán, Jair Bolsonaro, and Donald Trump. Yet he argues that India differs in one crucial respect: unlike Brazil, Hungary, or the United States, he currently sees no realistic possibility of Narendra Modi being electorally removed from power in the foreseeable future.

What emerges from this conversation is not simply an analysis of electoral politics, but a broader meditation on nationalism, democracy, populism, austerity, institutional decay, and the remaking of “the people” in contemporary India. Dr. Ali’s reflections offer a sobering portrait of a democracy increasingly defined by majoritarian consolidation, emotional polarization, and narrowing citizenship—while also illuminating the profound global significance of India’s political transformation.

Here is the revised version of our interview with Dr. Amir Ali, lightly edited for clarity and readability.

The BJP Now Seeks Domination from Parliament to Panchayat

Narendra Modi.
Narendra Modi files his nomination papers from the Vadodara Lok Sabha seat in Gujarat amid tight security and supporter turnout. Photo: Nisarg Lakhmani | Dreamstime.

Dr. Amir Ali, welcome! To begin, how do you interpret the BJP’s 2026 breakthrough in West Bengal, a state historically shaped by anti-colonial cosmopolitanism, Left politics, and subaltern mobilization? Does this mark the consolidation of Hindutva as a truly national hegemonic formation?

Dr. Amir Ali: The electoral dominance of the BJP now appears almost invincible. What the BJP has managed to do is to perfect the art of winning at the ballot box. This ambition is captured very clearly in the slogan “Parliament to Panchayat”—with Parliament referring to the national legislature and panchayat referring to local government institutions. The slogan reflects an almost insatiable desire to dominate every level and aspect of Indian politics. In terms of electoral strategy and political consolidation, the BJP has become extraordinarily effective.

At the same time, there is a growing sense of resentment in India regarding the seeming invincibility of the BJP. This stems not only from its electoral mobilization, but also from what has become a major complaint of the opposition—one with which I am largely sympathetic—namely, the existence of an uneven playing field. Even institutions such as the Election Commission, which is constitutionally expected to function as a neutral body, are increasingly perceived as taking decisions that favor the ruling BJP. This dynamic broadly summarizes the recent elections in major states. You mentioned West Bengal, which was of course the most significant case, but we also saw similar patterns in Kerala and Puducherry.

What is particularly worrying is that this points toward a form of near-total political domination. In any parliamentary or electoral democracy, it is unhealthy when a single party becomes so dominant that the opposition is effectively shut out from meaningful avenues of dissent and political expression. That is how I would interpret the current moment.

Hindutva Now Seeks to Erase Muslim Visibility

In your work on the Indian public sphere, you argue that Hindutva seeks to institutionalize its own symbols, norms, and values as the legitimate markers of the Indian state. How does the BJP’s victory in West Bengal alter the symbolic architecture of India’s public sphere?

Dr. Amir Ali: That is a very good question. My work on the public sphere is now almost two decades old, and at the time the Hindutva project was not nearly as aggressive as it is today. Back then, I was trying to understand the attempt not only to inflect the public sphere, but also to create a form of cultural domination within it. What we see today, under this much more assertive form of Hindutva associated with Modi’s BJP, is an attempt at the complete erasure of many aspects of Muslim society in particular.

In West Bengal, for example, one of the most recent flashpoints has concerned the offering of namaz, Friday prayers. There was a confrontation between the police and Muslim worshippers in the Park Circus and Park Street areas of Calcutta, which are Muslim-majority neighborhoods.

Compared to the period when I wrote that earlier work on the public sphere, the current attempt to dominate public space is now characterized by a drive toward the disappearance and erasure of aspects of Muslim society and culture. This includes the renaming of streets, for example, as well as the use of bulldozers, which I find deeply troubling. These bulldozers have frequently been used to target Muslim properties under the justification of anti-encroachment drives.

So, the public sphere today is no longer merely about imprinting it with Hindutva national symbols. It has escalated into an effort to erase aspects of Muslim symbolic, cultural, and religious practices altogether. And that is extremely worrying.

Anti-Muslim Rhetoric Has Become Progressively Harsher

India-Muslims.
Muslims celebrate Eid al-Fitr at Jama Masjid in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, marking the end of Ramadan and the beginning of the Islamic month of Shawwal, August 29, 2014. Photo: Nisarg Lakhmani / Dreamstime.

To what extent do the results in West Bengal and Assam reveal the BJP’s capacity to forge cross-class Hindu consolidation while deepening the political marginalization of Muslims, migrants, and minorities?

Dr. Amir Ali: In both West Bengal and Assam, the election campaigns were marked by some of the most vitriolic political rhetoric I have ever witnessed. The Assam Chief Minister, Himanta Biswa Sarma, employed a particularly dangerous form of language. Muslims were openly targeted, and there was a clear suggestion that they somehow needed to be made to suffer. Although these remarks were made in Assamese, that was broadly the substance and political effect of what was being communicated.

Similarly, in West Bengal—which for decades was shaped politically by the Left Front and, over the last fifteen years, by the Trinamool Congress—both political formations had at least attempted to maintain a relatively inclusive approach toward Muslims. 

What I observed in the BJP’s rhetoric, however, was a very systematic, deliberate, and deeply aggressive targeting of Muslims. That constituted one major dimension of the party’s electoral mobilization. The more troubling dimension, however, concerned what became known in West Bengal as the “special intensive revision” of the electoral rolls. As a consequence of that exercise, a significant number of Muslim names were reportedly removed from the voter rolls. Several political analysts examining the constituency-level data pointed out that, in some constituencies, the BJP’s margin of victory was actually smaller than the number of voters who had been deleted. Now, electoral revision is, of course, a legitimate administrative exercise. But it should never be conducted immediately before elections, as happened in Bihar in 2025 and again in Bengal.

So, the concern is not only the escalation of increasingly vicious anti-Muslim rhetoric. Over the years, I have observed a very clear trend in which the BJP’s electoral language toward Muslims has become progressively harsher and more hostile. But the even more serious concern is the role of constitutional institutions—particularly the Election Commission of India, which was once widely regarded as a highly trusted institution. In this case, however, it appeared unwilling to stand up to the BJP government and was increasingly perceived, in the words of some commentators, as the BJP’s “B team.” Even the Supreme Court of India appeared reluctant to intervene decisively or raise difficult questions regarding the Election Commission’s conduct.

To my mind, this combination—a highly polarized form of electoral mobilization together with the apparent complicity of constitutional institutions—represents another sign of the deteriorating condition of Indian democracy. Democratic backsliding, as political scientists describe it, is certainly not unique to India; it is occurring across the world. But in India, it is unfolding on a particularly worrying scale.

The ‘Infiltrator’ Rhetoric Places Muslims Outside National Belonging

How should we understand the rhetoric of “infiltration” in Bengal and Assam—as electoral strategy, civilizational anxiety, bureaucratic exclusion, or a new grammar of majoritarian citizenship?

Dr. Amir Ali: It is fundamentally an attempt to otherize—to create a sense of fear within the Hindu electoral base regarding Muslims. The problem with nationalism, especially when it operates within a narrow bandwidth, is that it often produces precisely this kind of otherization. Historically, India witnessed different forms of nationalism, particularly during the anti-colonial struggle against British rule. The independence movement led by Gandhi, Nehru, and Ambedkar articulated a broader and more inclusive nationalism—one capable of incorporating Muslims and emphasizing the country’s diversity. Indian secularism itself was often understood through this principle of inclusivity: the coexistence of Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Christians, and numerous other religious communities within a shared political framework.

What we see under the BJP, however, is a deliberate narrowing of that nationalistic bandwidth. And that narrowing inevitably involves a systematic process of otherizing Muslims. The rhetoric of the “infiltrator” fits directly into this logic. One of the most effective ways for the BJP to consolidate its electoral base is to cultivate fear and insinuate that Muslims somehow do not truly belong in India.

Statistically, the idea of the infiltrator does not correlate with the actual number of people entering the country. Of course, there will always be cases of undocumented migration. But the manner in which this rhetoric has been mobilized and deployed during elections serves a different purpose: it seeks to portray Muslims as ghuspetia—to use the Hindi term—meaning outsiders or intruders who do not belong here. This reflects a broader nationalist framework in which Muslims are not regarded as fully part of India because Islam is perceived as a religion that is not indigenous to the subcontinent. In that sense, the rhetoric appeals to an extremely narrow conception of nationalism. And any nationalism with a narrow bandwidth becomes deeply divisive. The purpose of nationalism should be to include, incorporate, and encompass diverse peoples. But the “infiltrator” rhetoric, and the way it has been deployed, represents a clear process of otherization and a systematic attempt to place Muslims outside even the boundaries of national belonging.

Indian Pluralism Is Being Replaced by National Oneness

Hindus perform ritual bathing in the Ganges River in Varanasi (Benares), one of Hinduism’s holiest cities in northern India. Photo: Dreamstime.

You have written about the fragility of diversity in liberal polities. Do these elections suggest that Indian pluralism is being transformed from a constitutional ideal into a conditional concession granted by majoritarian power?

Dr. Amir Ali: I would think so, yes. That is a very important question. India has always been regarded as a deeply plural and diverse country. We have many languages, many religions, and many different kinds of people across the country. Historically, it was precisely this diversity that was celebrated. Quite often, that celebration may have been symbolic, but at least the principle existed. The idea of “unity in diversity,” for instance, was one of the central ways in which India understood itself.

What we are witnessing now, however, is an attempt to construct the idea of a certain kind of oneness. Prime Minister Modi’s rhetoric has consistently revolved around this notion. He repeatedly invokes slogans such as “one nation, one election,” which appears likely to become the next major political development if the BJP succeeds in implementing it—and, of course, the BJP has largely succeeded in advancing its broader agenda.

So, what we are seeing is a movement away from the celebration of plurality and diversity toward the assertion of a singular national identity. Modi also speaks of “one nation, one ration card” and “one nation, one tax.” This emphasis on national oneness stands in sharp contrast to the pluralism you are referring to.

I would, however, add a slight twist to your question. I do not think this is even about conditional concession anymore. The emerging message is that Muslims simply do not belong. A concession would still imply that minorities are allowed to exist on the condition that the majority accepts them. But the trajectory of the BJP’s electoral and ideological rhetoric increasingly casts Muslims as outsiders altogether.

If we return to major Hindutva ideologues such as Savarkar and Golwalkar, they were very explicit in arguing that Muslims should occupy the position of second-class citizens. Their argument was that although a Muslim’s birthplace may happen to be India, the center of his or her religious allegiance lies outside India, thereby rendering Muslims inherently suspect.

So, I think we have moved beyond the idea of conditionality. What we are now witnessing is an attempt to portray Muslims as complete outsiders who do not belong here at all. And if they are allowed to continue existing within the nation, it is only under conditions determined by the BJP and its Hindutva majoritarian base. In other words, Muslims are expected to conform entirely to the ideological and political framework established by the BJP’s Hindutva nationalist agenda.

Administrative Majoritarianism Is Reshaping Indian Democracy

Does the controversy over voter-roll deletions in West Bengal signal a shift from electoral majoritarianism to administrative majoritarianism, where democratic exclusion is achieved through procedural and bureaucratic means?

Dr. Amir Ali: Yes, I think so. It is very unfortunate, because I have observed the Election Commission over many years. Before the BJP government came to power—which has now been in office for twelve years—the Election Commission was regarded as a very powerful and independent institution.

Let me give you two examples. Back in the 1990s, there was a highly assertive Chief Election Commissioner, T. N. Seshan. Many of his reforms were extremely significant. For example, he introduced photo identity cards in the early to mid-1990s. Election commissioners such as Seshan were able to stand up to politicians, including ruling parties, and make it clear that they were not beholden to the government of the day, but were instead accountable to the Constitution and the Indian state.

Then, in the early 2000s, there was another assertive Chief Election Commissioner, James Michael Lyngdoh. In 2002, following the Gujarat riots, when Mr. Modi was Chief Minister of Gujarat, Lyngdoh openly resisted pressure from the government and insisted that state assembly elections could not be held immediately after the riots. He argued that elections should only take place once those who had been displaced and were living in refugee camps had returned to their homes.

My point is that, in earlier periods, the powers granted to the Election Commission under Articles 324 and 325 of the Indian Constitution were exercised independently and, at times, even in opposition to the government in power. As a result, India had elections that were widely regarded as free, fair, and clean.

Now, however, with the Election Commission no longer acting with the same degree of independence—and with the current Chief Election Commissioner, Gyanesh Kumar, often accused of siding with the BJP government—we are witnessing the Commission itself becoming, to a significant extent, an instrument in the hands of the ruling party.

The Special Intensive Revision (SIR) exercise, which resulted in the large-scale disenfranchisement of Muslim voters in particular, is one example of this broader trend in which Muslim citizens of this country are being denied something as fundamental as the right to vote.

Hindutva Narrows What It Means to Be Hindu

India
A saffron flag associated with Hindu symbolism and Maratha warrior traditions displayed in Mumbai, Maharashtra, India, November 3, 2019. Photo: Harshit Srivastava / Dreamstime.

How do you assess the relationship between Hinduism and Hindutva in the wake of these elections? Is Hindutva further narrowing the philosophical and plural traditions of Hinduism into a more disciplined nationalist ideology?

Dr. Amir Ali: Yes. I think Hindutva is a form of religious nationalism and the problem with this particular form of nationalism is that it offers only one way of interpreting what it means to be Hindu. You referred to the broader philosophical confidence that Hinduism historically possessed—the idea that there are multiple ways of being Hindu. Many scholars have written about this. I am not deeply familiar with the full literature, but I have encountered arguments emphasizing Hinduism’s certain catholicity, its all-encompassing nature. What Hindutva has done, as a form of Hindu nationalism, is essentially to tell Hindus that this is the only legitimate way to be Hindu. And many people who do not subscribe to the Hindutva ideology have made precisely this point.

In my response to your earlier question, I referred to the idea of a narrowing bandwidth. I would bring that idea back here. What Hindutva nationalism is doing is significantly narrowing this bandwidth. It is not only imposing conditions upon Muslims—the point I made in an earlier answer—but also imposing conditions upon adherents of the broader Hindu philosophical tradition itself. It effectively tells believers that this is the only acceptable way to be Hindu, and that if you do not behave in this particular manner, then you are somehow not a good enough Hindu.

This is very unfortunate because the philosophical foundations of these traditions run very deep within Indian civilization. They represent centuries upon centuries of gradual intellectual and spiritual development. Hindutva, by contrast, as a form of nationalism—like nationalism more generally—is a relatively recent development. As a political scientist, I would argue that nationalism is a modern phenomenon that emerged largely over the past two centuries alongside processes of modernization. So, what we are witnessing is a kind of tyrannical logic inherent in modern nationalism imposing itself upon a philosophical and religious tradition that is far richer and more historically layered than the rigid framework Hindutva seeks to enforce.

To return to your point about narrowing: yes, there is clearly such a narrowing taking place. But quite remarkably, and intriguingly, the condition is not only being imposed upon Muslims, who remain the principal targets of Hindutva politics. It is also being imposed upon believers within the Hindu philosophical and religious tradition itself, by insisting that this alone is the proper way to be Hindu.

The important thing about India, however, is that many people have pushed back against this. Many have defended the broader spirit of catholicity and the all-encompassing character of Hindu traditions. But yes, this narrowing bandwidth, as I keep describing it, is a matter of profound concern. And one hopes that India will generate a philosophical and intellectual response capable of confronting this particular form of politics.

Populism and Austerity Are Pushing India Toward Fascistic Politics

In your analysis of populism and austerity, you describe Modi’s politics as a “populism of the fiscally tight-fist.” How do welfare schemes, direct transfers, and beneficiary politics reshape the relationship between citizenship, dependency, and political loyalty?

Dr. Amir Ali: That is a good question, and I will try to answer it in two different parts. Let me begin with Mr. Modi’s populism. His populism is not a redistributive form of populism. Rather, it is a populism based on a certain kind of targeted largesse—a targeted distribution of very meager material benefits. This is meant to keep the targeted population at a basic level of subsistence and sufficiently beholden to return and vote for Mr. Modi. That is how his populism functions.

It is unlike, for example, the redistributive populisms of mid-twentieth-century Latin America. What we see instead is a form of populism combined with a very conservative fiscal stance. That is why I describe it as a “fiscally tight-fisted populism.” It is not willing to distribute substantial material benefits broadly. Rather, it relies on the targeted dispersal of very limited material largesse. The purpose is to keep a certain segment of the population beholden to Mr. Modi so that they continue voting for him. The Hindi term for this category of people—the immediate beneficiaries of this populism—is labharthi. In Hindi, labharthi refers to a kind of beholden beneficiary. The logic behind this benefaction is that Mr. Modi’s electoral support base remains consolidated. That is one dimension of his populism.

The other aspect is that it also veers, rather strangely, toward a form of austerity. I am one of those people who believes that austerity is a very dangerous idea. When I describe it that way, I am drawing on the work of the Brown University economic historian Mark Blyth, who famously called austerity a “dangerous idea.” It is dangerous because austerity politics tends to push societies in a much more fascistic direction. This argument about austerity moving politics toward fascism is also made by the Italian economist Clara Mattei in her work on austerity, where she argues that economists invented this idea and paved the road to fascism. So, Mr. Modi’s populism is a very curious mixture: on the one hand, a highly limited and meager distribution of material benefits, and on the other hand, a form of fiscal conservatism—hence my characterization of it as fiscally tight-fisted populism.

The third point I would add is that all of this ultimately leads toward a form of austerity politics. The most recent example came only last week, when Mr. Modi urged Indian citizens to refrain from traveling abroad, to stop buying gold, and appealed to farmers not to purchase fertilizers because fertilizer supplies were allegedly being constrained by developments in the Strait of Hormuz. So, once again, what we saw was Mr. Modi using this language of austerity to engage in a kind of virtue signaling toward the Indian public, telling citizens what they should and should not do.

On the one hand, many of us believe that the government has made a series of poor policy decisions, and then the government turns around and instructs citizens, in an almost didactic manner, about how they ought to behave. So, this is a very unusual form of populism—one that combines populism with austerity. And this fusion of populism and austerity creates a deeply unsettling kind of politics that travels dangerously far down the road toward fascism.

Aspirational Politics Has Fused with Anti-Muslim Otherization

Does the BJP’s model combine neoliberal individual aspiration with majoritarian collectivism? How was this tension visible in the 2026 state elections?

Dr. Amir Ali: To answer that question, let me go back to 2014, when Mr. Modi first came to power at the parliamentary level and became Prime Minister. Around that time, his rhetoric was almost completely devoid of any communal appeal. He was not talking about religious symbolism or anything of that kind. Instead, he consistently emphasized the language of development.

He appealed to an aspirational middle class. The political message being conveyed was that the middle class should improve its standard of living. The aspiration being promoted was a rather narrow one: owning a car, owning a flat, securing a good job, and earning a decent amount of money. There is nothing inherently wrong with those aspirations. But the problem is that this approach denies the idea that politics is ultimately about a broader form of solidarity.

So, I agree with the premise of your question. It is indeed a form of political appeal in which a narrow conception of material advancement is emphasized. But by 2026, this developmental logic — if we can call it that way — had fused with a far more vicious form of what I earlier described as the otherization of Muslims. What we have in India right now is a very curious combination. On the one hand, the BJP’s electoral appeal continues to focus on improving people’s material conditions. But at the same time, in an almost cruel manner, it suggests that the conditions of some people can only improve if the conditions of certain other people are simultaneously degraded. And the group being targeted in this way is obviously Muslims. This particular form of targeting, which became especially visible during the 2026 state assembly elections, was not present when Mr. Modi first came to power in 2014.

So, over these twelve years under Mr. Modi’s leadership, the earlier aspirational appeal has gradually fused with a much harsher political logic—one that implies that the only way for some people to live better is to ensure that others do not. And that, to my mind, is the most worrying and unfortunate development in Indian politics over the past twelve years.

Modi’s ‘People’ Excludes Muslims and Dissenters

Volunteers of Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) on Vijyadashmi festival, a large gathering or annual meeting during Ramanavami a Hindu festival in Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh on October 19, 2018. Photo: Pradeep Gaurs.

You have argued that populism creates a caricature of “the people.” In Modi’s India, who counts as “the people,” and who is rendered suspect, external, or anti-national?

Dr. Amir Ali: The phrase “caricature of the people” actually comes from the political theorist Hannah Arendt in her work The Origins of Totalitarianism. What we see in India right now is the mobilization of a particular kind of highly excitable public. Quite often, this mobilization takes place on the streets. When “the people” are invoked, the term obviously refers to Mr. Modi’s electoral base. It certainly does not include Muslims, nor many of the other groups to whom the Hindutva logic does not appeal. So, this caricature consists of a very voluble, excitable, and frenzied support base that Mr. Modi commands.

Let me give you one example. Recently, a video circulated widely on social media showing a Trinamool Congress politician and Member of Parliament, Mahua Moitra, being heckled on a flight. She is a very prominent and articulate parliamentarian who has been outspoken in her opposition to the regime. When we speak about the caricature of “the people,” it is precisely this kind of public that can be easily mobilized to heckle anyone who opposes the regime’s political agenda. The fact that this incident occurred on a domestic flight is also significant. In India, only a certain section of society can regularly afford air travel. Poor people generally travel by train or bus. So, the fact that this kind of heckling is taking place on flights suggests that the caricature of “the people” includes a sizable segment of people who possess the financial means to travel by air as well.

So, it is not confined only to the labharthi, or the beholden beneficiary. It extends across the economic spectrum. And again, this ability to easily mobilize and rouse people into targeting anyone who opposes the BJP’s political agenda captures, to my mind, what this construction of “the people” is really about.

Let me add one more thing. It is certainly not “We, the People,” the phrase used in the Preamble to the Constitution of India. “We, the People” is a constitutionally mediated appeal to the people; it is not this. What we are seeing instead is a set of people who can very easily be mobilized through the BJP’s mechanisms of political mobilization.

The Opposition Is Playing with Loaded Dice

Do the opposition’s defeats in West Bengal and elsewhere reveal not only organizational weakness, but a deeper inability to articulate an emotionally compelling counter-public to Hindutva nationalism?

Dr. Amir Ali: That is partly true. The opposition does seem to suffer from a lack of political imagination. Its major agenda appears to revolve around constructing some form of anti-Modi platform. But the problem with relying entirely on an anti-Modi position is that it ultimately ends up reinforcing Mr. Modi himself, and the opposition needs to recognize this.

Having said that, I also believe we have now reached a stage in Indian politics where the electoral route has, more or less, been closed off to the opposition. The problem with attempting to play the game of electoral democracy against the BJP is that it resembles playing with loaded dice. The dice are clearly weighted in favor of the BJP, particularly given the enormous resources the party commands. In terms of financial resources alone, the Congress Party is a very distant second.

But beyond the BJP’s sheer material advantages, there is also the manipulation of the electoral mechanism itself in ways that increasingly favor the ruling party. As I mentioned earlier, the Election Commission of India, which was once an exceptionally powerful constitutional institution, no longer appears to possess the same degree of independence, authority, or institutional strength.

So, this is a very bleak situation for the opposition. There is certainly a lack of political imagination. But the more troubling reality is that the political playing field itself is no longer level. It is now so heavily tilted in favor of the BJP that even if the opposition were able to develop a very powerful counter-narrative—which, so far, it has failed to do—it still might not be sufficient to bring the opposition back to power in the foreseeable future. That would be my rather bleak assessment.

India Lacks the Institutional Pushback Seen Elsewhere

How do India’s 2026 state elections compare with global cases such as Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s Turkey, Viktor Orbán’s Hungary, Jair Bolsonaro’s Brazil, or Trump-era America in terms of institutional capture, emotional polarization, and the remaking of “the people”?

Dr. Amir Ali: That is a really good question. Let me take those countries one by one. Turkey, for example—of course, Erdoğan has been in power for over twenty-three years now. There are similarities, but those similarities only go so far.But let me take the case of Bolsonaro and Brazil. The fact that Bolsonaro was voted out of power is significant. Similarly, Mr. Trump was voted out of power after his first term—although he later returned following the Biden interlude. And in Orbán’s Hungary, the fact that Mr. Orbán was eventually voted out of power also represents an important distinction.

What we see in India right now is very different. As far as I can tell, sitting here in late May 2026, I do not see any realistic possibility of Mr. Modi being voted out of power in the foreseeable future. That is the difference with Brazil, where Bolsonaro was removed electorally. That is the difference with Hungary, where Orbán was voted out of power quite decisively. And it is also the difference with the United States, where after the first Trump presidency there was significant institutional pushback. To my mind, that is what fundamentally distinguishes those cases from India.

As a political scientist, I also have not witnessed the kind of institutional pushback that many scholars anticipated would emerge in India. Instead, what we have seen is a kind of complete institutional folding-in. And that represents something deeply unfortunate—something that the framers of the Constitution may never even have envisioned. Back in 1975, when Indira Gandhi imposed the Emergency, which was a very unfortunate chapter in Indian politics, elections were eventually held, and Mrs. Gandhi was voted out of power. Today, however, the possibility of the BJP being voted out of power does not appear to exist anywhere in the near future. And that, to my mind, represents the deeply unfortunate situation in which India currently finds itself.

India Remains in the Mist and Fog of Hindutva Domination

Local people throwing flowers on Volunteers of Hindu nationalist Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) during march past in Vasundhara, Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh on October 19, 2018.

Finally, do these elections indicate the emergence of a durable Hindutva “historic bloc” linking welfare beneficiaries, aspirational middle classes, sections of subaltern groups, and corporate power—or do you see contradictions that could destabilize this project before 2029?

Dr. Amir Ali: I do not see any kind of destabilization of this bloc, as you call it, happening before 2029. I may be wrong, and I hope I am wrong. But right now, what we do see is precisely the kind of mobilization that you referred to. There is a certain form of subaltern Hindutva that Mr. Modi has been able to stitch together.

If I may answer this question with some historical perspective, I would go back three decades. In the 1990s, what prevented the BJP from coming to power was a particular set of social groups in India referred to as the OBCs, the Other Backward Classes. There were political parties opposed to the BJP in Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, the two most important and populous states in northern India, politically speaking.

What we have seen under Mr. Modi has been the ability to bring the OBC vote very much onto the Hindutva side. Earlier, the OBC vote would go to parties such as the Samajwadi Party in Uttar Pradesh, which is still a significant political force, or in Bihar to the Rashtriya Janata Dal under the charismatic politician Lalu Prasad Yadav. 

What has emerged over the last three decades, and especially during Mr. Modi’s twelve years in power, is this very unusual alliance between corporate capital and a certain form of subaltern Hindutva. Now, obviously, contradictions will emerge, because what we have witnessed in India is a very clear transfer of resources toward certain business houses that support Mr. Modi. When these business groups are disproportionately favored, the life prospects of people lower down the social hierarchy are inevitably adversely affected.

When exactly these contradictions will begin to play themselves out politically is anybody’s guess. I do not think one can ever fully predict, prophesy, or foresee politics. But clearly, what we are seeing in India is an economy that is increasingly under strain. There have been decisions taken by the Modi government that have clearly been damaging for the economy.

Ten years ago, for example, there was demonetization, when ninety-seven percent of the currency in circulation was effectively invalidated within six hours in the name of combating terrorism and other stated objectives. There was no convincing economic rationale behind it. So, the contradictions will eventually emerge, especially as the appeasement of corporate capital intensifies and the worsening life conditions of subordinate social groups become too glaring to ignore.

To my mind, however, this would represent a political process much larger than the logic of five-year electoral cycles. That logic of periodic elections is something that Mr. Modi and the BJP have mastered and dominated very effectively. The transformation, when it comes, will not necessarily manifest itself through elections alone, but through a much broader societal transformation. And that transformation is tied to larger global developments. We are witnessing a transformation of the world order itself. It is only within that broader transformation that we may eventually see a major shift within India as well. Perhaps that will ultimately mark the end of Hindutva domination. But right now, we remain very much within the mist and fog of Hindutva domination. We do not yet know how or when it will end.

Pro-Palestinian protest.

Nakba Day in London: The Fight for the Narrative

In this piece, Dr. João Ferreira Dias examines how the Israeli–Palestinian conflict has increasingly been transformed within Europe into a broader struggle over identity, immigration, Islam, nationalism, and political belonging. Focusing on Nakba Day mobilizations in London, Dr. Dias argues that Gaza now functions as a symbolic battlefield onto which competing ideological camps project their anxieties, fears, and moral claims. For parts of the progressive left, Palestine represents anti-colonial resistance and counter-hegemonic struggle; for the radical populist right, it reinforces narratives of Islamization, multicultural crisis, and civilizational decline. The article ultimately warns that when international conflicts are absorbed into domestic culture wars, liberal democracy itself becomes increasingly polarized, emotionally charged, and politically fragile.

By João Ferreira Dias

On May 16, 2016, London became the stage of a culture war made material, as pro-Palestinian demonstrations and anti-Muslim, anti-immigration mobilizations occupied the same symbolic and physical space. Nakba Day thus became more than a moment of historical remembrance: it fueled social, ideological, and affective polarization.

One may discuss the historical, legal, geopolitical, religious, and humanitarian dimensions of Gaza and the wider Middle East: the long dispute over land, identity, sovereignty, security, and regional spheres of influence. Yet in Western societies, especially in Europe, the Israeli-Palestinian question is increasingly translated into a different grammar: left versus right, oppressor versus oppressed, civilization versus threat, emancipation versus replacement.

For much of the radical and progressive left, the Palestinian cause has become part of a Gramscian counter-hegemonic struggle on behalf of the “silenced voices of the oppressed.” In this framework, Palestine operates as a symbolic capsule of progressivism, anti-colonialism, and resistance, while Israel is cast as the embodiment of the great oppressor: capitalism, colonialism, militarism, and Western domination.

For ultraconservative movements, and especially for the radical populist right, this is precisely the “woke” and “leftist” narrative they claim to be fighting. In their reading, multiculturalism is not a liberal framework for coexistence, but a Trojan horse for Islamization, Sharia, and the so-called “great replacement” of Western societies. The argument is blunt: the left lost its traditional voters and is now replacing them with immigrants, especially Muslims — its new “proletariat.”

This is where the Israeli-Palestinian conflict ceases to be merely an international crisis and becomes an internal struggle over the moral boundaries of the political community. Gaza becomes a mirror. Each side does not only see the Middle East; it sees itself, its enemies, and the future it fears.

The real battle, therefore, is not only over territory, sovereignty, or security. It is over narrative. Who is the victim? Who is the oppressor? Who speaks for humanity? Who threatens civilization? And, above all, who has the authority to define the moral meaning of the conflict?

Liberal democracy is weakened when every external conflict is immediately absorbed into domestic identity wars. The tragedy of Gaza becomes, in Europe, a proxy battlefield for unresolved anxieties about immigration, Islam, colonial memory, antisemitism, multiculturalism, and national decline. The more each side claims moral purity, the less space remains for political judgement.

Stefania Kapronczay is the former director of strategy at the Hungarian Civil Liberties Union (HCLU) and one of the leading voices analyzing democratic backsliding, civic resistance, and authoritarian transformation in Central Europe.

Stefania Kapronczay: Democracy in Hungary Must Not Simply Return, It Must Return in a Better Form

As democracies worldwide confront populism, democratic erosion, and authoritarian normalization, Hungary remains one of the clearest examples of contemporary illiberal transformation. In this interview with the ECPS, Stefania Kapronczay—former director of strategy at the Hungarian Civil Liberties Union (HCLU)—analyzes how Viktor Orbán’s regime hollowed out democracy while preserving its formal facade. She argues that Orbánism relied not only on institutional capture, but also on reshaping citizens’ “sense of possibility” and portraying human rights as foreign and disconnected from everyday life. Reflecting on democratic repair under the new Tisza administration, Kapronczay insists that “democracy in Hungary must not simply return, it must return in a better form,” emphasizing participation, accountability, civic trust, and democratic renewal beyond mere restoration.

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

Giving an interview to the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Stefania Kapronczay, former director of strategy at the Hungarian Civil Liberties Union (HCLU) and one of the leading voices analyzing democratic backsliding, civic resistance, and authoritarian transformation in Central Europe, argues that Hungary’s future cannot simply be defined by a return to the pre-Orbán status quo. “My hope,” she says, “is that Hungary can become a case study not simply for returning to democracy, but for rebuilding democracy in a better form—one that not only functions better for people, but also makes people genuinely feel that it works for them.”

In this wide-ranging conversation with the ECPS, Kapronczay reflects on the political, institutional, and psychological legacy of sixteen years of Orbánism and examines what democratic repair may require after one of the most influential illiberal experiments in contemporary Europe. Drawing on years of frontline human rights advocacy under Viktor Orbán’s rule, she argues that Hungary should not be understood as a straightforward democratic collapse, but rather as a sophisticated process of “democratic hollowing-out,” in which “the facade of democracy—elections and even institutions—was preserved,” while institutions were gradually transformed into instruments designed to secure the regime’s long-term survival.

Throughout the interview, Kapronczay emphasizes that Orbánism relied not only on institutional capture, but also on reshaping public consciousness and narrowing citizens’ sense of political possibility. “What fundamentally shifted,” she notes, “was people’s sense of possibility—the belief that, as citizens, they could have an impact on government decision-making.” In her view, the deepest damage inflicted by Orbánism was not merely constitutional or administrative, but cultural and psychological: the successful portrayal of human rights as “foreign,” externally imposed, and disconnected from everyday life.

Kapronczay also offers a powerful analysis of what she calls modern “legalistic authoritarianism,” a system in which “everything appears legal,” institutions formally remain intact, and constitutions are endlessly rewritten in order to preserve political dominance. From electoral manipulation and clientelist dependency networks to propaganda structures and the fusion of party and state resources, she demonstrates how authoritarian resilience can be embedded within formally democratic systems.

At the same time, the interview is not only an analysis of democratic erosion, but also a reflection on democratic recovery. Kapronczay argues that rebuilding democracy requires more than restoring pre-existing institutions. It demands confronting social polarization, rebuilding trust, and creating more participatory forms of democratic governance. “We cannot simply entrust elected representatives with making decisions on our behalf for four years at a time,” she argues, emphasizing the importance of participatory democracy, citizens’ assemblies, and broad civic involvement in constitutional reconstruction.

Importantly, Kapronczay situates Hungary within a broader regional and global context, warning that “authoritarians learn from one another,” while also insisting that civil society must learn to compete not only through principles, but through narrative power, emotional engagement, and citizen mobilization.

As democracies across the world continue to confront populism, democratic erosion, and autocratization; this interview offers both a sobering diagnosis of Orbánism and a compelling vision for democratic renewal beyond mere restoration.

Here is the revised version of our interview with human rights defender Stefania Kapronczay, lightly edited for clarity and readability.

Orbánism Kept Democracy’s Facade While Emptying It Out

Viktor Orbán, Hungary’s Prime Minister, arrives for a meeting with European Union leaders in Brussels, Belgium, on June 22, 2017. Photo: Alexandros Michailidis.

Stefania Kapronczay, welcome! To begin, after sixteen years of Orbán’s rule, should Hungary be understood as a case of democratic breakdown, democratic hollowing-out, or a more subtle transformation in which human rights were formally preserved while substantively emptied of enforceability? What do you see as the deepest and most enduring damage inflicted on Hungary’s human rights architecture—not only institutionally, but socially and culturally?

Stefánia Kapronczay: Thank you so much for this question. It is a very complex one and let me start with the first part: Hungary represents more than a case of democratic hollowing-out. It was very important for the Orbán regime to maintain the facade of democracy. This is also crucial to understanding why he eventually conceded, why elections continued to take place, and why he could ultimately be defeated electorally. Even though the playing field was incredibly uneven and it was extremely difficult to win against Fidesz in an election, significant sacrifices had to be made in order to achieve this result. There could only be one challenger, one contender, which, of course, meant that different voices could not enter the race if the opposition wanted to remove the Orbán regime.

So, this was a form of democratic hollowing-out in which the facade of democracy—elections and even institutions—was preserved, but all of them were adjusted in ways that served the regime’s interests, either through the appointment of political loyalists or through changes to the rules themselves. In the end, these institutions were transformed into mechanisms that allowed Orbán to remain in power for as long as he wished.

As for the second half of your question, I believe the cultural and psychological impact of these sixteen years is the most important. Not because the institutional damage was insignificant, but because the Orbán regime managed to convince ordinary citizens that human rights are not something that matters to them—that they are foreign, imposed from outside, and not something relevant to Hungarians. The regime promoted the idea that human rights have nothing to do with everyday life. By waging cultural wars around migration and LGBT rights, it portrayed human rights as something concerning only “other people,” never the average citizen. 

Even though many LGBT people are themselves ordinary citizens, the regime succeeded in presenting human rights as something alien and externally imposed, disconnected from daily life. In reality, however, human rights emerged precisely from the understanding that protecting rights directly improves people’s lives. If individuals are not discriminated against, they have greater opportunities, and if the state is required to comply with human rights standards, this ultimately leads to a better life for citizens.

This cultural transformation will be even more difficult to reverse than the institutional damage. In my view, human rights should be considered whenever policy decisions are made. And we are still very far from that point today.

Everything Looked Legal, but Justice Became Impossible

In your analysis, Fidesz did not abolish democracy outright but hollowed it out through legal instruments, institutional capture, and narrative control. How should we understand this model of “legalistic authoritarianism” from a human rights perspective?

Stefánia Kapronczay: Yes, as I said before, it all seems legal. It appears to be merely a series of legal changes. The institutions are still there: there is an ombudsman, there is the Constitutional Court, and you can still bring your case before the regular courts. But whenever a case concerns a political question—and everything important to the government eventually becomes political—you have no chance of winning.

This is certainly true for migration and LGBT issues, as I mentioned earlier, but it also became true for freedom of expression cases and even for cases concerning disability rights, particularly when these issues appeared capable of generating public mobilization and when that mobilization, that citizen power, could potentially turn against the government.

So, the facade remains in place. Everything appears legal. They never technically break their own rules, so to speak. Instead, they simply modify the constitution, even for the fifteenth time. But at the same time, this cannot be regarded as compliance with constitutional standards, human rights standards, or international law.

Authoritarianism Depends on Mental Control as Much as Institutions

Viktor Orbán campaign poster ahead of Hungary’s 2026 elections. Photo: Bettina Wagner / Dreamstime.

In your writings, you emphasize that Fidesz’s authoritarian resilience rests not only on institutional capture, but also on shaping citizens’ expectations, incentives, and sense of political possibility. How did Orbánism turn human rights from a universal democratic language into something portrayed as alien, partisan, or elitist?

Stefánia Kapronczay: I think I addressed the second part of your question earlier, so I will focus a bit more on the first. This issue is extremely important. What fundamentally shifted was people’s sense of possibility—the belief that, as citizens, they could have an impact on government decision-making, whether at the local or national level. This was a key element in how Orbán managed to maintain his power. And it was especially powerful for two reasons. First, there was already a historical precedent for it. Before the regime change in 1989–1990, there was essentially a tacit pact between the socialist state and its citizens: you could have a relatively good life—especially compared to other countries in the region and particularly compared to the Soviet Union—but you had to stay out of politics. So, this was a political arrangement with which many people were already familiar.

Just as importantly, for a period of time Fidesz was able to sustain both sides of this arrangement. Economic prospects appeared relatively favorable, and people felt that they were moving ahead. Of course, this was not solely because of the government itself. Hungary received enormous—historically unprecedented—amounts of funding from the European Union, especially between 2010 and 2022.

Even though much of this money was used to enrich government cronies, and a significant share disappeared into corruption instead of being invested in public services such as healthcare or education, people nevertheless experienced improvements in their daily lives because of these funds and the relatively favorable global economy. Compared to their parents’ generation, they felt they had greater stability. Compared to neighboring countries, this was no longer necessarily true, but public opinion surveys and sociological research consistently show that most people do not compare themselves to people in other countries; they compare themselves to their parents’ generation.

After 2022, however, this arrangement could no longer be sustained by the Orbán regime. People increasingly felt in their everyday lives that they were no longer living better, that life had become far more uncertain, and that their livelihoods had become increasingly insecure. At the same time, they began to experience very directly the collapse of public services—whether in transportation, education, healthcare, or elsewhere.

Once this arrangement broke down, the Orbán regime also lost its ability to shape people’s sense of political possibility. More and more people began to feel that the situation was no longer sustainable or acceptable. Then someone emerged who convinced them that things could be different, and their sense of possibility began to shift.

It is very important to observe how something like this—something that is not discussed very often—can become so decisive. We speak a great deal about institutions and formal political structures, but we should pay much more attention to the ways in which the mental architecture of an authoritarian state is maintained. And this is precisely what began to crumble.

The Real Fraud Happened Outside the Polling Stations

Fidesz, Soros.
Poster from political party Fidesz showing the opponents of Hungarian PM Viktor Orban surrounding billionaire philanthropist George Soros, Budapest, April 8, 2017.

You have described Hungary’s elections as a “special version of a stolen election,” where manipulation occurs less through ballot-box fraud than through an unlevel playing field. How should we rethink electoral integrity when abuse is legalized, normalized, and embedded long before election day?

Stefánia Kapronczay: Yes, elections do not happen only on election day. Usually, international institutions come to monitor only during that period—perhaps a few days before the election and a few days afterward. But in Hungary’s case, the manipulation and the systemic nature of how elections were effectively stolen operated every single day. It was not only about the media—how it was captured, how people were fed false information, and how certain information was withheld from them—but also about how Fidesz maintained a clientelist system in which citizens, especially in smaller towns and villages, became dependent on local power structures.

People relied on these structures for social services, for access to schools or nurseries for their children, or simply because they were employed by the local government. This created a system in which citizens were kept in conditions of dependency that could then be exploited. And this system was maintained continuously, every day.

This is something that is very difficult to capture when we discuss the fairness and integrity of elections. It also took civil society quite a long time to fully understand it, because for years much of the focus was on what happened inside the polling stations. But as we monitored the process more closely, we realized that the real fraud was taking place around the polling stations.

Already during the 2019 local government elections, there were initiatives aimed at identifying and disrupting the chain of voter manipulation occurring outside polling stations—practices involving the exploitation of citizens, vote-buying, organized transportation of voters, and various forms of coercion. By 2022, there were already widespread civil society initiatives dedicated to uncovering these practices. And in 2026, this became a major effort involving both civil society organizations and political party activists, as well as ordinary citizens who were present in all the districts where these practices were taking place.

We are still waiting for some of the data, but it seems that they were finally able to break the cycle I described earlier.

State Resources Became Tools of Party Politics

How has the fusion of party, state, public media, regulatory bodies, and state-linked economic networks damaged the practical meaning of political equality and equal citizenship in Hungary?

Stefánia Kapronczay: Just for the readers, what increasingly happened was that Fidesz began using state resources to advance its party-political goals. This became especially visible in 2020 and 2021 during the COVID pandemic, when people had to register in order to receive vaccinations, and later their email addresses were used by the government to distribute government or Fidesz propaganda.

It was also extremely difficult to remove yourself from those mailing lists. There is actually an interesting—perhaps even ironic—story about this. After Tisza came to power, while the old regime was still partially in place, we all received an email from the very same address that had previously been used to send propaganda, explaining how we could finally remove ourselves from the list. Suddenly, it had become very important.

That was an early example, but the practice reached another level during the election campaign. Even before that, there were Fidesz billboards displayed alongside billboards supposedly issued by the government, using the same language, colors, and visual style, making it extremely easy to confuse the two. And that was precisely the point.

Then, in 2026, this escalated even further, as government and state resources were deployed on a massive scale to support Fidesz’s campaign, including the organization of huge events across the country, each costing billions of Hungarian forints.

This is where the line between party and state becomes fundamentally blurred. Yes, citizens vote for a government—for a party that will form a government. But once a party assumes governmental power, it is supposed to represent all citizens, not only those who voted for it. By using government or state resources for partisan political purposes, the government breaks that trust and effectively communicates that it represents only those who agree with it.

But this is not surprising. Already in 2002, after losing the election, former Prime Minister Orbán delivered one of his most infamous speeches, declaring that “the homeland cannot be in opposition,” implying that his political camp alone represented the nation, while those voting for others somehow did not. So, this way of thinking has been present since at least 2002.

The Damage to Civil Society Runs Deeper Than We Realized

The Orbán government repeatedly portrayed NGOs and human rights defenders as “foreign agents,” “Soros mercenaries,” and threats to national sovereignty. How deeply did this stigmatization campaign damage the legitimacy, safety, and public reach of civil society actors? More broadly, how successful was Orbánism in eroding public trust in independent civic organizations, and what forms of democratic and social repair are now needed to rebuild that trust under the Magyar administration?

Stefánia Kapronczay: We are only beginning to understand how deep the damage went. From the everyday experience of civil society organizations, we could already see the effects very clearly. Local governments and schools—because of increasing centralization and because they required approval from the central government for nearly every decision—became unwilling to cooperate with civil society organizations. Even businesses became hesitant to work with NGOs, especially those that were critical of the government or engaged with contentious issues such as child protection.

So, the effects were already visible. Some civil society organizations were ultimately forced to stop operating because of the pressure and administrative burdens placed upon them. Others, such as my former organization, the Hungarian Civil Liberties Union, managed to build a constituency during this period. Because we had resources, both financial and human, we were able to turn some of these attacks into opportunities to rethink our methods and reshape our communication strategies. But this was certainly not the typical experience. And now, after the system change, more and more stories are beginning to emerge.

We already knew that foreign intelligence-linked groups such as Black Cube had been used to discredit civil society actors before the 2022 elections. For example, fake job advertisements were used to lure civil society actors into staged interviews, where they were pressured and manipulated into saying negative things about civil society organizations. Then isolated snippets—sometimes only single sentences—were selectively used to discredit the entire sector.

But now even more troubling revelations are surfacing. Recently, a video emerged involving a very prominent civil society actor working with Roma communities, Roma children, and education. The video revealed that the actual State Secret Service had approached her in an attempt to obtain information about civil society organizations. In the Black Cube case, there has long been strong suspicion that the operation was commissioned by circles close to the government, or perhaps even by the government itself. But in this case, it was directly the State Secret Service that was involved.

This is why I believe a formal process is needed to uncover what happened. I am advocating for a process that draws lessons from Truth and Reconciliation Commissions. I think such a process is necessary for at least three reasons. First,what is currently happening is unfolding largely through media coverage and public debate, and not everyone follows these discussions. In my opinion, it is crucial to design a process that is participatory, that uses language accessible to ordinary people, and that brings these conversations into the places where people actually live and gather, so that society can develop a shared understanding of what happened. It should not remain a conversation limited to elites or to those who regularly consume political media.

The second reason is that there are still enormous numbers of Fidesz voters—at least one or perhaps two million people—who are now beginning to realize that they were misled. It is extremely important that they receive information and are not excluded from the political community. A Truth and Reconciliation Commission–type process could help bring as many of them as possible back into the political community, create a shared understanding of these sixteen years, and allow a society to move forward from there.

And last but not least, I believe such a process is necessary because so many people were harmed by this regime. A formal process could create ways to acknowledge and compensate for those harms, both symbolically and perhaps also in more material terms.

Orbán Went from Feared to Ridiculed

In your analysis of Hungary’s civil society crackdown, you link government attacks to older legacies of political passivity, low institutional trust, and suspicion toward public advocacy. Did Orbánism merely exploit these post-socialist inheritances, or did it actively deepen and weaponize them?

Stefánia Kapronczay: At first, it exploited them, but then it deepened and weaponized them even further. It was not simply a matter of winking at civil society and signaling, “Okay, this is how we are going to operate.” Through hate campaigns targeting certain groups, and more broadly through the demonization of anyone who criticized the government, these sentiments were actively intensified.

And it is very interesting to observe how this form of power actually functioned. Modern autocrats do not primarily operate through torture or enforced disappearances, but rather through the power of narrative. On the one hand, they cultivate fear, self-censorship, and self-correction. On the other hand, they strategically deploy state power—for example, by dismissing teachers who participated in protests in certain ways.

What I also find striking is how this kind of power structure that Orbán created—and that is so characteristic of modern authoritarianism—seemed to evaporate within just two months. He went from being feared to becoming almost ridiculous. And I think this is something we need to study much more carefully.

Democratic Repair Requires Dismantling the Entire System

Peter Magyar.
Péter Magyar addresses supporters near a football stadium and miniature railway in Viktor Orbán’s childhood village, in a symbolic political gesture in Felcsút, Hungary on May 24, 2024: Photo: Dreamstime.

Now that Péter Magyar and the Tisza administration are in power, what should be the first-order priorities of democratic repair after sixteen years of Orbánism: dismantling propaganda structures, restoring judicial independence, reforming electoral institutions, rebuilding media pluralism, protecting civil society, addressing systemic corruption, or repairing public trust and democratic culture?

Stefánia Kapronczay: The difficult thing is that all of these issues are deeply interconnected. That is precisely why Orbánism functioned as a system. You cannot simply pull on one thread and expect the entire structure to unravel. You have to address all of these interconnected elements simultaneously in order for the system itself to break down. And this represents an enormous challenge for the current government. There is an immense amount of hope invested in them, and because of that, people are still relatively patient. But the government will need to demonstrate tangible results quite soon in order to sustain the hope, trust, and patience that citizens have placed in them.

Judging from the public discourse in the country, addressing propaganda is especially important for people, because propaganda was something everyone confronted daily through billboards, media coverage, and constant messaging. So, I think dismantling the propaganda machinery is one particularly urgent priority. Another key priority is demonstrating that public services—healthcare, education, transportation—can actually function better, and delivering visible progress in those areas. The government must also show clearly that it is not willing to compromise with the previous system, and that there will in fact be consequences for the harms that were committed.

These are among the most immediate priorities, although, of course, they touch upon all the issues you mentioned. At the same time, the government also has to rebuild public trust in institutions. So, they must pursue accountability without further damaging trust.

They also need to be extremely careful about polarization and avoid deepening it further. That is why I believe a carefully designed Truth and Reconciliation Commission–type process—one that brings these issues closer to ordinary people and actively involves them—could be extremely beneficial.

And then, in parallel—or at least soon afterward—we also need to begin thinking not only about the past, but about the future. What kind of state do we actually want to build now? What should these institutions look like?

I also believe this must be a deeply participatory process involving citizens as well as civil society organizations. It is not enough simply to hold a referendum at the end. We need people, each contributing according to their own expertise and experience, to participate throughout the process. That is why citizens’ assemblies could play a very important role within the constitution-making process.

Principles Alone Are No Longer Enough

Looking beyond Hungary, how has Orbánism functioned as a regional template for populist and illiberal actors in Central and Eastern Europe, especially in attacks on NGOs, independent media, minority rights, judicial checks, and foreign-funded organizations?

Stefánia Kapronczay: We often say that authoritarians learn from one another, and we can clearly see how certain Russian laws were copied by Hungary and then adapted to the realities of Hungary’s membership in the European Union. I also hear from Slovak and Czech activists that they recognize strong similarities between what their governments are now proposing and what Hungary has already experienced.

The similarities are visible not only in the policies themselves, but also in how these processes begin: first with smear campaigns and public attacks, followed by the use of familiar narratives of stigmatization. The rhetoric is almost always about foreign funding, sovereignty, and alleged external influence. These patterns are very recognizable across the region.

I think NGOs throughout Central and Eastern Europe can learn a great deal from the Hungarian experience, and I believe there are two particularly important lessons

The first is that strength lies in unity. We were able to resist many of these laws and attacks because, at an early stage, we began working together. It was a difficult process, and our first attempts at coalition-building were not always successful. But we learned from those earlier efforts and eventually succeeded in creating effective alliances. That cooperation allowed us to combine our strengths instead of remaining fragmented. Those who were strongest in advocacy focused on advocacy; those skilled at mobilizing citizens concentrated on organizing; others handled communications; and others prepared administrative or legal responses.

The second lesson is that we must understand how crucial citizen mobilization and narrative-building have become in contemporary politics. This is very visible today. If there is at least one similarity between the Tisza and Fidesz governments, it is that both understand the importance of narrative power. Tisza even refers to this as “absolute cinema.” They frame their actions in ways that are easily consumable, emotionally engaging, and rich in symbolism—ways that ordinary citizens can immediately connect with.

And civil society must also recognize this reality. The power of principles alone is not enough. Civil society also has to succeed on the emotional level, through compelling stories and by demonstrating how its principles affect people’s everyday lives. It also has to become more effective at using narrative strategies. I do not think this is something entirely new for civil society. I often look at the American civil rights movement as, in many respects, the first human rights movement. And it used exactly these kinds of tools, adapted to its own historical moment. So, we simply need to recognize that this is not manipulation. It is part of our strength and part of our democratic power.

Democracy Must Return in a Better Form

Finally, if Hungary evolves from being a cautionary tale of democratic backsliding into a case of democratic repair, what would genuine recovery require—constitutionally, socially, and morally—to restore pluralism, civic courage, and belief in human rights after years of normalized illiberalism? Moreover, what lessons could Hungary’s experience offer to other societies confronting populism, democratic erosion, and autocratization?

Stefánia Kapronczay: I would begin from a broader perspective. It is undeniable that democracy is currently in crisis. According to Freedom House, this is now the nineteenth consecutive year in which the number of democracies worldwide has declined.

At the same time, research consistently shows that democracies deliver better outcomes for people and that people genuinely live better in democratic societies. So, while democracy is clearly facing a profound crisis, I remain convinced—not only on a principled level but also based on empirical evidence—that democracy is worth fighting for because it ultimately provides a better quality of life for citizens.

What happened in Hungary in 2010, when Fidesz came to power, also teaches us an important lesson: democracy as it existed at the time—with its institutions and structures—was already struggling to meet citizens’ expectations. That means we have to think seriously about how democracies can function better. I would not consider it a success if, in 2026, Hungary simply returned to the pre-2010 status quo, because that version of democracy was also failing to provide the kind of outcomes people deserved. Economic inequality, for example, still prevented many people from participating meaningfully in public life, which meant that equal citizenship did not truly exist in practice. So, my hope is that Hungary can become a case study not simply for returning to democracy, but for rebuilding democracy in a better form—one that not only functions better for people, but also makes people genuinely feel that it works for them.

Moreover, one of the key elements in this process is participation—participatory democracy. We cannot simply entrust elected representatives with making decisions on our behalf for four years at a time. Expanding participation and deepening citizens’ involvement are essential, because this is how people build relationships with institutions and, consequently, develop trust in them. At the same time, participatory systems allow citizens’ needs, concerns, and aspirations to be incorporated more directly into political decision-making. So, I envision democracies recovering and becoming more resilient if they succeed in creating more meaningful forms of participation and rely less exclusively on the traditional model in which elected officials merely represent citizens from above.

Dr. James Loxton.

Dr. Loxton: Democratic Backsliding Is Driven More by Populism than Authoritarian Successor Parties

Dr. James Loxton argues that today’s democratic backsliding is driven less by authoritarian successor parties than by populist leaders who promise to return power to “the people” but then concentrate it in their own hands. In this ECPS interview, he explains how authoritarian legacies often survive democratization through parties, institutions, networks, and political brands. Yet, looking at Hungary, Turkey, Brazil, and the United States, Dr. Loxton identifies populism as the more significant common thread. He also discusses “authoritarian inheritance,” the appeal of authoritarian nostalgia, and the rise of gray-zone regimes marked by “competitive authoritarianism,” where elections continue but the playing field is “fundamentally uneven and unfair.”

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

Dr. James Loxton, Senior Lecturer in Comparative Politics at the University of Sydney and one of the leading scholars of authoritarianism, democratization, and party politics, argues that the contemporary crisis of democracy cannot be understood simply through the persistence of old authoritarian elites. While much of his influential scholarship has focused on “authoritarian successor parties” and the enduring legacies of dictatorship after democratic transition, Dr. Loxton warns that the principal engine of democratic backsliding today is increasingly populism itself. “When I think about the democratic backsliding occurring across much of the world today,” he tells the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), “I see populism—not authoritarian successor parties—as the more significant common thread.”

In this wide-ranging interview, Dr. Loxton explores why authoritarian actors, institutions, and political cultures so often survive democratization rather than disappear with regime change. Challenging conventional understandings of democratic transition, he argues that most transitions are not revolutionary ruptures in which authoritarian systems are swept away entirely. “It is extremely rare for all aspects of the old regime simply to disappear and be replaced by a completely blank slate,” he explains. Instead, authoritarian legacies persist through constitutions, institutions, party organizations, and political networks that continue operating long after democratization formally occurs.

At the center of Dr. Loxton’s work is the concept of “authoritarian inheritance,” the idea that ties to a former dictatorship can function not only as liabilities but also as electoral assets. “Having roots in a dictatorship can sometimes be as much of an asset as it is a liability for parties operating under democracy,” he argues. In some cases, voters consciously embrace authoritarian legacies because they associate former regimes with “stability,” “order,” or “national strength”. In others, historical memory itself becomes distorted through nostalgia, revisionism, and digital propaganda. Reflecting on cases such as Ferdinand Marcos Jr. in the Philippines and Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil, Dr. Loxton warns of the growing appeal of what he calls “authoritarian nostalgia parties,” particularly among younger generations with no lived experience of dictatorship.

Yet Dr. Loxton also draws a crucial distinction between authoritarian successor parties and the broader populist dynamics reshaping democratic politics today. Looking at countries such as Hungary, Turkey, Brazil, and the United States, he argues that the deeper pattern is not simply authoritarian continuity but the rise of leaders who campaign against elites in the name of “the people” and then centralize power once in office. “Populist leaders run for office promising to smash the elites and return power to ‘the people,’” he notes. “Then, once in office, they proceed to concentrate power in their own hands and tilt the political playing field in their favor.”

The interview also explores Dr. Loxton’s reflections on “competitive authoritarianism,” the influential concept developed by Steven Levitsky and Lucan A. Way to describe regimes occupying the gray zone between democracy and dictatorship. For Dr. Loxton, these hybrid systems capture one of the defining political realities of the 21st century: democracies increasingly hollowed out not through military coups, but through elections, populism, institutional manipulation, and the gradual erosion of liberal norms from within.

Here is the edited version of our interview with Dr. James Loxton, revised slightly for clarity and flow.

Transitions Rarely Begin from a Blank Slate

Campaign propaganda for Peruvian presidential candidate Keiko Fujimori painted on a wall along the Pan-American Highway in Lima, Peru on April 29, 2021. Photo: Christian Inga / Dreamstime.

Dr. Loxton, welcome. Let me begin with a broader question about authoritarian continuity across generations and democratic systems. In your work on authoritarian successor parties, you argue that former regime elites often survive democratization by transforming themselves into competitive democratic actors. To what extent do you think this organizational continuity explains the remarkable intergenerational resilience of authoritarian politics in many contemporary democracies?

Dr. James Loxton: I think a good place to start is by considering what a regime transition actually is. Many people, when they imagine a transition from dictatorship to democracy, picture some kind of big bang in which the old regime is completely obliterated, and a new democratic order is created from scratch. But what I have tried to show in my work—and what many other scholars have demonstrated as well—is that this is almost never the case. It is extremely rare for all aspects of the old regime simply to disappear and be replaced by a completely blank slate. Legacies of the old dictatorship almost always persist in one form or another. In many countries, for example, constitutions created under authoritarian rule continue to be used by democratic governments. That is a very common pattern.

What I have focused on in my own research is political parties that emerge from former dictatorships and continue to operate after a transition to democracy. I call these authoritarian successor parties, and they are extraordinarily common. When I first began studying this topic more than a decade ago, I expected the numbers to be high, but I was still surprised by just how widespread the phenomenon turned out to be.

I examined every new democracy established between the 1970s and 2010 and looked at whether an authoritarian successor party emerged and whether that party was eventually elected back to office. What I found was that in roughly three-quarters of all new democracies, an authoritarian successor party emerged as a viable political actor. In more than half of all new democracies, voters freely and fairly used the ballot box to return the “bad guys” to power. So, this is not a marginal phenomenon at all; it is an incredibly common one.

Authoritarian Inheritance Can Outlive the Dictator

Your concept of “authoritarian inheritance” highlights how former ruling elites retain organizational resources, networks, and legitimacy after democratic transitions. Could we extend this framework to explain why voters in democratic systems continue electing the children, relatives, or political heirs of authoritarian rulers decades after democratization?

Dr. James Loxton: Yes, I think so. The term I use to make sense of authoritarian successor parties is authoritarian inheritance. The basic idea—although it is quite an uncomfortable one, and it certainly makes me uncomfortable—is that having roots in a dictatorship can sometimes be as much of an asset as it is a liability for parties operating under democracy. This can take many forms, ranging from connections to business elites to, more disturbingly, possessing a political brand that voters actually find attractive. Such parties are able to say: “Remember that dictatorship? Remember how you liked it? Well, we are going to continue that legacy. We are going to continue to represent the old regime. Vote for us.”

Let me give you an example. Right now, Peru is in the middle of a presidential election. The first round has already taken place, and the country is now heading into the second round. One of the top two candidates is Keiko Fujimori. She has run for president three times before. On each occasion, she reached the second round and then lost by a very narrow margin. We will see whether she is luckier on her fourth attempt. Who is she? She is the daughter of former Peruvian autocrat Alberto Fujimori, who served as the country’s president-slash-dictator during the 1990s.

In fact, just before our interview, I was looking at her official campaign website. On the very first page, if you scroll down to the bottom, there is a section titled “Positive Legacies,” where she highlights what she views as her father’s major accomplishments—stabilizing the economy, ending hyperinflation, and defeating a powerful guerrilla insurgency in the country. So, she is fully embracing the legacy of her father. Will she get elected? We will see. But it clearly appears to be a message that resonates with many Peruvian voters.

Authoritarian Memory Can Become an Electoral Resource

In “Why We Elect Former Dictators and Their Children,” you suggest that authoritarian legacies can be politically normalized over time. Under what conditions does collective memory fail to generate democratic accountability, allowing authoritarian family dynasties to reinvent themselves electorally rather than remain politically stigmatized?

Dr. James Loxton: I’m going to push back a little bit on the way that question is framed. The idea of “collective memory failing” suggests that if people vote for someone like Keiko Fujimori, or for parties such as the KMT in Taiwan or the PRI in Mexico—former ruling parties of authoritarian regimes—they must somehow be mistaken or have misremembered the past. In some cases, that may indeed be true. But in other cases, it is almost certainly the case that people do remember the old regime, and they simply liked it. They liked the way the old regime operated. They felt safer, they felt things were more stable, things were more predictable. Whatever the reason may be, they simply viewed that period positively. So, now the regime has changed, and citizens are free to vote for whomever they want. Who do they choose? In some cases, they choose the people they already like—whether that means the old ruling party, a family member of the former ruler, or even the former dictator himself.

Democracy Does Not Always Bury the Old Regime

Many authoritarian successor parties appear to thrive not despite democratization, but because of it. Does this suggest that electoral democracy itself may unintentionally provide institutional shelter for authoritarian continuity, especially in weakly institutionalized democracies?

Dr. James Loxton: Again, I think all this really shows is that voters do not always vote the way I might want them to vote, or the way you might want them to vote, or the way the people watching this video might want them to vote. Let’s suppose you are a conservative and would really like everyone always to vote for the Conservative Party. But guess what? Some people vote for the left. Or let’s suppose you are a leftist and want everybody to vote for the Social Democratic Party. Well, many people are conservatives, and so they vote for conservative parties.

Why do I say that, and why do I think this is particularly important when it comes to authoritarian successor parties and, more specifically, former dictators and their children? The reason is that these phenomena involve political actors who run for office under democracy but have roots in former dictatorships. What makes them unique is that, unlike constitutions imposed by former regimes, or amnesties granted to militaries responsible for human rights abuses, these are not institutional arrangements simply forced upon society and made difficult to remove under democracy.

That is not the case with authoritarian successor parties, former dictators, or the children of former dictators. Voters must willingly cast their ballots for these people. And it turns out that this is exactly what happens in most new democracies. In fact, across most of the so-called third-wave democracies—those established from the mid-1970s onward—voters have freely and willingly used the ballot box to support political actors who had some connection to the former dictatorship.

The Greater Danger Today Is Populist Power-Grabbing

US President Donald Trump and Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán arrive for a working dinner at the NATO Summit in Brussels, Belgium on July 11, 2018. Photo: Gints Ivuskans / Dreamstime.

Your scholarship frequently emphasizes the “double-edged” nature of authoritarian successor parties: they may stabilize democracy by incorporating former regime actors, yet simultaneously preserve authoritarian enclaves. In today’s context of democratic backsliding, do you believe the balance has shifted more decisively toward the harmful side of that equation?

Dr. James Loxton: What you say is true. Authoritarian successor parties are, in many ways, a double-edged phenomenon. On the one hand, they can be surprisingly helpful because they provide a political voice for people who supported and identified with the old regime. On the other hand, they can also be harmful. They may protect undemocratic constitutions or shield human rights violators from accountability. In some extreme—though actually quite rare—cases, they can undermine the new democracy itself and push the country back toward authoritarianism.

But when I look around the world today at countries such as Hungary until very recently, Turkey, the United States, or Brazil until recently—cases where democracy has either come under severe stress or, in some instances, broken down altogether—I do not see authoritarian successor parties or the children of former dictators as the primary common denominator. Rather, the recurring pattern is that populist leaders run for office promising to smash the elites and return power to “the people.” Then, once in office, they proceed to concentrate power in their own hands and tilt the political playing field in their favor. So, when I think about the democratic backsliding occurring across much of the world today, I see populism—not authoritarian successor parties—as the more significant common thread.

Some Populists Turn Dictatorship into a Golden Age

In recent years, we have seen populist leaders invoke nostalgia for “strong states,” “order,” and “national greatness.” How much of contemporary populism do you see as a repackaging of authoritarian inheritance into emotionally resonant democratic narratives?

Dr. James Loxton: It depends on the case. A common populist message is the promise to “make X great again”—whether that means making America great again, Turkey great again, Hungary great again, or something similar. If a country has an authoritarian past, then celebrating that past can certainly become part of the populist appeal. But that is not true in every case.

At the same time, I find the phenomenon of authoritarian nostalgia both fascinating and extremely widespread. And I want to return to something I mentioned earlier: the idea that voters often do remember the old regime and vote accordingly, even if that may make some of us uncomfortable to acknowledge. However, there are also cases in which the public memory of the past is clearly inaccurate or heavily distorted. The best contemporary example, in my view, is the Philippines under Ferdinand Marcos Jr., or Bongbong Marcos, as he is commonly known.

If we look across authoritarian regimes globally and consider those marked by extreme corruption and incompetence, the Marcos dictatorship ranks very high on the list. This was not a case like Park Chung-hee’s South Korea or the KMT in Taiwan—authoritarian regimes that were undoubtedly repressive but also highly developmental. The Marcos regime was essentially a kleptocracy. Yet, when Bongbong Marcos ran for president, he fully embraced his father’s legacy and presented it as a kind of golden age. He described his father as a genius, while a vast network of supporters produced YouTube videos and social media content portraying the Marcos years in a completely misleading way.

This narrative appears to have resonated with many Filipino voters who were frustrated with the many grievances facing the Philippines today. So, in some cases, people genuinely remember the past and vote accordingly, while in other cases, historical memory itself becomes seriously distorted.

Former Regime Elites Can Colonize the Party System

Your work on authoritarian diasporas argues that former authoritarian elites often disperse across multiple parties after transitions rather than remain concentrated in a single successor organization. Could this fragmentation actually make authoritarian influence more durable and difficult to detect within democratic systems?

Dr. James Loxton: Yes. This is part of a research project I worked on with Timothy Power at Oxford. Tim is an expert on Brazil, which provides a particularly interesting case. In 1985, Brazil’s two-decade-long military regime came to an end, and the country transitioned to democracy. Yet for roughly the next 20 years, the party system remained heavily dominated by figures connected to that military regime. The dictatorship had created an official party and organized elections while still under authoritarian rule. Then, once democratization occurred, politicians from that party dispersed across the political spectrum. In effect, they colonized the broader party system.

Now, the official party of the old regime did continue to exist. It performed relatively well and, in fact, still exists today, although under several different names over the years. But the real influence of the broader authoritarian diaspora—the wider coalition that had governed Brazil during military rule—was far more consequential and far more influential than one might assume simply by looking at the authoritarian successor party itself.

Young Voters Can Embrace Dictatorships They Never Experienced

One of the most striking developments globally is the rehabilitation of authoritarian reputations among younger generations with no lived memory of dictatorship. How should scholars understand the role of generational distance, digital media ecosystems, and historical revisionism in the electoral resurgence of authoritarian heirs?

Dr. James Loxton: The case of Bongbong Marcos in the Philippines is a very clear example. He appears to enjoy substantial support among younger voters. Another example is Bolsonaro in Brazil. Bolsonaro was a relatively low-level figure—a captain in the Brazilian military—and a young man during the years of military rule. Yet he has fully and enthusiastically, and often quite provocatively, embraced the legacy of the old dictatorship. In doing so, he has attracted considerable support from many Brazilian voters, including younger generations.

I find this to be a deeply disturbing phenomenon: people who never directly experienced authoritarian rule nevertheless developing a kind of fantastical understanding of what those regimes were actually like. We see this not only in Brazil and the Philippines, but also in countries such as Spain and Chile. We also see it in what I call “authoritarian nostalgia parties.” These are not necessarily parties that emerged organically from the old regime itself. In many cases, decades have passed since the return to democracy. Yet these parties place nostalgia for the former authoritarian order at the very center of their electoral appeal. And unfortunately, this phenomenon appears to be becoming increasingly common.

Democracy Requires More Than Elections

In “Authoritarianism: A Very Short Introduction,” you discuss authoritarianism not simply as a regime type but as a broader political logic. Do you think contemporary democracies are increasingly experiencing what we might call the “authoritarianization of democratic culture,” even before formal regime breakdown occurs?

Dr. James Loxton: No, actually, in that book I very clearly present authoritarianism as a regime type. An authoritarian regime is one that fails to meet all the criteria associated with what is commonly known as the procedural minimum definition of democracy. To qualify as a democracy, a regime must have free and fair elections, universal suffrage, and protections for a broad range of civil liberties. If any one of those elements is absent, then the regime is not democratic; it is authoritarian.

Authoritarian Actors Do Not Always Need Populism

In several countries, authoritarian successor parties have successfully repositioned themselves as defenders of democracy against allegedly corrupt or dysfunctional democratic elites. Is anti-establishment populism today becoming the primary mechanism through which authoritarian actors regain democratic legitimacy?

Dr. James Loxton: Some authoritarian successor parties do adopt a populist message, presenting themselves as challengers to entrenched elites and claiming to speak on behalf of “the people.” Others, however, do not. It really varies from case to case. Just like politicians more broadly, some choose to campaign as populists, while others pursue very different strategies. Ultimately, it depends on the specific party or candidate in question.

Authoritarian Branding Survives Radio, Television, and X

Your research demonstrates that authoritarian successor parties often inherit organizational advantages such as party brands, territorial networks, and clientelist infrastructures. In the digital age, have these inherited assets become less important than affective polarization, social media mobilization, and charismatic personalization? Or do old authoritarian networks still matter beneath the surface?

Dr. James Loxton: The term authoritarian inheritance functions as a broad umbrella concept encompassing a wide range of assets that authoritarian successor parties—or, in the case of my more recent work, former dictators themselves or their children—can draw upon. Now, some of these assets are probably less important than they once were. I still believe that having a strong territorial organization matters, but perhaps it matters somewhat less in the age of social media and digital communication. However, one element that I think remains just as important as ever is the power of the party brand.

And this brings us back to a deeply uncomfortable—but fundamentally important—idea that we need to take seriously if we want to understand why these actors so often succeed electorally under democracy. The key point is that an association with the old regime may actually function as an asset. Some people may look back at that regime, accurately or inaccurately, and conclude: “You know what? I really liked that. I would like more of it.” That kind of political branding remains highly relevant regardless of whether parties are communicating through radio, television, or X.

Some Regimes Combine Democracy and Dictatorship

Supporters of Brazil’s former President (2019–2022) Jair Bolsonaro hold signs during a demonstration in São Paulo, Brazil, on September 7, 2025. Photo: Dreamstime.

And finally, Dr. James Loxton, if authoritarianism today increasingly survives not through coups, but through elections, constitutional manipulation, and dynastic succession, do we need an entirely new conceptual vocabulary beyond the classic democracy-authoritarianism binary to understand 21st-century regime evolution?

Dr. James Loxton: I’m a student of Steven Levitsky. He was my PhD supervisor, and he has had a profound influence on how I understand politics. Levitsky, together with his longtime collaborator Lucan A. Way, coined the term “competitive authoritarianism” to describe a hybrid regime that combines elements of both democracy and authoritarianism. One of the things I find particularly fascinating is how widely the concept of competitive authoritarianism has spread—not only within academia, but increasingly in broader public discourse as well. You now hear journalists and commentators regularly using the term in mainstream political discussions.

I think this is one of the most important concepts political science has produced over the past few decades because it so effectively captures cases such as Hungary until very recently or Peru in the 1990s. These are systems where elections still exist and where the opposition retains at least some possibility of winning, however limited. Opposition parties continue to operate, and dissenting voices can still communicate their messages—perhaps not through the main state broadcaster, but through alternative forms of media. So, we are not talking about fully closed regimes like Russia or North Korea.

There is genuine political competition, but the playing field is fundamentally uneven and unfair. That is the great danger in countries such as the United States today. In fact, Levitsky and Way argue that the United States is no longer a full democracy and has drifted toward a form of competitive authoritarianism. Similarly, Brazil under Bolsonaro appeared to be moving in that direction, and that is essentially what Hungary became under Fidesz.

So, to be honest, I still find the democracy-versus-dictatorship binary useful. At the same time, I also recognize that some regimes occupy a gray zone in between—systems that combine important features of both democracy and dictatorship.

Professor Quinn Slobodian.

Prof. Slobodian: For Musk and Muskism, Democracy Is Yesterday’s Problem

Professor Quinn Slobodian, Professor of International History at Boston University and one of the leading scholars of neoliberalism and the contemporary far right, argues that “Muskism” represents a profound transformation in the relationship between capitalism, technology, and democracy. In an interview with the ECPS, Professor Slobodian contends that Elon Musk embodies a new political-economic order grounded not in liberal individualism but in “a cybernetic understanding of human society” shaped by digital networks, AI, and technocratic management. According to Professor Slobodian, Musk no longer treats democracy as a meaningful political ideal: “For Musk, democracy almost appears to be yesterday’s problem.” The interview explores neoliberalism, authoritarianism, Silicon Valley’s “state symbiosis,” digital sovereignty, and the growing convergence between platform capitalism and far-right populism.

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

Giving an interview to the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Quinn Slobodian, Professor of International History at Boston University, argues that “Muskism” marks a profound shift in the relationship between capitalism, technology, and democracy. In his view, Elon Musk should not be understood merely as an eccentric billionaire, but as the embodiment of a new political-economic formation built on the infrastructures of platform capitalism, artificial intelligence, military technology, and state dependency.

For Professor Slobodian, Muskism cannot be separated from neoliberalism. “It’s impossible to understand how we arrive at Muskism without considering the effects of neoliberalism,” he explains. Decades of neoliberal policy helped create the conditions under which private actors could assume functions once performed by public institutions. Yet Muskism also departs from classical neoliberalism. Rather than beginning with “consumer sovereignty” or “individual freedom,” it rests on “a kind of cybernetic understanding of human society,” imagining society as “a networked totality that must be engineered and managed to produce optimized outcomes.”

This is where the headline of the interview becomes central. According to Professor Slobodian, Muskism radicalizes neoliberal efforts to constrain democracy, but goes further by treating democracy as increasingly obsolete. While earlier neoliberal thinkers such as Friedrich Hayek and Milton Friedman remained deeply concerned with democracy as a social force, Musk, he argues, does not even “offer lip service to traditional political ideas such as civil society, deliberation, or representation.” For Musk, these concepts belong to “an outdated era of social and political life” supposedly surpassed by “technological acceleration, digital connectivity, and new forms of mediated decision-making.” As Professor Slobodian puts it starkly: “For Musk, democracy almost appears to be yesterday’s problem.”

The interview also explores Professor Slobodian’s concept of “state symbiosis.” Contrary to the familiar image of Silicon Valley elites as anti-state libertarians, he argues that today’s tech oligarchs increasingly seek not to escape the state but to merge with it. Muskism, in this sense, is not about “withering away the state,” but about selling “sovereignty as a service”—from orbital launches and satellite connectivity to AI tools for state administration.

Professor Slobodian further warns that Muskism represents “a radical departure from the liberal tradition,” replacing ideas of human dignity, agency, and representation with optimization, efficiency, and programmable social systems. At the same time, he situates Muskism within broader far-right and populist transformations, arguing that many contemporary right-wing movements are not simply anti-neoliberal reactions, but “the bastard offspring of neoliberalism itself.”

Here is the edited version of our interview with Professor Quinn Slobodian, revised slightly for clarity and flow.

Muskism Begins with the Network, Not the Individual

Professor Slobodian, welcome. In Muskism, you conceptualize Elon Musk less as an individual eccentricity than as the embodiment of an emerging political-economic order. To what extent do you see “Muskism” as a successor to neoliberalism, and to what extent is it better understood as neoliberalism mutating into a post-democratic or neo-feudal formation?

Professor Quinn Slobodian: It’s impossible to understand how we arrive at Muskism without considering the effects of neoliberalism. The basic idea that private actors can perform functions previously carried out by states better than public institutions can is really the premise on which Musk gains his initial foothold in both government and markets. A clear example is SpaceX, which got its start in 2002 through major contracts with the Pentagon and the Department of Defense.

The extent to which power has been transferred to business leaders like Musk is itself a symptom of neoliberalism. What we find distinctive about Muskism, however—and what differentiates it from neoliberalism—is partly the way it justifies itself. Rather than appealing to the language of consumer sovereignty or even individual freedom, Muskism—and this is shared more broadly among his cohort of tech leaders—rests on a kind of cybernetic understanding of human society and even of the relationship between the state and business.

Instead of viewing government as an institution that creates the conditions for individual free-market decision-making, which is the traditional neoliberal position, the Musk approach imagines society as a networked totality that must be engineered and managed to produce optimized outcomes.

So, rather than beginning with the individual, as neoliberalism ultimately does, Muskism begins at the level of the network—and that network is always already digital, a computerized world. In that sense, it feels quite different from the animating ideas of the neoliberal era, even if the extraordinarily concentrated wealth and power of someone like Musk could only emerge after decades of neoliberal policy.

Musk Treats Democracy as Something to Be Hacked

Your work repeatedly emphasizes the “encasement” of markets from democratic interference. Do contemporary tech oligarchs represent a new phase of this neoliberal project—one in which democracy is no longer merely constrained institutionally but rendered technologically obsolete through algorithmic governance and AI-driven administration?

Professor Quinn Slobodian: It does radicalize the trends that I and others have emphasized in the past when talking about neoliberalism, in the sense that it, like neoliberalism, is concerned with constraining the space for citizen input and citizen action to ensure that outcomes align with a preconceived idea of how law and policy should function.

In Globalists and other works, I and others have discussed how the creation of counter-majoritarian institutions and forms of international economic law that sit above the decision-making power of sovereign governments serve to guarantee market outcomes, even in the face of hesitation or resistance from populations. So, there was always this tension between protecting capitalism and respecting democracy. At times, democracy itself seemed to have to be partially suspended in order to secure the kind of capitalist outcomes policymakers wanted. The difference with Musk and Muskism is that there is far less serious consideration of the legitimacy of democracy altogether.

Even thinkers like Friedrich Hayek or Milton Friedman—or, at the more radical end, figures such as Murray Rothbard and the anarcho-capitalist tradition—however wary they were of democracy, majoritarianism, or populism, still understood democracy as something they had to contend with. There was, in a sense, a kind of respect for the social force democracy represented and for the symbolic value it held for ordinary people. What is extraordinary about someone like Elon Musk is that he does not even offer lip service to traditional political ideas such as civil society, deliberation, or representation. These concepts seem to him to belong to an outdated era of social and political life that has been transcended by technological acceleration, digital connectivity, and new forms of mediated decision-making.

So, democracy is no longer even something to be worried about in the way Hayek, for example, was endlessly preoccupied with it. For Musk, democracy almost appears to be yesterday’s problem. The technocratic engineering mentality he brings into politics treats democracy as just another technical issue to be hacked and aligned with one’s own interests.

This also applies to his relationship with the European far right—to perhaps anticipate a question you might ask—because the conventional journalistic interpretation of his ties to figures such as Alice Weidel, Tommy Robinson, or far-right actors in Poland and elsewhere is that they reflect ideological sympathy or a shared commitment to anti-immigrant politics or even white supremacist ideas. But I do not think that is the most accurate way to understand it. I think Musk sees far-right parties in highly functional terms. He views them as the parties of the future, destined to replace the legacy formations of social democracy, Christian democracy, and political centrism.

From that perspective, it makes sense for him to align himself with what he sees as the future engines of European politics—not out of any principled commitment to self-determination or popular sovereignty, but because such alliances are more functional for his business interests.

This very thin understanding of politics—one that treats politics memetically and as a series of engineering problems—is difficult for many people to grasp because we still instinctively assume that popular sovereignty remains an important political force. What is striking about Musk is that he no longer seems to believe it even requires attention.

Silicon Valley No Longer Wants to Escape the State

Silicon Valley Technology Center in San Jose, California. Photo: Joe Sohm / Dreamstime.

You argue that Silicon Valley elites are not anti-state libertarians but proponents of “state symbiosis.” How does this alter conventional understandings of authoritarianism? Are we witnessing the emergence of a privatized authoritarianism in which sovereignty is increasingly outsourced to platform monopolies?

Professor Quinn Slobodian: One of our main goals with the book was to reshape the conversation around Silicon Valley ideology. It has become quite common to describe Silicon Valley leaders as libertarians, and at one point that may indeed have been a reasonably accurate characterization. But that is far less true today.

One important thing to recognize is that digital capitalism has now existed for several decades, and Silicon Valley’s business model has changed dramatically since the mid-1990s, when internet infrastructure was first handed over to private interests. There have essentially been three distinct phases during this period, and the politics associated with Silicon Valley have largely reflected the dominant economic model of each phase.

At the dawn of the internet in the late 1990s, it was still possible to imagine the web as a genuinely de-territorialized space existing outside the boundaries of any single nation-state, enabling radical new forms of interaction, value creation, and community. That vision had a certain plausibility. It also aligned with clear business interests, since companies were attempting to build a parallel digital world of retail and payments. So, when Peter Thiel in the 1990s declared, “I’m a libertarian, and what I’m trying to do at PayPal is create stateless money,” that framing was not entirely implausible. It was a reasonable way to understand what was emerging at the time.

Roughly a decade later, after the dot-com boom and bust, the dominant model became Web 2.0: social media, platforms, apps, Uber, Facebook, Twitter, and so forth. These businesses were largely asset-light. They required relatively little capital expenditure and functioned primarily by creating open digital spaces in which users generated data that could then be monetized through advertising.

Even during that period, Silicon Valley ideology did not need to engage very seriously with the state. These companies portrayed themselves as building a parallel world of socialization and commerce that required little from government beyond permission to continue operating and generating profits.

What changes in the present moment is the rise of generative AI and the renewed focus on hard-tech industries. Just today, for example, there was a report about Anduril—the defense startup focused on drones, missiles, and military logistics—which doubled its valuation over the last year from $30 billion to $60 billion.

Musk now increasingly sees the state itself as his market: selling orbital launches to governments, selling satellites—or access to satellites—for battlefield operations and rural connectivity, and selling XAI chatbot software for government administration. This shift toward military technology and generative AI has fundamentally altered Silicon Valley’s relationship with government, and with it, its political philosophy. It no longer makes much sense to call yourself a libertarian when the government is your primary customer. Nor does libertarianism fit a situation in which companies rely on government to open federal lands for drilling, rewrite regulations, and guarantee preferred access to contracts. The fusion between state and private actors has become impossible to ignore.

At the same time, I do not think it is convincing to interpret all of this simply as the hollowing out or withering away of the state. You asked whether this represents the privatization of sovereignty away from government. We would describe it instead as “sovereignty as a service.” Certain state functions are privatized, but this process simultaneously expands state capacity. Access to low-Earth orbit, for example, or to integrated bureaucratic databases that can be queried across agencies in previously impossible ways—these developments do not diminish state power; they increase it.

Muskism Is About Becoming Part of the State

Caricature: Shutterstock.

For that reason, it is important to understand Musk and Muskism as more than simple forms of rentierism or crony capitalism. Personally, I think terms such as “techno-feudalism” can be misleading because they suggest a backward or regressive form of capitalism in which private actors merely carve out digital fiefdoms and extract rents from dependent populations. That does not really capture what is happening. Countries such as China, Russia, and the United States are, in many respects, becoming more centrally powerful through access to the products and services developed by tech companies. At the same time, however, they are becoming increasingly dependent on those same companies.

This is why the balance of what we call “symbiosis” is so precarious and requires careful attention. It can easily tip into parasitism if the relationship becomes too unbalanced. Conversely, private firms may defect if they feel excessively pressured by their state clients.

We have seen examples of this dynamic even in recent months. The Department of Defense and Pete Hegseth’s staff suddenly declared Anthropic to be a supply-chain risk and sought to remove its software from government systems. Initially, this looked like an assertion of state authority over the private sector. But almost immediately, two things happened: courts ruled against the decision, and other tech firms rallied behind Anthropic, effectively saying, “We do not want to be subjected to arbitrary state decision-making, and we also want collective influence over how our products are used.”

So, what we are seeing is a partnership, an alliance, a fusion—however one chooses to describe it. But it is no longer the libertarian fantasy historically associated with Silicon Valley: escaping the state, building private cities, or founding sovereign communities on decommissioned oil rigs in Honduras. That may have been a plausible understanding of Silicon Valley in 2000, or perhaps even in 2009. But by 2026, the dynamic is much more about becoming part of the state than escaping it.

Tech CEOs Are Not Sovereigns

In your discussion of “sovereignty as a service,” firms such as SpaceX, Palantir, and Starlink appear not simply as contractors but as infrastructural sovereigns. Does this imply a transformation of the Weberian state itself—from a monopoly of legitimate violence to a dependency network mediated by corporate platforms?

Professor Quinn Slobodian: I think we are deliberately stopping short of that argument because we are not saying that Musk, Zuckerberg, and Bezos are sovereigns. They are not.

What is interesting about the DOGE moment we discuss in the final chapter of the book is that it serves as a revealing test case of how far a tech CEO can govern directly in practice. How far can that line actually be pushed? Can the tech lord effectively become the formal national government? What we saw was that Musk was actually quite bad at it. He not only failed to achieve the goals he had set for himself in terms of reducing state costs, but he also failed to secure legitimacy from the American public at a very basic level. His popularity plummeted during his time in Washington, and he did not emerge as a sovereign figure, as it were.

So, to us, the division of labor between traditional governments and tech firms remains essential. Governments still perform the old-fashioned functions of securing consent and legitimacy, and that remains a necessary condition for the expansion of tech leaders’ power. They do not need to govern directly, nor do they need to seize sovereignty for themselves. Contracting out sovereignty—what we describe as selling “subscription sovereignty,” as it were—is not the same thing as actually being sovereign. Those are distinct categories, and it is important to keep them separate. 

Some of the more exaggerated alarm bells surrounding tech power too quickly jump to the conclusion that these figures have become new emperors or kings. But they have not. Nor do they necessarily want to be. What is interesting, of course, is that Musk has called himself “Technoking” at Tesla since 2021 rather than CEO. But in practical terms, these people are not especially good at governing. While governments increasingly outsource certain capacities to tech lords, the tech lords, in turn, outsource governing back to states. So far, that arrangement appears relatively stable and not easily disrupted in any fundamental way.

At the same time, what is fascinating about the present moment is that the disruptive effects of generative AI are creating such intense public attention around new technologies that figures like Dario Amodei and Sam Altman increasingly feel compelled to address populations in quasi-political or quasi-governmental terms. They now say things like, “We have a constitution for our AI,” or “Here is our vision for a public wealth fund,” or “Here is our proposal for fiscal policy.” In that sense, they are increasingly treated as though they are co-governing alongside agencies in Washington, D.C. But practically speaking, I still think there remains at least a horizontal relationship—and perhaps even a slight subordination—of these companies to the state itself.

Musk May Have Overplayed His Hand in Europe

Elon Musk.
Elon Musk—founder and CEO of SpaceX, CEO of Tesla, owner of X (formerly Twitter), and co-founder of Neuralink and OpenAI—speaks at VIVA Technology (VivaTech), June 16, 2023. Photo: Frédéric Legrand / Dreamstime.

Much contemporary scholarship frames democratic backsliding as a crisis driven by populist leaders and illiberal parties. Your analysis suggests that technological infrastructures and billionaire networks may be equally central. Should we rethink democratic erosion less as a purely political phenomenon and more as a reconfiguration of political economy?

Professor Quinn Slobodian: The relationship between Silicon Valley and the far right in Europe is a particularly fascinating one. It also provides another revealing example of the delicate balance between Silicon Valley and existing political parties over the question of who actually governs. In late 2024, when Musk was investing his money and political capital in Trump’s election campaign, he seemed to believe that he could replicate that success almost universally. For a moment, at least, he appeared to think he had acquired a kind of political superpower—the ability to make virtually anyone electorally viable in any political environment. For several months, he attempted to use this supposed superpower to transform even relatively fringe candidates across Europe into credible political figures.

What we have seen since then, however, is that it does not work like a superpower at all. In many cases, it is actually counterproductive. A number of these right-wing parties have built their legitimacy around the language of sovereignty, and they are often damaged when they become too closely associated with an American tech billionaire. Interestingly, some of the transnational support figures like Musk have extended to right-wing populist parties in Europe has actually undermined rather than strengthened their credibility.

The positive side of this development is that it shifts public debate away from purely symbolic issues—or highly distorted narratives about immigration and demographics—and toward questions of political economy, exactly as you suggest.

Europe’s dependence on American-produced technologies is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. This creates a genuine opening for center-left and centrist parties in Europe. If they can demonstrate that they are capable of securing genuine digital sovereignty and data sovereignty vis-à-vis Silicon Valley, that could significantly strengthen their credibility among voters as forces capable of delivering national autonomy, strategic capacity, and political strength. In that sense, the past year has revealed that the Silicon Valley leadership class may, in some respects, have overplayed its hand and unintentionally produced a kind of boomerang effect. As people become more aware of the disruptive consequences of new technologies and of the dependencies created by a small number of tech firms, they are beginning to ask whether alternative arrangements might be possible. Increasingly, it appears that creating substitutes or alternatives to things like Starlink, SpaceX, or X.com is ultimately a matter of political will. None of these systems are inevitable.

We are already beginning to see this shift. France has started moving away from Microsoft products, Denmark is pursuing similar policies, and there is growing interest in Eutelsat as a European low-Earth-orbit alternative to Musk’s satellite infrastructure. These are genuinely praiseworthy developments. They may also provide a more material foundation for thinking about European identity and strategic autonomy in ways that could ultimately weaken some of the messaging power of right-wing populist parties.

Optimization Replaces Individual Freedom in Muskism

To what extent is Muskism compatible with liberalism at all? Is it best understood as an illiberal variant of neoliberalism, or does it represent a more radical break with liberal constitutional traditions altogether?

Professor Quinn Slobodian: Muskism has very little to do with the liberal tradition. In fact, it represents a much more radical break with the broader trajectory of Western political thought stretching from John Locke to the present. Because it is fundamentally a technologically determinist philosophy. It takes the functioning of network technologies—especially computers—as a kind of model for how society itself should be organized and managed. In doing so, central liberal categories such as the dignity of the individual, or the value of human agency and individuality, cease to function as foundational principles. They are displaced by concerns with optimization and efficiency.

In some respects, the closest intellectual tradition it resembles is utilitarianism, insofar as it evaluates social interventions primarily according to outcomes, regardless of their effects on individual freedoms or other normative principles. But because this worldview is fundamentally mediated through the logic of the computer, it also dehumanizes politics. Belief systems become reducible to systems of replicable memes—or, as Musk himself calls them, “mind viruses.” This framework assumes that people do not possess genuine convictions or socially rooted beliefs but instead function as programmable and reprogrammable units of information. Those informational units can either be modified arbitrarily by someone with sufficient coding power or removed from the system altogether, as we saw in Musk’s projects at Twitter and DOGE.

So, in that sense, I do think Muskism represents a radical departure from the liberal tradition. And that is precisely what makes it—while still very much a system that produces inequality and concentrates private power—operate according to fundamentally different premises from the neoliberalism of the last several decades to which we have otherwise become accustomed.

The Far Right Is the Bastard Offspring of Neoliberalism

In your recent writings, you argue that many contemporary far right-populist formations are not anti-neoliberal but “the bastard offspring of neoliberalism itself.” How does this insight complicate dominant narratives that treat populism simply as a backlash against globalization?

Professor Quinn Slobodian: This line of inquiry emerged for me during the period from roughly 2008 to 2018, when the rise of right-wing backlash parties—especially the Alternative for Germany (AfD), but also the Tea Party in the United States and eventually the MAGA movement—was frequently described as a rejection of neoliberalism. What fascinated me was that many of the people deeply involved in these movements actually came out of the libertarian tradition and, in some cases, directly from the think tanks most closely associated with neoliberal policy formation—the Heritage Foundation in the United States, the Institute of Economic Affairs in Britain, and similar institutions.

What I discovered was the rather surprising fact that, after the end of the Cold War, many neoliberals did not believe they had definitively won. Instead, they identified new enemies and new forms of opposition, particularly environmentalism, feminism, and anti-racism. As a result, they began forming alliances with people for whom those issues were primary concerns. Suddenly, individuals primarily committed to economic freedom found themselves working closely with people primarily motivated by racial purity or national chauvinism.

In the United States, this coalition became known as the Paleo Alliance. These were actors who rejected the post-Cold War consensus around democracy promotion and strongly opposed the compromises that had emerged between civil rights movements and the American legal order—affirmative action, workplace harassment laws, and similar reforms. Many neoliberals came to view these developments as a new “road to serfdom,” and therefore believed they needed to push back and seek allies wherever they could find them.

The AfD is, in many ways, a particularly clear example of this dynamic because it effectively united neoliberal economists with Islamophobic right-wing German nationalists. They were bound together by a shared hostility toward the European Union—both because they believed it undermined German monetary sovereignty and because they felt it weakened sovereign control over borders. 

What emerged, then, were these unusual alliances between actors motivated primarily by economic concerns and others driven by cultural or even racial anxieties. If you examine many of the parties associated with Europe’s right-wing backlash, you find that a significant number emerged from precisely this fusion moment of the 1990s and early 2000s.

The same pattern was visible in the United States. If you look at Trump’s economic advisers during his first term, figures such as Arthur Laffer stand out. Laffer had literally advised Reagan on tax cuts in the early 1980s and then returned decades later to help design Trump’s tax cuts.

So, the mainstream narrative—which often portrayed a sharp rupture between an earlier era of market-friendly globalism and a new era of nationalist anti-neoliberalism—missed something important. The political actors themselves often remained the same. What changed was not their entire political worldview, but rather their preferred mode of organizing capitalism.

Associate Professor Emilia Zankina.

Assoc. Prof. Zankina: Radev’s Strategy Is to Walk a Fine Line Between Moscow and Brussels

In this ECPS interview, Associate Professor Emilia Zankina, Dean and Associate Professor of Political Science at Temple University Rome, analyzes Rumen Radev’s rise after Bulgaria’s 2026 parliamentary election. She argues that Radev’s success reflects “growing frustration” with instability and mainstream parties, as well as his ability to combine “the pro-EU versus pro-Russian divide” with the “corruption versus anti-corruption divide.” While Radev presents himself as an anti-corruption reformer and defender of sovereignty, Assoc. Prof. Zankina warns that his strategy is to “walk a fine line—embracing pro-Russian positions on issues such as energy while maintaining pro-EU policies.” Despite persistent Russophilia and political fragmentation, she stresses that “the majority of the Bulgarian population remains fundamentally pro-European.”

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

Bulgaria’s 2026 parliamentary election has opened a new and uncertain chapter in European politics. After years of fragmented parliaments, unstable coalitions, caretaker governments, and anti-corruption protests, Rumen Radev’s Progressive Bulgaria secured a decisive parliamentary majority and unveiled a new cabinet promising stability, institutional reform, and a break with what it describes as Bulgaria’s “oligarchic governance model.” Yet Radev’s rise also raises profound questions about populism, democratic resilience, Euroscepticism, corruption, and Bulgaria’s geopolitical positioning between Brussels and Moscow. Is this a democratic correction against institutional paralysis and elite capture, or the emergence of a more sophisticated form of personalized populist rule within the European Union?

To explore these questions, the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS) spoke with Associate Professor Emilia Zankina, Dean and Associate Professor of Political Science at Temple University Rome, whose scholarship on populism, democratic backsliding, corruption, and party politics in Eastern Europe offers important insight into Bulgaria’s evolving political landscape.

In this wide-ranging interview, Assoc. Prof. Zankina argues that Radev’s victory reflects “growing frustration among the population with recent instability” and widespread “disillusionment with the mainstream parties.” Yet she stresses that his success rests above all on his ability to merge two enduring cleavages in Bulgarian society: “the pro-EU versus pro-Russian divide” and “the corruption versus anti-corruption divide.” According to Assoc. Prof. Zankina, Radev has successfully positioned himself as both an anti-corruption outsider and a defender of Bulgarian sovereignty, while simultaneously appealing to voters disillusioned with the established political class.

At the center of the discussion is the geopolitical balancing act captured in the headline of this interview. As Assoc. Prof. Zankina explains, “he will try to walk a fine line—embracing pro-Russian positions on issues such as energy while maintaining pro-EU policies, especially in matters related to EU funding.” She repeatedly emphasizes that, despite political fragmentation and persistent pro-Russian sentiment, “the majority of the Bulgarian population remains fundamentally pro-European.” This structural reality, she suggests, places important limits on how far Radev can move Bulgaria away from the European mainstream.

The interview also explores the deeper historical and sociological roots of Bulgarian Russophilia, including Orthodox and Slavic cultural ties, communist-era modernization, energy dependency, and economic anxieties linked to inflation and insecurity. At the same time, Assoc. Prof. Zankina warns against underestimating Radev’s populist strategy. Drawing on her research on Eastern European populism, she argues that Radev exemplifies a “transaction-cost approach” to politics that bypasses formal institutions in favor of direct, personalized leadership and media-centered political communication.

Throughout the conversation, Assoc. Prof. Zankina offers a nuanced and cautious assessment of Bulgaria’s trajectory. While she acknowledges that there is “some genuine political will” for anti-corruption reform, she also warns that oligarchic networks may simply adapt to new political realities. Whether Bulgaria ultimately moves toward democratic renewal or toward a softer form of hybrid governance, she argues, will depend on institutional reforms, opposition cohesion, media pluralism, and the willingness of political elites to resist the temptations of centralized power.

Here is the edited version of our interview with Associate Professor Emilia Zankina, revised slightly to improve clarity and flow.

Radev Unified Bulgaria’s Two Deepest Political Divides

Bulgarian President Rumen Radev.
Then-Bulgarian President Rumen Radev speaks to the media following his meeting with European Commission President Jean-Claude Juncker at EU headquarters in Brussels, Belgium, on January 30, 2017. Photo: Dreamstime.

Professor Zankina, welcome. Bulgaria’s 2026 election appears to mark the end of a prolonged cycle of fragmented coalition politics and repeated snap elections. To what extent should Rumen Radev’s victory be interpreted as a democratic correction against institutional paralysis and corruption, and to what extent does it reflect the broader European trend of populist personalization of politics?

Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: The first thing I would like to say is that Rumen Radev’s success is a result of growing frustration among the population with recent instability, but also disillusionment with the mainstream parties. More than anything, however, his victory reflects his ability to combine two deep divisions within Bulgarian society. One is the pro-EU versus pro-Russian divide, and the other is the corruption versus anti-corruption divide. Let me say a little about each of them.

More than one party in Bulgaria has won elections on anti-corruption platforms. In fact, twice in recent history, we have had a new savior emerge and sweep parliamentary elections without even existing as a party before the campaign. One example is the 2001 victory of Bulgaria’s former king, Simeon Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, who received 43 percent of the vote with a party formed only a few months before the election. Certainly, he was not a new public figure and had been widely respected throughout the years.

He ran on an anti-corruption and pro-European platform. After serving a full four-year mandate, his party became a junior coalition partner in the next government and then disappeared altogether. Boyko Borisov’s GERB, on the other hand, has been much more successful.

Borisov similarly emerged as a well-known political figure, having served as General Secretary of the Interior Ministry and later as Mayor of Sofia. He formed a party and swept the 2009 elections with 43 percent of the vote, again running on an anti-corruption platform and promising to save the country. Unlike Simeon’s movement, however, Borisov proved far more successful in maintaining power and, with a few exceptions, governed almost uninterruptedly until 2021, when the current instability began.

So once again, we see a population searching for a new savior—someone promising to clean the slate and eliminate corruption. The problem, of course, is that corruption is easy to mobilize voters around, but extremely difficult to address in practical terms and within specific institutions. It is therefore quite possible that voters may once again become disappointed with a government promising to eradicate corruption.

Disillusionment with Elites Helped Radev Consolidate a Broad Coalition

The second division I mentioned is even deeper. Pro-Russian and anti-Russian sentiments have shaped Bulgarian politics since independence in the late nineteenth century. Bulgaria has always had camps of Russophiles and Russophobes, and this divide has played out throughout Bulgarian history, including during the communist period and throughout the post-communist era.

Rumen Radev is clearly pro-Russian. He is a pilot who trained with both NATO and Russian forces, and he has repeatedly expressed support for Russia and Putin’s regime. For example, during the war in Ukraine, he refused to call it a war and continued referring to it as a “military operation.” When the caretaker government of Andrei Gurov signed a ten-year military cooperation agreement with Ukraine, Radev criticized it forcefully. He has also opposed sanctions, especially in the energy sector involving Russian gas and oil, as well as military aid to Ukraine, arguing that such measures threaten Bulgaria’s sovereignty and risk dragging the country into a war that is not its own.

Clearly, he has been able to draw on strong pro-Russian sentiment. If we look at the voters his newly formed party attracted, we see support coming from across the political spectrum. He has certainly taken votes from GERB, especially from voters disillusioned by Borisov’s association with Delyan Peevski, the leader of the ethnic Turkish party whom Borisov effectively co-opted. Peevski was sanctioned under the US Magnitsky Act and by the United Kingdom for corruption. He has become the epitome of the corrupt political model and the “octopus” that has penetrated Bulgarian politics. Borisov’s association with Peevski clearly damaged him, and many GERB voters shifted to Radev.

Radev also attracted voters from the urban democratic opposition, Democratic Bulgaria, which discredited itself to some extent through a short-lived coalition arrangement with Borisov in recent years.

Despite Russophilia, Bulgaria Remains Fundamentally Pro-European

Bulgaria-EU flags.
Photo: Dreamstime.

Most interestingly, however, he has almost completely displaced the Bulgarian Socialist Party (BSP), the successor to the Communist Party and historically the country’s most consistently pro-Russian—though also pro-European—party. The BSP fell from one million votes in 2017 to failing to pass the four-percent threshold, losing more than tenfold of its support.

He has also taken more than half the support of the radical-right, pro-Russian party Revival. Bulgaria has a long history of radical-right pro-Russian parties receiving Russian funding, with one replacing another over time. Revival is simply the latest in this line, following parties such as Ataka. Radev succeeded in attracting more than half of their voters. He also drew support from various flash parties, such as There Are Such People, Glory, and Sword.

So we see that he has managed to combine these two major cleavages within Bulgarian society and successfully mobilize voters around them.

As for whether this reflects the broader trend of personalist politics, we have certainly seen this across Europe and beyond—in the United States, in India under Modi, and in Turkey under Erdoğan. With a few exceptions, such as Péter Magyar defeating Orbán in Hungary, strong personalities with increasingly illiberal tendencies have continued to attract support. So yes, Radev is certainly part of that broader trend.

The question, however, is whether he will be able to consolidate such a diverse coalition of support. It is one thing to win elections with heterogeneous backing; it is quite another to pursue concrete policies while maintaining that support. I think he will try to walk a fine line—embracing pro-Russian positions on issues such as energy while maintaining pro-EU policies, especially in matters related to EU funding.

If he were to threaten Bulgaria’s EU affiliation or seriously obstruct Bulgaria’s entry into the Eurozone, which he has publicly opposed, we would immediately see massive protests in the streets. Despite political fragmentation, the majority of the Bulgarian population remains fundamentally pro-European.

Populism Thrives Where Institutions Lose Trust

In your work on populism in Eastern Europe, you conceptualize populism not merely as an ideology but as a political strategy that reduces reliance on formal institutions while privileging direct, personalized political action. How does Radev’s rise illustrate this “transaction-cost” logic of populism, particularly in a context where public distrust toward parties, parliament, and the judiciary has become deeply entrenched?

Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: It’s an excellent question, and I think Radev is a perfect example of this transaction-costapproach because he entered politics as an independent and won two consecutive presidential elections.

From his presidential position, he has been able to spearhead criticism of and opposition to the governing party, GERB. He has skillfully utilized the visibility of the presidency and his ability to address the population directly. For example, on January 1 at midnight, on New Year’s Eve, the president is the only political figure who addresses the nation. Radev used this privilege to advocate for a referendum on the euro. No other politician enjoys such a platform. At the very moment the euro issue became politically salient, he was speaking directly to the entire nation, advocating for a referendum and opposing euro adoption.

He has therefore used presidential authority in a very strategic way, expanding his influence far beyond the office’s formal constitutional limits. He has benefited from extensive media attention and has exercised his veto power more than any other Bulgarian president. Although the presidential veto carries limited institutional weight in Bulgaria, since it can be overturned by a simple parliamentary majority, he nevertheless used it to expand his political influence significantly.

The fact that Bulgaria lacked regular governments for five years also allowed him to appoint caretaker governments chosen by him without parliamentary approval. So, even though he acted nominally within legal limits, he effectively bypassed numerous checks and balances and institutional constraints in order to augment his power, increase his popularity, and, above all, create a direct link with voters in the absence of a party structure and institutional parliamentary mechanisms.

And it is no surprise that it almost did not matter what the party itself was going to be. If you look at his government, it is a hastily assembled coalition made up of people from previous political parties, some experts, and individuals from his presidential cabinet. It is clear that he does not have a deep bench. It is clear that this is not a solid organization. It is clear that he is cashing in precisely on this non-intermediated approach to politics.

Moderate Rhetoric Can Mask a Euroskeptic Agenda

People protesting on the main streets of the capital, demanding the Prime Minister’s resignation, in Sofia, Bulgaria, on July 14, 2020. Photo: Shutterstock.

Radev presents himself simultaneously as an anti-corruption reformer, a defender of Bulgarian sovereignty, and a pragmatic critic of Brussels. How should we analytically distinguish between democratic sovereignty claims and the gradual normalization of Eurosceptic majoritarian politics in the Bulgarian case?

Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: I personally do not trust his arguments. He is very clever, highly educated, and extremely erudite. He comes across as very professional and speaks excellent English. He is, in many ways, a polished and highly skilled politician. The arguments he makes are delivered in a moderate and reasonable tone, but we should not fool ourselves about what lies behind them.

In a situation of geostrategic chaos, when America appears to be abandoning its European allies and adopting increasingly unpredictable behavior under the current Trump administration, Bulgaria, as a country of under seven million people, has very limited options for security, whether military or economic. Bulgaria’s future therefore lies with the European Union for both economic and security reasons. EU membership, together with accession to Schengen and the Eurozone, has demonstrated that Bulgaria has been following a path that has led to significant growth in average income, despite current inflation, which is a global phenomenon.

Moreover, despite the political instability of the last five years, Bulgaria’s integration into the European project has limited politicians’ ability to seriously damage the country’s economic situation. Despite public complaints, wages are rising, labor opportunities are improving, and Bulgarians are far more connected to Europe and travel much more frequently. One simply cannot compare life in Bulgaria before and after EU membership in 2007.

So, when Radev makes arguments that may sound reasonable—for example, claiming that Europe is imposing this or that directive—he is taking advantage of the fact that, within such a large union, some directives will inevitably be unpopular. Take a simple example from years ago: anti-smoking regulations. In Eastern Europe, this was a major issue because people in the region tend to smoke and drink heavily. When these regulations were introduced, they generated significant resistance, partly because they required investments in ventilation systems and imposed additional costs on the hospitality sector.

It is therefore very easy to take a directive that is actually quite straightforward—there is no serious debate about the health benefits of non-smoking—and politicize it by claiming that Europe is imposing laws that contradict local culture or create unnecessary financial burdens.

So again, I would interpret the cautious remarks he makes about sovereignty and Bulgaria asserting its proper role within the European Union as reflecting a hidden Euroskeptic and pro-Russian agenda.

Dictators Are Not Born, They Become Dictators

Many observers compare Radev to Viktor Orbán or Robert Fico, while others argue he is more ideologically flexible and strategically ambiguous. In comparative terms, where would you place Radev within the broader family of contemporary European populist leaders?

Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: I would agree with the argument that he is much more flexible and ideologically unbound. He is a political survivor, so I do not think we would immediately see an Orbán-type figure in Radev. But again, we should not forget that Orbán became who he is over the course of several decades. In the late 1980s, before the collapse of communism, Orbán was strongly criticizing the communist regime and was among the first to give a pro-NATO speech. Orbán became a dictator over time.

And this is important to note here: dictators are never born; dictators become dictators. When Erdoğan first came to power, he was not a dictator. Even when Putin first won elections, he was not a dictator. What happens is that once leaders gain power and begin accumulating more and more control, their willingness to relinquish that control declines very sharply. Most of the dictators we see today actually began as democratically elected leaders. They started that way and then gradually chipped away at democratic mechanisms.

So, for Radev to become an Orbán-type figure, it would take time, even if that is ultimately where he is headed. But I do agree that he is much more ideologically flexible and less rigid than either Orbán or Fico.

If I were to place him within the broader European landscape, especially in the absence of Orbán, I would say that he would probably resemble Fico, though not as firmly positioned. The moment Orbán was no longer there, the €90 billion aid package to Ukraine was immediately approved. So Fico standing alone is not the same as Fico standing together with Orbán. Yes, Fico was the only European leader to attend the May 9 parade in Moscow, but he has not voted as aggressively within the European Union as Orbán has.

So, I would expect Radev to subvert European politics where possible, but he would not dare to do so as explicitly as Orbán has done. Partly, this is because he still does not have a fully consolidated party structure or support base in Bulgaria, and he would risk once again bringing people into the streets in protest.

Replacing Figureheads Does Not Dismantle State Capture

Bulgaria has long suffered from what many analysts describe as “captured institutions,” oligarchic patronage networks, and weak judicial independence. Do you believe Progressive Bulgaria possesses the institutional depth and political discipline necessary for genuine democratic reconstruction, or is there a risk that anti-corruption rhetoric merely legitimizes a new configuration of centralized power?

Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: People are cautiously hopeful that he at least has the motivation to dismantle that model, even if he may not yet possess the institutional resources to do so. However, one of the first votes in Parliament by his new majority—an absolute majority, something Bulgaria has not seen in many years—was, in fact, a vote against investigating Borisov and Peevski.

Some analysts argue that Bulgaria first needs a chief prosecutor before any serious investigation can begin, and that Radev is being strategic by delaying investigations until the judicial system and the prosecutor’s office are cleaned up. I remain very skeptical of that argument.

On the other hand, he did retain the General Secretary of the Interior Ministry, who distinguished himself by cleaning up the ministry within just a few months, removing individuals involved in electoral manipulation, and, together with the Interior Minister and the caretaker Prime Minister, organizing what was probably the fairest and most transparent election in Bulgaria’s post-communist history.

So, on the one hand, I do think there is some genuine desire to combat corruption among many of the people who joined Radev’s project, even if not necessarily from Radev himself, including some of the individuals he is now appointing to key positions. Institutionally, however, the challenge is extremely difficult. Simply removing people would not solve the problem. Constitutional reforms require a supermajority, and we already saw under the previous GERB, DPS, and Democratic Bulgaria majority that constitutional reforms did pass, but they were very poorly designed to address corruption in any meaningful way.

So, I do believe, certainly, there is some genuine political will. At the same time, however, there are many obstacles. There will also be enormous pressure from oligarchic circles to preserve the system simply by replacing one figurehead with another, while continuing to operate through behind-the-scenes deals and informal arrangements. The temptation will therefore be very strong, and it will become a real ethical test for every individual in every position whether they will be able to resist.

Progressive Bulgaria Fits the Classic Populist Formula

Boiko Borisov, leader of the center-right GERB party, during voting in Sofia, Bulgaria, on October 5, 2014. Photo: Julia Lazarova / Dreamstime.

Your research on Bulgarian populism highlights the role of personalist parties and informal political mechanisms. To what extent does Progressive Bulgaria represent another iteration of Bulgaria’s recurring cycle of charismatic anti-establishment movements that mobilize frustration but struggle to institutionalize durable democratic governance?

Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: Progressive Bulgaria fits the perfect recipe for winning elections through a personalist, populist, anti-establishment appeal. What is really interesting—and what scholars have only recently started examining more rigorously—is not how populist parties win. We already know that formula. The more important question is why some of them survive while others disappear so quickly.

If we look at the Bulgarian case, why was it that Simeon Saxe-Coburg-Gotha’s party and the NDSV did not survive for more than eight years, while Boyko Borisov’s party has endured for almost twenty years? And let us not forget, GERB is still not finished—it remains the second-largest party in Parliament.

So, the key question regarding Radev is how quickly this new party will be able to establish local structures. If we examine the GERB example, we can distinguish between two types of local structures. One consists of entirely legitimate local branches, ranging from youth organizations to various municipal party organizations that legitimately mobilize voters, recruit candidates, and so forth.

The second, however, is GERB’s ability to engage in pork-barrel politics by distributing EU funds, legal protection, and other advantages to local businesses. Those businesses then remain loyal and deliver votes through what is known in Bulgaria as “corporate voting.” This differs from direct vote-buying, where individuals are simply paid to vote. In the corporate voting model, entire companies effectively vote for a given party because management instructs employees to do so. And management does so because it benefits from favorable treatment, contracts, and protection from government sanctions.

So, the real question is whether Rumen Radev will be able to establish a local presence, what type of local presence he will build, and how quickly he can do so. It is clear that he has swept the national vote. It is also clear that he can probably attract some of the strongest local supporters from existing party structures and convert them into supporters of Progressive Bulgaria.

But building local networks was one of GERB’s greatest strengths. Borisov’s longtime second-in-command, Tsvetan Tsvetanov, essentially replicated military- and police-style organizational networks in constructing the party’s local structures. He was extremely skilled at doing that. I do not know whether Radev has someone capable of performing a similar role for him.

Radev Balances Electoral, Geopolitical, and Ideological Interests

Radev has repeatedly criticized military support for Ukraine while simultaneously insisting that Bulgaria will remain committed to its European path. Is this strategic ambiguity primarily ideological, geopolitical, or electoral in nature?

Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: Actually, it is probably a combination of all three. Electorally speaking, he can simultaneously appeal to fears of Bulgaria being dragged into the war, to pro-Russian sentiments, and, of course, to the strong pro-European sentiments held by the majority of the Bulgarian population. So, electorally, this positioning is certainly advantageous.

Geostrategically, he genuinely believes he can be the clever actor who secures cheap Russian gas and oil while also benefiting from European funds at the same time. And he is not the first to think this way. Borisov believed something similar before him. Erdoğan also positioned himself as a mediator between Russia and the European Union. And let us not forget that Germany, under Angela Merkel, practiced this approach for decades—benefiting from cheap Russian gas and maintaining bilateral relations with Putin while simultaneously serving as a pillar of the European Union. So, geostrategically speaking, one could argue that this is not necessarily a foolish strategy; it may, in fact, be a clever one.

Ideologically, again, Radev is very flexible. But I do think he has a profound appreciation for Russia’s power and its historical ability to withstand external attacks and survive. Certainly, Russia and the Soviet Union lost many wars, but they did not lose wars fought on their own territory. Whether we look at Napoleon or Hitler during World War II, no one was able to defeat Russia on its own soil. Of course, it is a different matter when Russia fought in Afghanistan, Chechnya, Georgia, and, most recently, Ukraine.

So, I do think he harbors some genuine admiration for the Russian military tradition. And, this is one aspect of his ideological worldview that I would emphasize, even though his views remain much more flexible than those of hardline pro-Russian politicians.

Bulgarian Russophilia Has Deep Historical Roots

Demonstration commemorating May 9, Russia’s Victory Day over Nazi Germany, with participants expressing their emotions and displaying slogans in Sofia, Bulgaria, on May 9, 2022. Photo: Yulian Staykov.

How do you interpret the persistence of pro-Russian sentiment in Bulgaria despite the country’s integration into NATO, Schengen, and the eurozone? To what extent is this sentiment rooted in historical memory, cultural affinity, energy dependency, economic insecurity, or disappointment with liberal democratic elites?

Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: You listed all of the reasons, so let me say a few things about each of them. The historical legacy is very strong. Bulgaria is an Orthodox, Slavic country that speaks a language very similar to Russian. During the Russo-Turkish War of 1876–78, Russian soldiers fought side by side with Bulgarian fighters to secure Bulgaria’s independence from the Ottoman Empire.

When the Red Army crossed the Danube in 1944, it was certainly what many historians—and large parts of the population—would describe as an outright Soviet invasion. But many people also saw it as yet another liberation of Bulgaria, this time from fascism. Then, of course, there were 45 years of Soviet-backed communist rule, which brought industrialization to the country and improved living standards for many people, especially those living outside the large cities.

At the outset of communist rule, Bulgaria was around 70 percent agrarian, and it emerged from communism as a country that was roughly 70 percent industrialized. People who had lived in villages without indoor plumbing or running water suddenly gained privileged access to universities in major cities. So, the social stratification of society was fundamentally reshaped. Many people therefore support Russia because of the communist legacy, historical ties, and linguistic affinity.

Others support Russia because of economic interests, especially in tourism. Bulgaria receives a large number of Russian tourists, and many people along the Black Sea coast depend economically on that tourism sector. They therefore feel genuinely anxious when geopolitical developments threaten the ability of Russian tourists to travel to Bulgaria.

And then, of course, there is the energy sector. Before the war in Ukraine, Bulgaria’s dependence on Russian gas was around 90 percent. This dependence has since fallen to below 40 percent because of sanctions, European policies, and external pressure—mostly external pressure rather than internal willingness. Nevertheless, people remain highly sensitive to energy prices. Energy costs in Bulgaria are much higher as a percentage of income—and often even in absolute terms—than in many Western European countries. Part of this is due to the country’s long-term dependence on a single supplier, as well as the lack of diversification and investment in green energy.

People become anxious very easily because they understand that once energy prices rise, everything else becomes more expensive as well. So, this is a complex combination of factors, with different elements playing different roles for different people. In the current context, uncertainty and inflation are probably more important than cultural arguments, but the historical and cultural dimensions should certainly not be underestimated either.

Bulgaria Could Become a Softer Voice for Moscow

Some analysts argue that Bulgaria risks becoming Moscow’s new “voice” inside the European Union after Orbán’s defeat in Hungary. Do you consider such fears exaggerated, or do you see the emergence of a broader East-Central European bloc seeking to challenge the EU consensus on Ukraine, sanctions, energy, and strategic autonomy?

Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: I do think that Rumen Radev would try to challenge the consensus when it comes to Russia, sanctions on Russia, and especially energy policies affecting Russian oil and gas. He would have Fico as an ally in that regard.

We need to remember, however, that he can only do this at the level of the EU Council and meetings of heads of state and foreign ministers. He cannot do this in the European Parliament, because there are still another three years until the next European parliamentary elections. By that time, who knows whether his party will still be in power and whether, in the 2029 elections, he will be able to secure a strong presence in the European Parliament.

So, his ability to influence the broader European agenda will be somewhat limited, but he will certainly try to challenge the existing consensus. At the same time, Bulgaria remains highly dependent on EU funds. The idea that these funds could somehow be replaced by Russian support would be catastrophic in terms of maintaining popular support within Bulgaria.

Bulgaria Stands Between Reform and Hybrid Rule

Finally, Bulgaria now seems to stand at a crossroads between democratic stabilization and the possibility of a softer, more sophisticated form of hybrid governance. What indicators should scholars and European policymakers watch most carefully during Radev’s first year in office to determine whether Bulgaria is moving toward democratic renewal—or toward a new model of populist state capture?

Assoc. Prof. Emilia Zankina: Fortunately, one very important indicator we need to watch is the ability of the opposition to remain united and provide a coherent alternative through parliamentary debates, upcoming local elections, and so forth. The first thing that happened after Radev’s victory, however, was that the largest opposition force, Democratic Bulgaria, split into its component parts. So, this is not particularly encouraging.

The other major opposition party is GERB, which is also problematic because it is currently behaving in a very neutral and very cunning way. Borisov, for example, did not vote against the new government. When the government was approved on Friday, he abstained, and his party abstained as well. Borisov is very smart and very experienced. He is a strong political animal, as we say. So, he will likely pursue a very calculated strategy of waiting for Radev to commit a faux pas, especially on European issues, and then step in and say: “You see, I respected the will of the people. You wanted a consolidated government, but it turned out not to be a truly pro-European government, and GERB remains the only genuine pro-European force.”

So, Borisov will probably be more successful than the fragmented parts of Democratic Bulgaria, which are now divided into separate formations instead of remaining in coalition. They performed pitifully, both electorally and in terms of their internal politics. And it is a shame, because they were really the mobilizing force behind the latest anti-government protests, yet all of that energy went to waste, and Radev was able to capitalize on it while PP completely lost it. I am afraid that their political inexperience and naivety caused them a major political defeat.

Associate Professor Ajay Gudavarthy of the Centre for Political Studies at Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU).

Assoc. Prof. Gudavarthy: India’s Opposition Cannot Break Majoritarianism Without Breaking Neoliberal Consensus

In this ECPS interview, Associate Professor Ajay Gudavarthy analyzes India’s 2026 state elections as a critical moment in the consolidation of Hindutva populism, neoliberal governance, and majoritarian politics. He argues that the BJP’s electoral successes cannot be understood merely as victories of cultural nationalism, but as part of a broader “hegemonic project” that fuses welfare delivery, infrastructural populism, caste reconfiguration, emotional polarization, and centralized state power. For Assoc. Prof. Gudavarthy, the opposition’s crisis is not only electoral or organizational, but also ideological: it has failed to offer a compelling alternative to both majoritarianism and neoliberalism. As India moves toward 2029, he warns that “India’s opposition cannot break majoritarianism without breaking neoliberal consensus.”

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

India’s 2026 state elections have dramatically reshaped the country’s political landscape while intensifying debates over populism, democratic erosion, federalism, and the future of constitutional pluralism under Narendra Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). The BJP’s historic breakthrough in West Bengal, consolidation in Assam, the continuing erosion of Left politics, and the disruptive rise of Vijay’s Tamilaga Vettri Kazhagam (TVK) in Tamil Nadu together reveal a transformed political order increasingly structured by emotional polarization, welfare nationalism, charismatic leadership, cultural majoritarianism, and institutional centralization. At the same time, controversies surrounding voter-roll revisions, anti-Muslim rhetoric, bureaucratic exclusion, digital mobilization, and the growing fusion of state power with majoritarian narratives have deepened anxieties about the trajectory of India’s democracy and the resilience of its federal constitutional framework.

To examine these developments, the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS) spoke with Associate Professor Ajay Gudavarthy of the Centre for Political Studies at Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU), one of India’s leading scholars of populism, political emotions, democratic transformation, and contemporary Hindutva politics. Across a wide-ranging conversation, Assoc. Prof. Gudavarthy situates the BJP’s electoral successes within what he describes as a broader “hegemonic project” that combines neoliberal governance, infrastructural populism, cultural nationalism, and emotive majoritarian mobilization.

For Assoc. Prof. Gudavarthy, the significance of the 2026 elections lies not simply in the BJP’s electoral victories, but in the deeper social and ideological reconfiguration underpinning them. He argues that “market integration, modernity, and modern technology do not necessarily dilute traditional religious or caste identities. On the contrary, they can strengthen them further by nationalizing them and making them even more emotive.” In this sense, contemporary Hindutva emerges not merely as a nationalist ideology, but as a comprehensive populist assemblage linking “big development, big growth, majoritarian imagination, and a theocratic centralized state” with charismatic leadership and welfare delivery.

A central theme running throughout the interview is Assoc. Prof. Gudavarthy’s insistence that the BJP’s dominance cannot be understood apart from the persistence of neoliberal consensus in India. According to him, the opposition’s crisis is not only organizational or electoral, but also ideological and cultural. “The opposition cannot effectively challenge majoritarian consensus without simultaneously confronting neoliberal consensus,” he argues. “The crucial question as India approaches 2029 is whether the opposition will be able to articulate a radical social democratic agenda capable of breaking neoliberal consensus and, through that, also disrupting the majoritarian political imagination.”

Assoc. Prof. Gudavarthy further contends that the BJP has successfully transformed cultural nationalism into a hegemonic social condition by combining aspirational development with affective politics centered on belonging, civilizational memory, and anxieties surrounding immigration, identity, and social insecurity. Drawing on thinkers such as Antonio Gramsci, Michel Foucault, Zygmunt Bauman, David Goodhart, and Partha Chatterjee, he explains how populist politics in India increasingly operates through what he calls the convergence of “right-wing populism and subaltern pragmatism.”

At the same time, Assoc. Prof. Gudavarthy cautions against reducing the current conjuncture to irreversible authoritarian consolidation. While he acknowledges that the BJP has succeeded in constructing “a comprehensive hegemonic project built around a powerful cultural narrative,” he also identifies growing “social, political, and constitutional excesses” as potential openings for democratic resistance.

This interview offers a theoretically rich and empirically grounded exploration of how populism, neoliberalism, emotions, welfare politics, and majoritarian nationalism are reshaping democratic politics in contemporary India—and what these transformations may mean for the future of democracy as the country moves toward 2029.

Here is the edited version of our interview with Associate Professor Ajay Gudavarthy, revised slightly to improve clarity and flow.

Bengal’s Parallel History of Right-Wing Mobilization

West Bengal.
Cyclists participate in a political procession on the streets of Kolkata, West Bengal, India. Photo: Arindam Chowdhury | Dreamstime.

Professor Gudavarthy, welcome. In your work, you conceptualize contemporary Hindutva as a form of populist hegemony that fuses neoliberal governance, cultural nationalism, and emotive majoritarianism. To what extent does the BJP’s breakthrough in West Bengal represent the consolidation of such a hegemonic formation in a region historically shaped by anti-colonial cosmopolitanism, Left politics, and subaltern mobilization?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: Bengal is not marked only by anti-colonial cosmopolitanism and subaltern politics; it has also had a parallel history shaped by Partition in 1950. It is interesting to note that the term Hindutva itself was coined by Chandranath Basu in the 19th century. Later, in the 20th century, Savarkar—who became the principal ideologue of the BJP and the RSS, the right-wing cultural organization in India—transformed it into a political ideology. 

In fact, in 1951, the Jansangh, the predecessor of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), was founded by Shyama Prasad Mukherjee, who himself came from Bengal. His primary concern during Partition was the condition of Hindu refugees arriving from Bangladesh. It is also significant that after the BJP’s victory in Bengal, Narendra Modi invoked the memory and political legacy of Shyama Prasad Mukherjee.

In that sense, Bengal always had a parallel history of right-wing mobilization, which under the current regime has been transformed into a populist mobilization combining emotive majoritarianism with a narrative of Muslim appeasement allegedly practiced by Mamata Banerjee and the Trinamool Congress.

At the same time, one also witnesses the terminal decline of the Left and of working-class and peasant mobilization around social and egalitarian issues in Bengal. The Left itself has increasingly operated within the broader neoliberal consensus, which has contributed to this shift. In parallel, sections of the middle class have moved toward the BJP because of its aspirational narrative centered on growth and development—big growth, big development.

As a result, one sees a broader Hindu consolidation, with sections of the middle class and the bhadralok (gentleman, Bengali for the new class of ‘gentlefolk’) moving toward the BJP, alongside shifts among Dalit and subaltern groups as well. Altogether, this has produced a comprehensive social reconfiguration, accompanied by the electoral malpractices that became visible in the recent Assembly elections.

Caste, Purity, and the Imagined Infiltrator

You have argued that contemporary right-wing populism in India thrives through the simultaneous production of “hierarchical fraternity” and “polarized differences.” How do the 2026 elections—particularly in West Bengal and Assam—demonstrate the ability of the BJP to forge cross-class Hindu consolidation while intensifying the political marginalization of Muslims and migrant populations?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: What the BJP does, if you look at its broader political strategy, is to construct a sense of cultural unity in response to growing social conflicts. If you look at states such as Assam and Bengal, there is undoubtedly a new kind of Hindu consolidation emerging behind the BJP, built around the trumped-up narrative of “Muslim infiltrators” coming from Bangladesh. This imagined figure of the immigrant creates deep anxieties among the local Hindu population.

In this context, I would recall the writings of cultural sociologist Zygmunt Bauman, who argued that Europe also went through a similar phase of anxiety surrounding immigrants. He makes the interesting observation that immigrants generate anxiety because they remind the well-off indigenous or local population that they, too, could end up in a similarly precarious position—without basic rights, legal protection, or social security. This is precisely the kind of anxiety that the BJP and the RSS have successfully cultivated among the Hindu majority: the fear that large-scale “infiltration” will produce a citizenship crisis, intensify competition over resources, and create multiple related insecurities.

At the same time, the Indian context differs from the European one because the narrative of infiltration intersects with caste mobilization and caste consciousness, both of which are rooted in the purity-pollution model. India already possesses a dominant collective subconscious structured around notions of purity and pollution. In other words, the hierarchical order of the caste system has historically produced multiple forms of exclusion. The infiltrator thus becomes the new “other,” identified with the polluted outsider, in contrast to the pure, authentic, local, indigenous population.

Nationalized Markets, Nationalized Hindutva

Volunteers of Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) on Vijyadashmi festival, a large gathering or annual meeting during Ramanavami a Hindu festival in Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh on October 19, 2018. Photo: Pradeep Gaurs.

In your theorization of populism, the “authentic people” are not merely electorally aggregated but affectively produced through narratives of injury, humiliation, and civilizational recovery. How did the BJP’s Bengal campaign operationalize this politics of authenticity, especially through the rhetoric of “infiltration,” women’s insecurity, corruption, and anti-elite resentment?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: Part of the issue surrounding “infiltration” I have already explained. But the broader theoretical point I would make is that, in post-neoliberal and post-globalization India, market integration and the expansion of market forces at the national level have been unfolding in parallel with the discourse of nationalist Hinduization.

People who are becoming increasingly integrated into the market through technology and expanding economic opportunities are also—somehow, and this requires careful theorization—developing a collective consciousness centered on a pan-national Hindu identity. In other words, the emergence of a pan-national standardized market is becoming coterminous with a pan-national ethnic, theocratic, and majoritarian identity.

The important question, then, is why the spread of markets and the greater integration of social groups into market structures—which standardize social aspirations, social status, and forms of social integration—also contribute to the consolidation of a majoritarian imagination. This is something we need to theorize further.

Market integration, modernity, and modern technology do not necessarily dilute traditional religious or caste identities. On the contrary, they can strengthen them further by nationalizing them and making them even more emotive.

How Populism Links Growth, Identity, and Memory

You have written extensively about the role of emotions—fear, anxiety, resentment, betrayal, shame, and moral injury—in sustaining the contemporary Right. Which affective registers do you believe were most politically consequential in these elections, and how were they transformed into durable electoral consent rather than episodic outrage?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: I have long argued in my writings on populism that anti-secular discourse, which we often understand primarily as exclusionary and majoritarian, also overlaps with an anti-elitist discourse and mode of political mobilization. Today, parties associated with secularism, cosmopolitanism, and multiculturalism are increasingly perceived as elitist formations. This creates an important conjuncture that we need to decode more carefully: why secularism in many post-colonial societies has come to signify an elitist discourse.

A useful reference here is David Goodhart’s The Road to Somewhere, where he distinguishes between the “Anywheres” and the “Somewheres.” Goodhart argues that contemporary societies are increasingly divided between a small cosmopolitan class of “Anywheres” and a much larger provincial population of “Somewheres” seeking to recover their local roots and cultural belonging.

Something similar is unfolding in states such as Bengal and Assam. The more Bengal seeks integration with the market, globalization, and economic opportunity, the more it simultaneously searches for its local roots and civilizational identity. At the same time, it is also turning backward, politically and emotionally, by reviving memories of Partition.

This relationship between the global and the local is both a fascinating and crucial dynamic in populist mobilization. Populist politics simultaneously advances a hyper-modernist discourse centered on corporate economy, infrastructure, and high growth, while also mobilizing localized identities, cultural idioms, ethnic belonging, purity, and authenticity. These two tendencies do not contradict one another; rather, they reinforce each other.

That is precisely what Bengal has witnessed. Bengal has not experienced particularly high economic growth. After three decades of communist and Left rule, Bengal—and Kolkata in particular—remains one of the cheapest urban spaces in the world. It has retained a pro-poor social structure: street food is inexpensive, and housing and real estate remain relatively affordable.

At the same time, however, there emerged an aspirational middle class—the bhadralok and caste Hindus—who became dissatisfied with this image of Kolkata because it lacked swanky malls, large highways, and visible symbols of affluence and modernization.

As a result, the aspirational desire for greater market integration has also produced a stronger attraction toward authentic mobilization and identity-based politics. This parallel and mutually reinforcing process has been extremely beneficial for BJP mobilization because the party simultaneously invokes an authentic Hindu identity and a corporatized global economy.

Constitutional Discourse Needs Cultural Symbolism

Narendra Modi.
Narendra Modi files his nomination papers from the Vadodara Lok Sabha seat in Gujarat amid tight security and supporter turnout. Photo: Nisarg Lakhmani | Dreamstime.

In “Politics, Ethics and Emotions in ‘New India’,” you suggest that liberal-democratic frameworks often fail to adequately engage the emotional foundations of political belonging. Do the opposition’s defeats in West Bengal and elsewhere reveal not merely an organizational crisis, but a deeper inability to articulate a compelling emotional and ethical counter-public to Hindutva nationalism?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: Absolutely, there is no doubt about it. In some of my recent writings, I have argued that the current moment in India is fundamentally shaped by a conflict between a constitutional discourse and a cultural discourse. The constitutional discourse speaks the language of constitutional morality, justice, egalitarianism, and inclusion. The cultural discourse, by contrast, revolves around cultural nationalism, belonging, civilizational memory, and the politics of the past. This is the central conflict unfolding in contemporary India. My argument has been that constitutional discourse, despite its progressive and inclusive character, often lacks the emotional and affective depth that cultural and civilizational narratives are capable of generating.

Therefore, I am not suggesting that one should abandon constitutional discourse. Rather, the challenge is to connect constitutional discourse to cultural narratives. There has to be a cultural symbolism attached to constitutional discourse. Otherwise, what we are witnessing today is that the BJP and the RSS are successfully projecting constitutional discourse as an elite discourse. Consequently, BJP mobilization begins to appear as a form of subaltern backlash, which in turn contributes to democratic backsliding. 

This is the conundrum we need to overcome. Secular, progressive, Left, and social democratic parties remain particularly weak when it comes to articulating compelling cultural narratives. After 15 years of populist rule in India, I would still hesitate to say that opposition parties possess a credible cultural narrative of their own. What might such a narrative look like? Can opposition forces draw upon myths, mythologies, historical memory, and broader cultural resources in order to reinforce constitutional discourse? I believe India’s long civilizational history offers ample resources for doing so.

If one turns to a historian like Romila Thapar, she argues that India’s collective subconscious is fundamentally shaped by dissent. Beginning with Buddhism, continuing through the Bhakti movement, and extending to Bhagat Singh—what I call the “three Bs”: Buddhism, the Bhakti movement, and Bhagat Singh—Indian history contains multiple traditions deeply rooted in dissent. So, why have opposition parties failed to construct a parallel historical and cultural narrative capable of demonstrating that constitutional discourse is not merely a modernist framework borrowed from outside, but something that also emerges organically from India’s own historical experience? India possesses a long history of struggle, subaltern culture, and subaltern mobilization. I think opposition parties have completely failed to establish that connection.

Voter Deletions as a Tool of Political Exclusion

How should we interpret the controversy surrounding the deletion of millions of names from electoral rolls in West Bengal? Does this episode signal a transition from electoral majoritarianism toward what might be called a procedural or administrative majoritarianism, where democratic legitimacy is increasingly mediated through bureaucratic exclusion?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: Absolutely, there is no doubt about it. If you look at the Bengal results, the data that emerged afterward made it extremely clear that 27 lakh (100K) voters had been deleted from the electoral rolls. The difference between the BJP, the winning party, and the TMC was 15 lakhs. Most of the 27 lakh deleted voters were Muslims. That, effectively, is the margin. Had the TMC received those remaining 27 lakh votes—which were essentially Muslim votes—it would have won the election.

So electoral roll manipulation and voter deletions are undoubtedly a key part of the BJP’s strategy. That is not to say the BJP won only because of exclusions, because the party still secured around 35–40% of the vote on its own. The crucial factor, however, was the remaining 5% edge. Both parties had roughly 40%, but it was this additional 5% advantage, produced through what I would call illegal and illegitimate electoral deletions, that ultimately determined the difference between victory and defeat.

Having said that, I should also add that the opposition has failed to transform electoral deletions into an issue of mass mobilization. Opposition parties are claiming that 27 lakh voters were removed, but one can legitimately ask: why have they been unable to bring those affected onto the streets? Why have there been no large-scale popular demonstrations around these exclusions?

This raises a deeper question: can electoral malpractice become an issue of popular mobilization? Can it be transformed into a mass political issue? As I have argued, issues such as electoral malpractice and electoral deletions through special intensive revision have largely remained confined to political parties themselves. The BJP has successfully converted elections into an intra-elite issue.

As a result, it appears as though political parties are merely fighting among themselves, while the everyday concerns of ordinary people remain absent from public debate. None of the political parties are seriously talking about joblessness, unemployment, inflation, and other bread-and-butter issues affecting common people.

What the BJP has done very effectively is to confine opposition parties within an administrative and procedural domain, while simultaneously offering a powerful cultural narrative and, at another level, delivering welfare policies more effectively on the ground. Consequently, the BJP appears to be the party most connected to the masses and to mass mobilization, whereas the opposition remains preoccupied with its own survival and with issues such as electoral malpractice, the role of the Chief Election Commission, and constitutional violations.

These are not perceived as mass issues. And the opposition has failed to understand that, even if it wants to mobilize people around such concerns, it must connect them to the concrete realities of everyday life. The opposition is once again failing to establish that connection between macro-level administrative issues and the micro realities of ordinary people’s lives.

Muslim fruit vendors
Muslim fruit vendors sell produce from handcarts on a street in Junagadh, Gujarat, India, on January 18, 2015. Photo: Rafał Cichawa | Dreamstime.

How Neoliberal Transactionalism Weakens Federal Resistance

In your engagement with populism and authenticity, you note that populist regimes often combine claims of democratic immediacy with institutional centralization. How do these election outcomes reshape the balance between India’s federal structure and the BJP’s increasingly unitary imagination of sovereignty and governance?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: This is a very important question because Indian electoral autocracy has had its most direct impact on India’s federal structure. One of the key reasons India remained an open, functional, and inclusive democracy for so long was precisely because of its federal framework. India is constitutionally described as a union of states—federal in structure, though with unitary features. As a result, states historically enjoyed a considerable degree of autonomy, including substantial financial devolution from the center.

Since the BJP came to power, however, it has systematically altered state-center relations. The party has initiated a process of extreme centralization, increasingly making states financially dependent on the center. At the same time, I would also stress another important question: despite this steady erosion of state autonomy and the expansion of patronage networks controlled by the center, why is there so little public anger within the states themselves? Thirty or forty years ago, if the center had overridden state autonomy in this manner, there would have been widespread public unrest. People would have taken to the streets over issues such as the imposition of Hindi, disputes over financial devolution, or the blocking of economic opportunities.

To understand this transformation, we need to return to the neoliberal reforms India underwent in the 1990s. In my recent writings, I have argued that neoliberalism is not merely an economic phenomenon; it is also a cultural phenomenon. Neoliberalism reshapes consciousness itself. It transforms how people understand social and political processes. Increasingly, citizens are encouraged to think in transactional terms, in terms of quid pro quo (something for something) relationships. This is where the BJP has been particularly effective. It argues that states should align politically with the center. If the BJP governs both the center and the state, then the state will receive greater funding. If a state refuses alignment, funding is restricted.

Indeed, opposition-ruled states across India have experienced such financial restrictions. One can constitutionally critique this practice by asking how the BJP can withhold programs such as MNREGA (The Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act), one of India’s largest rural employment welfare schemes. In many non-BJP states, such funds have been curtailed or delayed, despite the fact that such actions are constitutionally questionable.

Yet once again, the deeper question remains: why has this not generated large-scale protests against the center or the BJP? I would argue that this shift reflects a broader transformation in social behavior. People increasingly think in transactional terms and therefore come to believe that it is more beneficial for states to align with the center in order to secure resources and financial support. Wherever the BJP governs both the center and the state, those states tend to receive greater funding. And, at least for now, many people appear willing to accept this arrangement. Confronting the center or mobilizing mass protest is no longer widely seen as an effective way to secure economic benefits.

This points to a much deeper transformation in the social character of the Indian state itself. India was once a more centrist polity, but today it has increasingly moved toward a model shaped by corporate global capitalism. The older tensions between regional elites and the national bourgeois elite have significantly weakened. There are many economic and political-economic reasons behind this transformation, and one cannot go into all of them here. But broadly speaking, I would argue that it is the neoliberal and transactional character of contemporary social behavior that is enabling the BJP to erode the federal structure with relatively little resistance.

Subaltern Pragmatism and the Decline of Dissent

The BJP’s victory in West Bengal appears symbolically significant because Bengal historically represented an intellectual and political counterweight to Hindu nationalism. Do you see this result as marking the exhaustion of older secular-progressive political cultures, or their inability to adapt to the changing grammar of contemporary populist mobilization?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: Absolutely. As I mentioned earlier, the opposition is struggling to develop a new social and cultural imagination. Today, the central conflict in India is increasingly between the Constitution on one hand and culture on the other. In the post-neoliberal period, there have been no significant new developments on the cultural front. Questions of dignity and equality, for instance, are increasingly being tied to consumption and aspirational lifestyles. I would, therefore, argue that a certain form of subaltern pragmatism has emerged, and that post-neoliberal populist mobilization in India is closely linked to this pragmatism. This convergence between right-wing populism and subaltern pragmatism is something we need to explore more seriously, because it has effectively pushed opposition parties into a political cul-de-sac.

Today, I would even argue that protest itself has become a site of privilege in India. By and large, people increasingly perceive those who protest as privileged individuals—people who possess the social grounding and security necessary to take to the streets and confront power. In everyday life, however, protest is no longer widely viewed as the natural response, despite India’s long history of dissent. In the post-neoliberal era, this political imagination has undergone a profound transformation: while elites continue to engage in protest politics, subaltern groups are increasingly turning toward what might be described as contextual negotiations.

This is what the postcolonial scholar Partha Chatterjee refers to in Politics of the Governed as “contextual negotiations.” Although Chatterjee himself does not fully elaborate on the long-term consequences of this process, I would argue that one major consequence of these pragmatic and contextual forms of subaltern politics has been the rise of unchecked theocratic majoritarianism.

People are no longer engaging with larger political questions. As a result, there is now a profound vacuum in political imagination. What opposition parties urgently need to do is find ways to connect larger questions—democracy, constitutionalism, equality, and justice—to the everyday lived realities of ordinary people. Otherwise, these ideas risk becoming little more than slogans of the privileged and the elite.

From Citizenship Rights to Hindu Developmentalism

BJP supporters celebrate Narendra Modi’s victory during the 2019 assembly elections in Bhopal, India. Photo: Dreamstime.

In your writings, you distinguish between earlier developmental populisms and the contemporary fusion of welfare politics with authoritarian mobilization. How does the BJP’s model of welfare delivery—framed through personalized leadership, direct transfers, and symbolic nationalism—reshape the relationship between citizenship, dependency, and political loyalty?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: That is a very important question. Some scholars in India have described the BJP’s approach to welfare as a form of “new welfarism.” The central thrust of this model lies in infrastructural development—what is often referred to in the literature as infrastructural populism. One important example is the way the BJP constructs major highways and transport corridors. These roads are frequently designed to connect significant pilgrimage and religious centers. For instance, when large infrastructural quadrangles are developed, they often link multiple major pilgrimage sites across India. In this way, infrastructural development becomes deeply intertwined with cultural and religious symbolism.

This has been one of the BJP’s major political masterstrokes: linking infrastructural development to cultural meaning and attaching what Michel Foucault might describe as a cultural heterotopia to physical space. Infrastructure is no longer merely functional. Roads, highways, and high-speed developmental projects increasingly acquire cultural and, more specifically, religious meanings. The BJP then connects these religious meanings to broader narratives of religious majoritarianism and cultural unity. As a consequence, the discourse of welfare and development gradually shifts away from citizenship. Citizens are no longer positioned as rights-bearing subjects demanding development. Instead, development itself becomes linked to a culturally defined nationalist Hindu identity.

Part of what this process does is displace the discourse of rights. It weakens the normative language of constitutional morality, inclusion, and equality. In that sense, the BJP is engaged in a very deep symbolic political project, and it is executing it with remarkable effectiveness, which helps explain its repeated electoral successes. What makes this political imagination so powerful is its comprehensiveness: large-scale development, rapid economic growth, majoritarian cultural identity, a centralized theocratic state, and a personality cult all come together as a single political package. I would describe this as a populist assemblage. Precisely because this assemblage is so comprehensive, it leaves very little political space for the opposition to articulate an alternative vision. That is why the opposition urgently needs to construct what, in Gramscian terms, would be a counter-hegemonic cultural narrative capable of disrupting this assemblage.

Post-Ideological Populism in Tamil Nadu

Tamil Nadu’s election introduced a different populist phenomenon through Vijay’s TVK, rooted less in overt majoritarianism than in celebrity-mediated anti-establishment politics. How should scholars conceptualize this development: as a post-ideological populism, a digitally mediated “Gen-Z populism,” or a reconfiguration of Dravidian political idioms under neoliberal conditions?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: That is, again, a wonderful question. The rise of Mr. Vijay and TVK in Tamil Nadu has been one of the biggest surprises of the recent elections. And I think your framing is quite accurate: should this phenomenon be understood as a form of post-ideological populism, or as a reconfiguration of Dravidian political idioms under contemporary conditions? I would argue that it is actually a combination of both.

Support for Mr. Vijay appears to have come primarily from three social groups: women, Gen-Z voters attracted by his celebrity status and star power, and Dalits, who remain at the bottom of India’s caste hierarchy. This development has to be understood within the broader transformation of Indian politics. Both the BJP and newer political formations such as TVK are emerging by strategically engaging with existing social structures within Indian society. Many earlier progressive and secular movements—including the Dravidian movements that emerged in the 1950s and 1960s—eventually became associated with the interests of dominant caste groups, especially dominant OBC (The Other Backward Class) castes, whether in North India or South India.

One of the BJP’s major political strategies has been its ability to penetrate smaller caste groups, mobilize them politically, and isolate older progressive parties that once represented broader social coalitions. In North India, for instance, many backward-caste parties have gradually become identified with only one or two dominant sub-castes. The BJP has then consolidated the remaining sub-castes against these dominant groups. So, this is a highly complex political process. What parties like the BJP—and now TVK in the South—are doing is constructing a new social configuration by mobilizing new social groups within a broadly post-ideological framework.

The important question, however, is why these parties keep their social agendas deliberately vague, even while mobilizing new constituencies. Under Mr. Vijay, TVK did not announce any major social or ideological program. Although there are now suggestions that it may evolve into a welfare-oriented party, there is still little clarity. The party did not position itself as explicitly social democratic or ideologically committed in any conventional sense. Instead, it deliberately kept people guessing.

In that sense, TVK functioned as a kind of empty political category—mobilizing older social structures while simultaneously creating space for Gen-Z voters to enter politics through the appeal of celebrity culture and star power.

Authoritarianism as a Middle-Class Phenomenon

Your work often situates Indian populism within a broader global conjuncture of authoritarian-democratic transformations. How do the 2026 state election results compare with analogous developments elsewhere—such as Erdoğan’s Turkey, Orbán’s Hungary, Bolsonaro’s Brazil, or Trump-era America—in terms of institutional capture, emotional polarization, and the remaking of “the people”?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: This is a very important comparison. I have myself worked comparatively on movements such as Occupy Wall Street in the United States, the Free Fare Movement in Brazil, the autonomy movement in Egypt, and the anti-corruption movement in India roughly a decade ago. One of the central conclusions I arrived at was that, by and large, authoritarianism across these different contexts has been strongly supported by the middle class. In that sense, authoritarianism today is fundamentally a middle-class phenomenon. Historically, if one goes back to the 1950s, the middle class served as the social base of democracy and the welfare state. But we have now moved into a phase where authoritarianism itself is increasingly emerging through middle-class consensus.

The more important question, however, concerns the subaltern classes: why are subaltern groups often indifferent to authoritarianism, and how exactly are they responding to it? One of the most interesting findings from my own field surveys was that what appears to middle-class, social democratic, or progressive observers as authoritarianism is often perceived very differently on the ground. For many people, it appears not as authoritarianism, but as being authoritative. This distinction between authoritarianism and being authoritative is conceptually very important for understanding populist mobilization. When people describe leaders as authoritative, they often mean that such leaders possess a stronger grip over governance and are therefore capable of delivering outcomes more decisively and effectively.

What progressive critics may interpret as authoritarianism is therefore experienced differently by subaltern groups, particularly under conditions of growing economic insecurity and social anxiety. In such contexts, people increasingly look toward paternalistic leadership. That is one of the reasons we are witnessing a broader convergence between paternalism and libertarian neoliberalism. And this combination is precisely what seems to be operating across many of these different political contexts.

Breaking Majoritarianism Requires Breaking Neoliberalism

Members of the All India Muslim Students Federation (MSF) protest against the Karnataka Government’s Hijab ban in educational institutions, at Delhi University, New Delhi, India, on February 9, 2022. Photo: Pradeep Gaurs.

And finally, Prof. Gudavarthy, do these elections indicate the emergence of what Antonio Gramsci might call a “new historic bloc” under Hindutva—one capable of integrating welfare beneficiaries, aspirational middle classes, sections of subaltern castes, and corporate power into a relatively stable majoritarian order—or do you see unresolved contradictions that could still destabilize this project in the lead-up to 2029?

Assoc. Prof. Ajay Gudavarthy: That is a wonderful question with which to conclude our conversation. As Antonio Gramsci argued, hegemony is fundamentally a social condition. It is not something simply imposed from above. Rather, hegemony emerges when social conditions are created in such a way that people are organically drawn to give their consent. That, essentially, is what Gramsci means by hegemony. And I think that, to a considerable extent, the BJP has succeeded in constructing precisely such a hegemonic order.

Through its reconfiguration of caste contradictions and social conflicts, the BJP has advanced a cultural narrative of unity while simultaneously rendering social groups and individuals vulnerable to incorporation within that project of cultural unity. In that sense, there is indeed a comprehensive hegemonic project built around a powerful cultural narrative. At the same time, however, I would caution against assuming that this process is irreversible. The BJP’s majoritarian consensus is also producing social, political, and constitutional excesses. And that, in fact, remains the principal opening available to the opposition if it seeks to challenge and disrupt this majoritarian populist consensus.

A second and equally important point is that the opposition cannot effectively challenge majoritarian consensus without simultaneously confronting neoliberal consensus. The opposition will have to articulate a genuine alternative social agenda—free education, education as a public good, universal healthcare as a public good, the right to work, and full employment. These could become transformative political demands. But the problem, as we can clearly see, is that the opposition in India still largely operates within the ideological terrain of neoliberalism. Despite remaining out of power for nearly fifteen years, it has yet to formulate a coherent and compelling alternative.

So, the crucial question as India approaches 2029 is whether the opposition will be able to articulate a radical social democratic agenda capable of breaking neoliberal consensus and, through that, also disrupting the majoritarian political imagination. That is the real counter-hegemonic project the opposition needs to construct. It cannot challenge majoritarian consolidation without also challenging neoliberal consensus.

At present, however, the opposition is attempting to resist majoritarianism primarily through constitutional discourse alone, and not even through a sufficiently compelling cultural narrative. What is required instead is a simultaneous effort to challenge majoritarianism through a counter-cultural project, a renewed constitutional discourse, and a decisive break with neoliberal consensus. That will remain one of the most important political questions to watch as India moves toward 2029.

Péter Magyar.

Long Read | Explaining Hungary’s Paradox: Péter Magyar as the Insider Challenger to a Hybrid-Authoritarian System

This commentary examines Hungary’s 2026 political rupture through the paradox of Péter Magyar: a former Fidesz insider now positioned as the possible dismantler of Orbánism. Rather than romanticizing the defeat of Viktor Orbán as automatic democratic restoration, Professor İbrahim Öztürk situates Hungary alongside the US, Brazil, and Poland to show that authoritarian-populist systems often survive electoral defeat through media ecosystems, patronage networks, institutional residues, and polarized identities. Magyar’s supermajority creates a rare “Cincinnatus moment”: he can either rebuild pluralist institutions or reproduce Orbán’s majoritarian methods under a pro-European vocabulary. The commentary argues that Hungary’s democratic opening is real but fragile, and that its future depends on institutional restraint, EU conditionality, civic vigilance, and genuine democratic reconstruction.

By İbrahim Öztürk

More Than a Change of Government

Péter Magyar’s Tisza Party ended Orbán’s sixteen-year rule in the April 12, 2026, parliamentary election and, after the final count, secured 141 of the 199 seats in Hungary’s National Assembly—comfortably above the two-thirds threshold required for constitutional change. As a result, Viktor Orbán’s regime, carefully constructed since 2010 and ideologically legitimized under the banner of “illiberal democracy,” has for the first time been seriously shaken by a figure produced within its own political architecture. Such a political rupture cannot be reduced to an ordinary electoral defeat or a conventional alternation of power.

Although Hungary is relatively small in population, economic weight, and geopolitical scale, Orbán’s era in power has become one of the most visible laboratories of authoritarian populism in Europe. Even more damaging than Hungary’s domestic democratic regression was the corrosive perception it created: Hungary is in permanent conflict with Brussels over the rule of law, media freedom, migration, Ukraine, Russia, and EU funds. In 2022, the European Parliament declared that Hungary could no longer be considered a full democracy, describing it instead as an “electoral autocracy” resulting from the government’s deliberate and systematic efforts to undermine European values. As a result, the message was that the European Union could no longer serve as a reliable democratic anchor, even for its own members.

Yet Péter Magyar’s rise should not be romanticized as a straightforward victory of democratic opposition. Tisza’s electoral landslide undoubtedly reflected accumulated fatigue with Orbánism: economic stagnation, perceptions of endemic corruption, deteriorating relations with Europe, and growing frustration with the cartel-like fusion of party, state, media, and oligarchic capital. But the bearer of this anti-Orbán moment is not a pristine liberal democrat emerging from civil society. Magyar is a product of the Fidesz world itself: someone who knows the regime’s language, networks, reflexes, vulnerabilities, and internal codes.

Hungary’s paradox lies precisely here. The first actor capable of breaking the Orbán system did not come from outside it but from within. The possibility of dismantling a hybrid-authoritarian regime has emerged not through a “clean” outsider but through an insider who understands the machinery of power because he was once close to it. This is both promising and dangerous. It is promising because authoritarian systems often fracture when insiders defect. It is dangerous because those who know how such systems work may also be tempted to reproduce their techniques under a new moral vocabulary.

For this reason, Hungary should be read not merely as a national case of regime change but as a broader laboratory for understanding the contemporary democratic crisis. As emphasized at the ECPS Fifth Annual International Symposium on “Reforming and Safeguarding Liberal Democracy: Systemic Crises, Populism, and Democratic Resilience,”  (Hereafter, ECPS Symposium), the crisis of democracy today cannot be understood through a single discipline, region, or causal factor. It is political, institutional, ideological, economic, technological, and geopolitical. The ECPS symposium report likewise frames the contemporary crisis of liberal democracy in terms of systemic pressures, populist mobilization, institutional erosion, and democratic resilience. Hungary concentrates all of these dynamics into a single case: electoral competition, media capture, judicial dependence, party-state fusion, EU conditionality, nationalist-populist discourse, and the unresolved problem of post-authoritarian reconstruction.

The Orbán Regime: From State Capture to Party-State Fusion

Former Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban.

Understanding Magyar’s challenge requires understanding the nature of the regime he inherits. Orbán’s Hungary was not a classical military dictatorship. Elections continued. Opposition parties were not formally banned. Courts existed. Parliament functioned. Civil society survived, though under pressure. Yet the substantive capacity of these institutions to promote fair competition, constrain power, protect the rule of law from political influence, and sustain pluralism was steadily weakened.

Hungary became one of the most instructive examples of contemporary authoritarianization. Elections took place, but the electoral field was tilted. Media existed, but large parts of it were controlled by government-friendly capital and state resources. Courts remained, but key appointments increasingly reflected political loyalty. Universities, foundations, media councils, prosecution offices, regulatory bodies, and constitutional institutions continued to exist formally, but their internal logic was increasingly subordinated to the party-state.

The House of Commons Library notes that Orbán held power from 2010 until 2026 and was widely criticized by domestic opponents and international bodies for moving Hungary in an authoritarian direction. It also recalls Orbán’s own 2014 declaration that his government was building an “illiberal” state and emphasizes that Fidesz’s long-standing two-thirds majority enabled far-reaching constitutional changes that repeatedly brought Hungary into conflict with the EU.

This illustrates one of the broader mechanisms highlighted at the ECPS symposium: democratic erosion does not proceed only through electoral manipulation. It advances through the transformation of political language, the weakening of judicial authority, the loss of neutrality in public institutions, the narrowing of media pluralism, and the reshaping of civic imagination. Orbánism, in this sense, was never merely a governing style. It was an attempt to reorganize the state, society, and public reason around a durable nationalist-populist order.

This architecture was also designed to survive electoral defeat. Long-term appointments in the prosecution service, constitutional court, media authorities, university foundations, public companies, and regulatory bodies created a state structure capable of resisting a new government. In such a system, winning an election does not mean automatically taking control of the state. It opens the first gate; the deeper struggle begins inside the bureaucracy, the judiciary, public finance, and media infrastructure.

Magyar’s victory is therefore not an endpoint but the beginning of a difficult transition. Orbán may have lost office, but the institutional residues of Orbánism—its economic networks, media ecology, bureaucratic habits, legal traps, and cultural reflexes—are likely to persist. The crucial question is whether Magyar will dismantle these structures or make them more usable for himself. Before focusing directly on Magyar, a comparative perspective would provide further insight into the personality, ideology, and experience of the leadership that might lead to the transformation of power. 

Comparative Lessons: Trump, Lula, Tusk, and the Difficult Art of Defeating Authoritarian Populists

Hungary can only be properly understood through comparative and historical analysis. As the ECPS Symposium emphasized, populism and democratic backsliding do not take identical forms everywhere. Yet across cases, recurring mechanisms can be identified: humiliation, polarization, institutional weakening, executive aggrandizement, cultural backlash, strategic disinformation, and the political exploitation of uncertainty. Reading Hungary alongside the United States, Brazil, and Poland helps clarify not only how authoritarian-populist incumbents can be defeated, but also why democratic restoration remains fragile after electoral victory.

In the ideal world of democratic theory, one might expect a principled, pluralistic, and untainted civil-society leader to rise against an “authoritarizing” regime. Real politics rarely works that way. Where media space has been captured, opposition actors have been criminalized, electoral rules tilted, and public resources converted into partisan instruments, a “clean” outsider may never effectively reach the electorate. The European Parliament’s 2022 finding that Hungary had become a “hybrid regime of electoral autocracy” captures precisely this kind of distorted competitive environment.

Hungary’s 2022 opposition experiment around Péter Márki-Zay is instructive in this respect. The Guardian described Márki-Zay as a conservative outsider backed by a broad opposition alliance to challenge Orbán. Yet he was rapidly damaged by Orbán’s media and propaganda apparatus. The lesson was blunt: in a captured information environment, a plausible candidate is not enough. The opposition must also find a way to penetrate the regime’s communicative architecture.

Magyar’s rise did precisely that, though not because it was the product of a carefully designed opposition strategy. It resembled an unexpected explosion from within the regime’s own crisis. His “surprise candidate” effect rested on two sources of credibility. First, insider testimony carries a distinctive political force. Corruption allegations repeated for years by Hungary’s opposition had limited impact on Fidesz voters; similar accusations voiced by a former insider produced a different kind of rupture. Second, Magyar escaped the exhaustion associated with the traditional opposition. He appeared outside its record of fragmentation, ideological baggage, and repeated failure.

This suggests a broader pattern: authoritarian-populist regimes are rarely defeated by pristine figures alone. Success often requires three conditions: a broad democratic front, a credible figure capable of puncturing the incumbent’s information monopoly, and a pragmatic promise of transition that reduces voter fear.

The US: The Return of Trump and the Failure of Liberal Restoration

Trump supporters marched toward Capitol Hill on January 6, 2021, in Washington, D.C., USA. Photo: Dreamstime / Bgrocker

The United States offers the most important first comparison because it shows that defeating an authoritarian-populist leader at the ballot box does not necessarily defeat the political formation he has created. Donald Trump lost the presidency in 2020, but Trumpism did not disappear. It survived as a mass political identity, a media ecosystem, a party-capturing force, and a movement built around resentment, grievance, distrust of institutions, and the claim that the system had been stolen by hostile elites.

The trauma of January 6, 2021, seemed at the time to mark a possible rupture. The Final Report of the House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack described a sustained effort to overturn the 2020 election result and placed Trump at the center of that campaign. Yet the institutional reckoning remained incomplete. The Republican Party did not decisively break with Trump; conservative media did not abandon the stolen-election narrative; and the broader social grievances that sustained Trumpism were neither politically absorbed nor materially addressed.

This is why Trump’s return in 2024 is so analytically important. The National Archives’ official Electoral College results recorded Trump’s victory over Kamala Harris by 312 electoral votes to 226, while AP described his victory as a remarkable political comeback rooted in appeals to frustrated voters. His second inauguration as the 47th president on January 20, 2025, confirmed not merely a Republican electoral victory but the return of a populist movement that many had prematurely assumed would be exhausted after 2020.

The American case, therefore, reveals a central post-populist trap. Joe Biden’s presidency defeated Trump electorally in 2020, restored a measure of institutional normality, and defended NATO, administrative professionalism, and democratic procedure. But it did not fundamentally transform the socioeconomic, cultural, and institutional conditions that had produced Trumpism in the first place: regional decline, working-class insecurity, border anxiety, distrust of expertise, racial and cultural backlash, media fragmentation, and the perception that liberal institutions served insulated elites rather than ordinary citizens.

In this sense, Trump’s comeback was not only a personal return. It was the revenge of an unresolved political formation. The Brennan Center’s analysis of Project 2025 warned that the conservative governing blueprint associated with Trump’s return aimed at a major expansion of executive power. The Carnegie Endowment’s comparative analysis of US democratic backsliding similarly situates the second Trump presidency within a wider global pattern of democratic erosion, comparing developments in the United States with cases such as Hungary, India, Poland, and Turkey.

Trump’s comeback shows that authoritarian populism is not merely a government; it is an ecosystem. It can survive defeat through party capture, alternative media, loyal courts, donor networks, grievance politics, and a disciplined narrative of betrayal. Unless the post-populist government delivers visible reform and democratic renewal, the defeated populist can return as the voice of unfinished revenge.

The American case also sharpens the central dilemma of reform. If democratic successors move too cautiously, they appear weak and irrelevant. If they move too aggressively, they may be accused of weaponizing institutions and confirming the populist claim of elite persecution. Biden’s difficulty was precisely this: restoring procedural normality was not enough to rebuild democratic confidence. Voters who experience insecurity, disorder, or decline do not reward the process alone. They demand protection, direction, and visible change.

Brazil: Lula’s Broad Coalition and the Survival of Bolsonarism

Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva walks among supporters on Augusta Street at São Paulo on the eve of the brazillian election on October 1, 2022. Photo: Yuri Murakami.

Brazil’s 2022 election offers a second powerful comparison. Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva was not a new or immaculate candidate. He was a former two-term president, a deeply polarizing figure, and someone who had been imprisoned on corruption charges later annulled on procedural and judicial impartiality grounds. Yet he proved to be the most effective candidate against Jair Bolsonaro, a radical right-wing populist who attacked institutions, questioned the electoral system, and polarized society. AP described Lula’s victory as an extremely tight election that marked an about-face after four years of far-right politics.

Lula’s success rested on strategic coalition-building rather than ideological purity. By choosing Geraldo Alckmin, a former center-right rival, as his running mate, he reassured markets, moderates, conservative voters, and institutional actors. The contest was thereby reframed not as a conventional left-right struggle, but as a choice between Bolsonaro’s destabilizing authoritarian populism and democratic normalization.

Lula also benefited from powerful social memory. For millions of poorer voters, workers, trade unionists, northeastern Brazilians, and beneficiaries of earlier social programs, he was associated not merely with ideology but with concrete improvements in living standards. Just as importantly, Brazil’s electoral institutions held firm against Bolsonaro’s efforts to delegitimize the result. Bolsonaro delayed full acceptance, but the institutional outcome held; The Guardian reported that Bolsonaro broke his silence without conceding, while his chief of staff indicated that the transition process would begin.

As I argued in an earlier article, Lula’s return should not be read merely as the return of the left. It represented a broad coalition for democratic normalization: workers, poorer voters, environmental constituencies, institutional actors, moderates, and democracy-minded conservatives converging around a minimum democratic agenda. In a former commentary at the ECPS, I further argued that the decisive question in confronting authoritarian populists is not simply whether the incumbent has produced economic crisis, corruption, or institutional decay. It is whether the opposition can construct a credible, governable, and inclusive alternative in the eyes of voters.

The lesson for Hungary is clear. Authoritarian-populist regimes are not always defeated by flawless candidates. Sometimes they are defeated by figures who can reassure broad social blocs, understand how the state works, and pierce the regime’s information monopoly. Lula did this through historical legitimacy and social memory. Magyar has done it through insider credibility. Yet the difference is equally important: Lula was the carrier of a long political movement, party tradition, and social program; Magyar still leads a movement largely organized around his person, with limited ideological and institutional depth.

Lula’s example, therefore, offers both hope and a warning. It shows that authoritarian populists can be defeated at the ballot box and that broad democratic fronts still matter. But it also shows that defeating authoritarian populism does not automatically eliminate its social base, media networks, economic interests, or institutional residues. Bolsonaro lost, but Bolsonarism survived. AP’s report on Brazil’s Congress overriding Lula’s veto of a bill reducing Bolsonaro’s coup-related sentence demonstrates the Bolsonaro camp’s continuing institutional and political resilience.

Poland: Democratic Restoration in a Minefield

President-elect Karol Nawrocki campaigning ahead of Poland’s 2025 presidential election in Łódź, Poland, on April 27, 2024. Photo: Tomasz Warszewski.

Poland offers a third instructive case, but it should not be read as a simple story of populist defeat followed by democratic restoration. The last five years reveal a more uneven trajectory: PiS retained the presidency in 2020, lost its ability to govern in 2023, continued to shape the reform environment through institutional legacies, and regained strategic leverage through the 2025 presidential election.

The starting point matters. Poland’s presidential archive records that Andrzej Duda was re-elected in 2020 with 51.03 percent of the vote, keeping the presidency in the hands of a PiS-aligned figure and preserving a powerful veto point inside the Polish political system. This mattered greatly after the 2023 parliamentary election. Although PiS won the largest share of the vote, Freedom House notes that it secured only 194 Sejm seats, while Civic Coalition, Third Way, and The Left won a combined 248 seats and formed a governing majority. Freedom House also emphasizes that turnout reached 74.3 percent, the highest since 1989, signaling not only anti-PiS mobilization but also a powerful democratic re-engagement by Polish society.

Donald Tusk’s return to power in December 2023, therefore, ended eight years of PiS-led nationalist-populist rule, but it did not amount to a clean institutional break. Tusk was not a new civil-society outsider; he was a former prime minister and former president of the European Council. His strength lay not in novelty but in governability, experience, international credibility, and coalition-building.

The Polish case shows that opposition forces do not always need to merge into a single ideological bloc. Tusk’s Civic Coalition, Third Way, and The Left preserved distinct identities while mobilizing different constituencies: urban liberals, moderate conservatives, agrarian centrists, young voters, women, and citizens concerned with the rule of law. This flexible democratic majority proved more effective than forced ideological homogenization. For Hungary, this is a crucial point: defeating authoritarian populism may require not a single purified opposition identity, but a broad, strategically plural coalition capable of reassuring different social blocs.

Yet Poland also reveals the fragility of democratic restoration after victory. Tusk’s government moved quickly to repair relations with the EU. The European Commission’s February 2024 decision paved the way for Poland to access up to €137 billion in EU funding, citing rule-of-law reforms and immediate steps toward strengthening judicial independence. But the domestic process of institutional repair proved far more difficult. President Duda, still aligned with PiS, remained able to block key reforms and frustrate the government’s efforts to reverse the institutional legacy of the previous era.

The public media crisis illustrated the dilemma sharply. Tusk’s government argued that it was restoring impartiality after years of PiS control over state media. Critics, however, claimed that the government was stretching legal procedures. AP reported that Duda vetoed a spending bill that included 3 billion zlotys for public media, turning media reform into an early constitutional and political confrontation. Poland thus became a real-time laboratory of the central post-populist dilemma: how can a new democratic government undo politicized institutions without itself appearing to politicize them further?

The 2025 presidential election then exposed the limits of Tusk’s restoration project. Le Monde reported that Karol Nawrocki, backed by PiS, narrowly defeated Tusk’s ally Rafał Trzaskowski by 50.89 percent to 49.11 percent. This did not remove Tusk from government, but it weakened his coalition politically and gave the populist right a renewed institutional platform. AP’s  assessment of Nawrocki’s victory underlined that Tusk’s multiparty coalition now faced serious questions about its capacity to survive and pursue reform under a president with veto power. In the Financial Times, Jarosław Kuisz similarly argued that Nawrocki’s win reflected not only PiS’s resilience but also Tusk’s own errors, poor management of expectations, and the danger of liberal complacency after electoral victory.

Poland, therefore, offers Hungary both encouragement and warning. It shows that nationalist-populist governments can be removed from office despite media bias, state resources, polarization, and institutional asymmetry. But it also shows that electoral victory does not dissolve the old regime’s social base, cultural influence, presidential veto points, or judicial and media legacies. Democratic restoration survives only if it produces tangible results, preserves public trust, and neutralizes the populist claim that “nothing has changed.”

For Hungary, the comparison is sobering. If Magyar wins the state but fails to deliver visible institutional and social repair, Fidesz may retain or rebuild its political force from outside government, much as PiS did after 2023. Conversely, if Magyar moves too aggressively against captured institutions, he may reproduce the very majoritarian logic he claims to overcome. Poland’s last five years, therefore, sharpen the central lesson of this article: defeating authoritarian populism is only the first stage; the harder task is governing the transition without either paralysis or overreach.

Europe’s Wider Crisis of Liberal-Democratic Governability

Row of EU Flags in front of the European Union Commission building in Brussels. Photo: VanderWolf Images.

This problem is not confined to countries emerging directly from authoritarian-populist rule. The faltering performance of Emmanuel Macron’s Renaissance-led centrist presidency in France, Keir Starmer’s Labor government in the United Kingdom, and Friedrich Merz’s CDU/CSU–SPD grand coalition in Germany suggests that Europe faces a broader crisis of liberal-democratic governability. In Britain, YouGov’s April 2026 voting-intention poll showed Reform UK leading on 26 percent, ahead of both Conservatives and Labor. In Germany, PolitPro’s poll trend showed the AfD ahead of the CDU/CSU in early May 2026. In France, The Guardian’s assessment of the 2027 race framed the crowded anti–National Rally field as a potential gift to Jordan Bardella and the far right.

The difficulty is no longer simply that authoritarian-populist actors are hard to defeat, or that their institutional legacies are hard to dismantle once defeated. The deeper problem is that liberal-centrist governments, even when they reach office, often fail to address the underlying structures that generate resentment: stagnant living standards, insecure work, housing shortages, deindustrialization, bureaucratic sclerosis, regional abandonment, elite insulation, and the perception that public authority no longer protects ordinary citizens. The Draghi report on European competitiveness makes a related structural point: Europe faces slowing productivity, demographic challenges, rising energy costs, global competition, and the need for unprecedented investment, yet EU decision-making remains slow, fragmented, and difficult to coordinate at scale.

They promise competent management after populist chaos, but competence without transformation quickly becomes another name for managed decline. This is why defeated or marginalized populists often regain momentum: they can present liberal restoration as the return of the same establishment that produced the crisis in the first place. In this sense, the post-populist trap is circular. Populists are difficult to defeat; their legacies are difficult to undo; and when their successors fail to deliver visible reform, they help rebuild the emotional and political conditions for the next populist surge.

These Cases Suggest Three Lessons for Hungary

First, authoritarian-populist regimes are often defeated not by morally pure outsiders but by pragmatic figures capable of building broad alliances. Trump’s return shows what happens when a defeated populist movement is not structurally dislodged; Lula shows how broad democratic normalization can defeat an incumbent populist; Tusk shows the value and limits of experienced coalition-building; and Magyar represents the risky but potentially effective figure of the regime insider turned challenger. Their legitimacy does not derive from purity, but from their ability to connect with constituencies that traditional opposition forces could not reach.

Second, electoral victory requires breaking information blockades. Lula did so through social memory and organized constituencies; Tusk through the mobilization of plural opposition; and Magyar through the credibility of insider defection. Trump’s return, however, shows the reverse side of the same lesson: if the populist media ecosystem and grievance machine remain intact after defeat, they can convert loss into martyrdom and return to power with even greater determination.

Third, the defeat of an authoritarian-populist leader is not the end of authoritarian-populist politics. Trump lost in 2020 but returned in 2024. Bolsonaro lost, but Bolsonarism survived. PiS left the government but remained institutionally and socially powerful. Hungary is likely to face a similar pattern: Orbán’s defeat will not automatically dissolve Orbánism.

The synthesis is therefore sobering. Democratic breakthroughs in hybrid regimes often emerge from morally ambiguous conditions: insider defections, imperfect candidates, broad but uneasy coalitions, and pragmatic compromises. These are not defects of democratic transition; they are often its real-world preconditions. But they also explain why transition moments are so unstable. The very actors capable of defeating an authoritarian-populist regime may lack the ideological clarity, institutional depth, or self-limiting discipline needed to rebuild democracy.

This comparative frame helps assess Magyar more realistically. His lack of purity does not doom him. On the contrary, his insider background may have enabled him to break Fidesz’s information monopoly in a way Hungary’s traditional opposition could not. But the same background makes skepticism legitimate. The democratic meaning of his victory will not be determined by the fact that Orbán lost, nor by Magyar’s current pro-European language. It will be determined by what follows: whether he dismantles authoritarian infrastructures or repurposes them; whether he builds institutions or concentrates authority; whether he transforms anti-Orbán momentum into democratic pluralism or into a new form of leader-centered politics.

In that sense, the comparative lesson is clear: elections can open the door to democratic renewal, but they do not walk through it on their own. The decisive struggle begins after victory, when the new leadership must choose between restoration and replacement, between institutionalization and personalization, between dismantling authoritarianism and inheriting its tools.

Magyar’s ‘Cincinnatus Moment’: Three Possible Paths After Orbán

Tisza Party volunteer collecting signatures in Mosonmagyaróvár, Hungary on June 5, 2024 during a nationwide campaign tour ahead of the European Parliament elections. Photo: Sarkadi Roland / Dreamstime.

Péter Magyar’s premiership begins with a classical democratic dilemma: can a leader who receives extraordinary power to rescue damaged institutions later restrain himself and return authority to those very institutions? This is the Cincinnatus question. In the Roman republican myth, Cincinnatus accepts emergency authority to save the republic but relinquishes it once the crisis is over. The moral force of the story lies not in the acquisition of power, but in the discipline to give it up.

Magyar now faces a comparable test. Tisza’s parliamentary supermajority gives him the capacity to reverse key Orbán-era legal arrangements, pursue anti-corruption measures, and redesign Hungary’s constitutional order. After the final count, Tisza secured 141 of the 199 parliamentary seats, giving Magyar a two-thirds majority capable of effecting constitutional change. Yet the same majority could become a vehicle for new majoritarian dominance if used without restraint. The central question, therefore, is not simply whether Magyar can defeat Orbánism, but whether he can dismantle it without reproducing its political logic.

This question is sharpened by Magyar’s origins. He is not an idealistic liberal democrat who emerged from outside Orbán’s system. He came from the center, not the margins, of the Fidesz universe. His former marriage to Judit Varga, Orbán’s former justice minister, his connections to governing elites, and his proximity to state-linked positions place him in a different category from Hungary’s traditional opposition figures. Magyar has been characterized as a figure once inspired by Orbán who broke with the ruling bloc after the 2024 pardon scandal and rapidly became the leader of the pro-European, center-right Tisza movement.

That scandal was the decisive rupture. The 2024 presidential pardon controversy involving a child-abuse cover-up forced President Katalin Novák’s resignation and ended Varga’s frontline political career. The Guardian described Novák’s resignation as an unusual and serious setback for Orbán’s ruling party. The episode pierced Fidesz’s moral armor: a political project that had long justified itself through the language of family, Christianity, national protection, and conservative values suddenly appeared hypocritical even to parts of its own milieu. It also gave Magyar the opening to convert insider knowledge into political rupture.

A past inside the ruling bloc does not automatically disqualify a politician from contributing to democratic transformation. Many regime transitions begin when elites within the regime defect, split, or turn against one another. Internal rupture is often the beginning of authoritarian collapse. Yet Magyar’s trajectory still requires caution. His break appears to have been driven less by a long-standing ideological conversion to liberal democracy than by Fidesz’s handling of its own crisis, especially the political sacrifice of Varga. Put differently, Magyar did not leave when the system functioned smoothly for him; he left when its costs reached his own inner circle.

This does not make him illegitimate. It does, however, clarify the risk. Personal grievance, whistleblowing, and revenge can destabilize authoritarian power in the short run. They cannot, by themselves, supply the patience, restraint, institutional imagination, and legal discipline required for democratic reconstruction.

Magyar’s strength and weakness are therefore inseparable: he understands the Orbán system from within. He knows its corruption networks, propaganda techniques, loyalty chains, legal engineering, and bureaucratic traps. This knowledge allowed him to make visible what Hungary’s traditional opposition had long diagnosed but struggled to communicate persuasively. Yet it also raises the transition’s most important second-order question: will Magyar dismantle the machinery of Orbánism, or merely redirect it toward new ends?

The ideological thinness of Tisza makes this question more urgent. Magyar’s current rhetoric centers on European standards, transparency, judicial independence, media freedom, anti-corruption, and the rule of law. A recent Al Jazeera report shows that he vowed to overhaul state media and urged the pro-Orbán president to resign, while Euronews reported that he promised to join the European Public Prosecutor’s Office to investigate the misuse of EU funds. These commitments are essential to Hungary’s democratic renewal. The harder question is whether they are deeply internalized principles or simply the most effective instruments for defeating Orbánism.

Democratic language does not always produce democratic character. As the Turkish case under Recep Tayyip Erdoğan illustrates, movements that rise against old authoritarian or oligarchic orders may deploy democracy as a language of transition, only to build their own centralized power structures once in office. When charismatic leadership, weak party institutionalization, and a “mission to dismantle the system” converge, democratic restoration can slide into a new personalist regime.

Tisza’s rapid ascent deepens this danger. The party gathered anti-Orbán energy with extraordinary speed, but it remains ideologically and institutionally shallow. A block from the LSE’s Zsófia Barta and Jan Rovny argue that Tisza’s victory opens a historic opportunity while leaving major questions about how the party will govern after such a rapid rise. Magyar’s political image can be read as a promise of a “corruption-free Fidesz,” a cleaner center-right alternative, or a pro-European Hungarian nationalism. That may be enough to defeat Orbánism electorally; it is not enough to reconstruct democracy.

Hungary needs more than a change of rulers. It requires the separation of state from ruling party, media from political capital, courts from partisan loyalty, public procurement from oligarchic networks, and national identity from executive domination. The European Parliament’s 2022 assessment that Hungary had become a “hybrid regime of electoral autocracy” points to the depth of institutional distortion Magyar must now confront.

The danger is that institutional repair may require pressure on institutions already hollowed out by partisan capture. A post-Orbán government cannot simply leave Fidesz-era appointees untouched if they are positioned to obstruct reform from day one. Yet if it intervenes too aggressively, democratic restoration may begin to resemble a political purge. Le Monde reported that Magyar said his government would legislate to remove President Tamás Sulyok if he did not resign—an episode that captures the tension between institutional repair and institutional pressure. The task is not merely to act decisively, but to transform emergency authority into durable constitutional restraint.

Three broad paths now stand before Magyar.

The first is democratic restoration. On this path, Magyar uses his supermajority to rebuild the rule of law, restore judicial independence, pluralize the media, make public procurement transparent, dismantle oligarchic networks, and redesign the constitutional order along pluralist lines. He investigates the abuses of the old regime without turning accountability into revenge. Most importantly, he transfers political energy away from his own leadership and into institutions capable of constraining future governments, including his own. In this scenario, Magyar becomes a transitional leader rather than a new founding father. The Center for European Reform describes Orbán’s departure as a unique but time-limited opportunity to restore democracy and strengthen Europe, capturing both the promise and urgency of this path.

The second is controlled center-right normalization. Here, the crudest forms of Orbán-era corruption and propaganda are reduced; relations with the EU improve; some frozen funds are released; economic management becomes more predictable; and Hungary moves away from open confrontation with Brussels. Yet the deeper structures of centralized power remain largely intact. The media becomes less brutal but not genuinely pluralistic; public procurement becomes less scandalous but not fully transparent; courts become less openly politicized but not truly independent. Hungary exits hard Orbánism without achieving deep democratization. Magyar’s talks with Ursula von der Leyen over frozen EU funds illustrate both the opportunity and risk of this scenario: EU relations may normalize quickly while domestic transformation remains shallower than the rhetoric suggests.

The third is a new leader-centered regime. In this scenario, Magyar begins by promising to dismantle Orbánism but gradually recentralizes authority around himself. Fidesz loyalists are replaced by Tisza loyalists. Media pluralism gives way to a new communication apparatus. Judicial independence is invoked rhetorically while new forms of political influence emerge. Anti-corruption becomes selective. The language changes from illiberal nationalism to Europeanized renewal, but the political technology remains familiar: personalization of power, control over institutions, and the fusion of national destiny with the leader’s project. The Guardian’s report on Orbán-linked wealth networks shows why dismantling the old order will require confronting entrenched economic power; the danger is that such confrontation becomes selective redistribution rather than genuine institutional cleansing.

It is too early to know which path Magyar will follow. His promises are encouraging, and Hungary now has a rare opportunity to reverse democratic decline. Yet his past, personal style, ideological ambiguity, and Tisza’s institutional thinness demand caution. The real test is not whether Magyar speaks the language of Europe, transparency, and the rule of law. The test is whether he can build institutions strong enough to limit himself.

As the ECPS Symposium states, democratic erosion is not destiny, but democratic resilience is neither automatic nor linear. It survives in institutions that resist capture, civil societies that continue to mobilize, scholarship that clarifies rather than obscures, and public debate that refuses fear, simplification, and authoritarian temptation.

Magyar’s Cincinnatus moment has therefore arrived. The question is not whether he can use power to defeat the remnants of Orbánism. The question is whether; after using that power, he will have the discipline to limit it.

Lessons for Europe: Institutions, Not Personalities

Hungary - EU
Flags of Hungary and the European Union displayed together in Budapest. Hungary has been an EU member since 2004. Photo: Jerome Cid / Dreamstime

Magyar’s victory creates a major opportunity for the European Union. Orbán’s government had spent years in conflict with Brussels over the rule of law, media freedom, migration, Ukraine, Russia, and EU funds. Magyar’s post-election talks with European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen focused on the release of frozen EU funds, including recovery funds blocked over rule-of-law concerns. Magyar described the talks as constructive, while the Commission emphasized anti-corruption and rule-of-law measures.

But the EU must be careful. If Brussels rushes to declare that “Hungary has returned to democracy,” it will repeat an old mistake: personalizing democratization and losing leverage over institutional reform. The EU’s priority should not be Magyar as a personality but Hungary as a constitutional order. Pro-European rhetoric should not be enough. The release of funds should remain tied to concrete, measurable, reversible reforms: judicial independence, public procurement transparency, anti-corruption enforcement, media pluralism, and institutional accountability.

This approach reflects a broader lesson from the ECPS symposium: in difficult times, serious scholarship and public debate are not luxuries; they are components of democratic defense. Europe’s engagement with Hungary should be grounded not in sympathy, geopolitical relief, or the emotional satisfaction of Orbán’s defeat, but in institutional verification. Otherwise, the language of “return to democracy” may become another illusion, substituting rhetoric for reform.

Hungary’s democratization will not be completed by Orbán’s defeat. The real question is how much of Orbán’s system can be dismantled and what kind of constitutional architecture replaces it. Europe’s approach to Magyar should therefore be neither romantic embrace nor cynical distance. The right posture is conditional support and institutional scrutiny.

Conclusion

Hungary’s historical threshold lies between the ideal and the possible. Péter Magyar is not a Scandinavian-style institutional democrat: calm, ideologically coherent, and unburdened by proximity to the old order. He is better understood as a pragmatic, charismatic, partly populist transition figure who knows the authoritarian system from the inside and can use its vulnerabilities against it.

This does not diminish his significance. But it makes his sanctification dangerous. Magyar is an opportunity, not a guarantee. He may accelerate the collapse of the Orbán system; he may not become the architect of liberal-democratic reconstruction. Hungary’s real test did not end on election night. It began there. The ballot box has weakened an authoritarian regime, but power networks, media monopolies, oligarchic interests, and judicial-bureaucratic linkages remain entrenched. Magyar’s historical role will be judged by whether he dismantles these structures and limits his own power.

If he uses his two-thirds majority not for a new majoritarian domination but to distribute power, autonomize institutions, and place law above politics, Hungary may enter a genuinely new democratic phase. If he reproduces Orbán’s methods under a different moral justification, Hungary’s story will become not democratic restoration but elite replacement.

Hungary, therefore, reveals both the fragility and the possibility of democratic politics. As argued in the closing reflections of the ECPS Fifth Annual International Symposium, democratic erosion is not destiny, but democratic resilience becomes durable only when institutions, civil society, critical scholarship, and public debate work together. Magyar’s historical test lies here: will he transform anti-Orbán momentum into a personal power project, or into a pluralist, accountable, institutionalized democratic order?

This is why Hungary’s hope is also its danger. The insider who can break an authoritarian system may also reproduce its reflexes in a new form. The central question for Europe, Hungarian society, and Magyar himself is therefore this: will this victory mark the end of Orbánism, or the birth of a more refined, more acceptable post-Orbán version of it?

Alexandre Lefebvre is a Professor of Politics and Philosophy and Chair of Discipline, Philosophy at the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences at The University of Sydney.

Prof. Lefebvre: Liberals Must Become More Generous with Both Their Resources and Their Attention to Others

In this ECPS interview, Professor Alexandre Lefebvre of The University of Sydney argues that liberalism’s crisis is not merely institutional but also ethical and existential. Against populist and post-liberal portrayals of liberalism as morally hollow, elitist, and radically individualistic, Professor Lefebvre insists that liberalism historically rested on “freedom and generosity, liberty and liberality.” Yet neoliberalism, he argues, “forgot one half of this tradition,” narrowing liberalism into a doctrine of individual freedom, market rationality, and procedural neutrality. For Professor Lefebvre, liberal renewal requires recovering liberalism as a “way of life” grounded in fairness, reciprocity, moral self-reflection, and generosity. His remedy is clear: liberals must become “more generous with their resources and more generous in the attention they give to others.”

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

At a moment when liberal democracy is confronting intensifying pressures—from populist radical-right mobilization and democratic backsliding to widening distrust in institutions and deepening social fragmentation—the future of liberalism has become one of the defining political and philosophical questions of our time. Across much of the contemporary world, liberalism is increasingly portrayed as morally exhausted, technocratic, elitist, and detached from the existential concerns of ordinary citizens. In political discourse, it is frequently reduced either to market orthodoxy or procedural neutrality, stripped of any deeper ethical or cultural substance. Against this backdrop, the work of Professor Alexandre Lefebvre offers a strikingly different interpretation of the liberal tradition.

In this wide-ranging interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Lefebvre—Professor of Politics and Philosophy and Chair of Discipline, Philosophy at the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences at The University of Sydney—argues that liberalism cannot survive as a purely procedural doctrine. Rather, it must recover its ethical, existential, and even spiritual dimensions if it is to respond effectively to the global rise of illiberalism and populism. Central to his argument is the claim that liberalism historically contained not only a commitment to freedom, but also to generosity. As he puts it, liberalism originally rested on “two fundamental values at its core,” namely “freedom and generosity, liberty and liberality.” Yet, according to Professor Lefebvre, neoliberalism emerged when liberal societies “forgot one half of this tradition” and elevated freedom while neglecting generosity, solidarity, and fairness.

Throughout the interview, Professor Lefebvre challenges widespread assumptions about liberalism’s moral emptiness. While acknowledging that many populist critiques rely on “an unfair and highly reductive interpretation of what liberalism actually stands for,” he nevertheless argues that liberals themselves have often “invited this criticism by effectively performing the role of the caricature.” Liberalism’s retreat into technocracy, proceduralism, and elite self-management, he contends, has weakened its emotional and moral appeal while intensifying public perceptions of inequality and exclusion. “Liberalism,” he warns, “has to rediscover generosity and solidarity through institutions rooted in justice and fairness.”

Drawing on thinkers ranging from John Rawls and Henri Bergson to Aristotle and John Stuart Mill, Professor Lefebvre develops a conception of liberalism not simply as a political arrangement, but as a “way of life” shaping everyday practices, relationships, and moral sensibilities. He argues that liberal democracies are facing not merely an institutional crisis, but “an existential crisis” rooted in the erosion of meaning, belonging, and ethical orientation.

Perhaps most strikingly, Professor Lefebvre insists that the renewal of liberal democracy depends less on technocratic management than on moral reconstruction. Liberalism, he argues, must once again become capable of inspiring attachment, solidarity, and self-reflection without succumbing to authoritarian perfectionism. In his concluding remarks, he summarizes this challenge with remarkable clarity: “If I had two wishes for liberalism, they would be these: that liberals become more generous with their resources and more generous in the attention they give to others.”

Here is the edited version of our interview with Professor Alexandre Lefebvre, revised slightly to improve clarity and flow.

Liberalism Beyond Markets

Photo: Edgars Sermulis / Dreamstime.

Professor Lefebvre, welcome. You emphasize the plurality of liberal traditions rather than a singular doctrine. How would you analytically distinguish ethical or perfectionist liberalism from neoliberalism, particularly in terms of their respective conceptions of freedom, subjectivity, and the role of the state? What conceptual clarifications are necessary to remedy the persistent conflation between them?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: That is a great—and very large—question. As I understand liberalism, it has two fundamental values at its core, and this goes back to the original meaning of the word “liberal,” which is a very old Latin term. It refers not only to being a free person, but also to being a generous person. Throughout the 19th century, and at various moments in the 20th century, these two dimensions were understood together as part of a shared ethical vision of what it meant to be both free and generous. So, when I speak of a robust ethical conception of liberalism, I am referring not only to freedom and liberty, but also to generosity and liberality.

The way I understand neoliberalism—and many strands of liberalism as they evolved during the 20th century—is that they forgot one half of this tradition and increasingly amplified the importance of freedom or liberty while neglecting the generosity aspect. They created institutions and mindsets designed to ensure that individuals would be free from constraint, reflecting a predominantly negative conception of liberty, especially in relation to market activity and marketplace freedoms. In my view, this development gave rise to neoliberalism. So, I would still place neoliberalism within the broader liberal family, but it seems to me to represent a narrowing of the tradition—a forgetting of half of what liberalism originally was.

Reclaiming Liberalism’s Ethical Mission

To what extent should neoliberalism be understood as a historical mutation internal to liberalism rather than an external distortion, especially given its reconfiguration of liberal values around market rationality and responsibilization—and how might liberal theory critically reclaim or disentangle itself from this legacy?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: That is a very good question. The history of the 20th century can be understood as a fascinating reworking of liberalism, marked by different episodes that all sought to make liberalism somewhat narrower. To answer your question about neoliberalism, however, I first need to make two short stops along the way.

The term “classical liberalism” is familiar to all of us, but when you stop to think about it, it is actually a rather strange expression. The people who invented liberalism in the 19th century did not describe themselves as “classical”; they were simply liberals. It would be like an original gangster referring to themselves as an “original gangster”—they are just gangsters, right? The same logic applies to liberalism.

What happened was that a “classical liberal” tradition was constructed in the early 20th century because certain liberals of that period— Ludwig von Mises, Milton Friedman, and Gary Becker, the proto-neoliberals—were deeply concerned about the socialistic, redistributive, and justice-oriented dimensions of liberalism. As a result, they narrowed the tradition, transforming liberalism into a doctrine centered primarily on individual freedom. That tradition then underwent multiple mutations throughout the 20th century, eventually yielding the form of neoliberalism that emerged in the late 20th and early 21st centuries.

What liberalism needs today—and this connects directly to the way you framed the introduction, namely that liberalism is currently on the defensive in the face of democratic backsliding and a range of political challengers—is to become both more robust and more attractive. Part of that involves reclaiming its ethical mission and once again presenting itself as an aspirational ethical doctrine. Another part involves recovering its more justice-oriented material dimension – “socialist” is probably too strong a word, but something closer to that tradition.

In these respects, liberalism could begin to offer something stronger and far more compelling than the version of neoliberalism currently on the table. Because I do not think neoliberalism is particularly well positioned to withstand the kinds of challenges we are seeing today, from populism to resurgent nationalism and related movements.

Why Neoliberalism Failed

Tea Party protest.
Tea Party protest rally in Boston, Massachusetts. The demonstration, attended by roughly 5,000 people, took place near the historic site of the original Boston Tea Party. Photo: Dreamstime.

Illiberal populist actors frequently portray liberalism as morally hollow, elitist, and culturally corrosive. To what extent is this misrecognition rooted in liberalism’s own failure to articulate its ethical and existential dimensions—and how might liberalism reconstruct its normative language to counter such distortions?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: A book that made a major impact about a decade ago—and that, in many ways, helped launch the post-liberal movement—is Why Liberalism Failed by Patrick Deneen. But, for me at least, the book might have been more accurately titled “Why Neoliberalism Failed,” because what it primarily attacks is the idea that liberal subjectivity consists solely of an individualistic, atomized self-seeking to detach itself—or “him or herself,” or “itself,” as Deneen would put it—from all forms of particular attachment.

So, I do think that many post-liberal critiques rely on an ungenerous and somewhat strawman version of liberalism that fails to capture the richness and complexity of the tradition. That is one side of the story.

On the other hand, the critique is also partially correct. I wrote a book called Liberalism as a Way of Life, and while half of that book is a celebration of liberalism, the other half is a critique of how liberals themselves are often very poor practitioners of liberalism. Too often, they abandon its more demanding ethical, political, and economic aspirations and settle instead for something closer to neoliberalism.

So, when conservatives criticize liberalism as individualistic and morally thin, that criticism is, on the one hand, an unfair characterization of the broader liberal tradition. But on the other hand, it may also reflect, quite accurately, what liberalism has unfortunately become in many contemporary contexts.

The Betrayal of Fairness

How has the reduction of liberalism to procedural neutrality and technocratic governance contributed to its vulnerability to populist critique, particularly from the radical right—and what institutional or intellectual reforms could overcome this narrowing?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: What I find particularly devastating is that, if liberalism wants to pride itself on expertise, procedure, and economic management, it cannot continue to present itself as the party of fairness and opportunity while managing resources and opportunities in ways that disproportionately benefit elites. That is precisely what has so often happened with liberalism today. In the narrowing you describe; there is also a kind of class politics at work in which elites effectively self-deal.

What has contributed to this narrowing of liberalism is not simply a retreat into technocracy, but also a deeply toxic combination in which liberalism has come to signify many things. One of those meanings—particularly in the United States—is progressivism and a political movement ostensibly committed to fairness. Yet, at the same time, our societies have rarely been as unequal and structurally imbalanced as they are today.

So, on the one hand, you have a liberalism retreating into neutrality and proceduralism that fails to inspire much emotional attachment. On the other hand, you have a systemic betrayal of its promise of fairness, which generates enormous emotional energy—though in negative and rage-filled forms—because people come to feel that liberalism has betrayed the very principles through which it legitimizes itself as a political movement.

In that sense, liberalism—and liberals—need to put their money where their mouth is and genuinely live up to their commitment to fairness. At the same time, liberalism must move beyond mere proceduralism, not in order to impose a singular conception of the good life on citizens, but rather to articulate much more clearly what liberalism, morally speaking, actually stands for. Because, at the end of the day, I believe liberalism remains a powerful moral vision—one that is still capable of inspiring and attracting people.

Living Down to the Caricature

Could we say that contemporary populism thrives not only on opposition to liberal institutions but also on a caricature of liberalism as radically individualistic and morally empty—and how can liberalism rearticulate its moral substance without collapsing into moralism or exclusion?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: This goes back to what I was saying earlier with respect to Patrick Deneen. On the one hand, I do think this is an unfair and highly reductive interpretation of what liberalism actually stands for. But, on the other hand, liberals themselves have, in some ways, invited this criticism by effectively performing the role of the caricature. So, in that respect, the critique is simultaneously unfair and fair. It is therefore up to liberals to reconstruct the doctrine in such a way that these kinds of criticisms appear clearly caricatural rather than persuasive. We cannot continue to live down to them.

Liberal Values in Everyday Life

Photo: Dreamstime.

Your work reinterprets liberalism as an ethical practice oriented toward self-transformation, openness, and moral cultivation. How might this reconceptualization reshape contemporary debates about liberal democracy—and what practical steps are required to embed this vision in political and social life?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: That is a difficult question. The central premise of my work is that liberalism today is no longer merely a political doctrine. Rather, many of its core values and commitments have filtered deeply into the broader culture of liberal democracies. Liberal norms are not simply political principles that govern how citizens interact with one another; they now shape a wide range of institutions, from the media and universities to workplaces and everyday social life. More importantly, liberalism has come to influence how we understand ourselves and how we relate to others at a very ordinary and intimate level.

For example, it shapes how we approach romance, friendship, parenting, collegiality, and countless other dimensions of everyday life. In that sense, liberalism and liberal ideals have thoroughly colonized—if one wants to use a somewhat provocative term—the background culture of liberal democratic societies.

The aim of my book, then, was to encourage readers to recognize just how deeply liberal they already are, and at the same time to underscore the stakes involved in the current global backlash against liberalism. For me, this is not simply a matter of political displacement; it is an existential crisis, particularly for people whose values and ways of life are profoundly shaped by liberal ideals.

So, what liberalism needs to do first is to make both itself and liberals more self-conscious about the depth of their attachment to that tradition. That awareness can provide people with a clearer sense of orientation and something genuinely worth defending.

Beyond Justice as Fairness

How does your existential reading of liberalism challenge dominant Rawlsian interpretations that prioritize justice as fairness over questions of personal moral development—and can this tension be resolved without undermining liberal pluralism?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: That is a great question, though also a very complicated one, because John Rawls himself changed his mind on these issues over time. The framing of your question seems to point especially to the later Rawls, particularly the work from Political Liberalism onward, where he became very clear that liberalism should be understood as a political doctrine and institutional framework rather than a comprehensive moral vision concerned with defining the good life. However, Rawls’s earlier work—especially A Theory of Justice—contains a remarkably rich moral psychology that addresses not only what it means to be a liberal citizen, but also what it means to be a liberal person. For me, then, the central challenge for liberalism is how to recover that richer vision of the liberal person without liberalism itself becoming illiberal. And that is the crucial point.

Liberalism’s rivals—whether traditionalist, religious, conservative, or otherwise—generally have no principled objection to using the state and political power to promote and privilege particular ways of life. There is no deep internal resistance within those traditions to that kind of orientation. Liberals, however, by virtue of our own doctrine, are deeply hesitant about using state power to impose any singular ethical vision of the good life, precisely because we believe individuals must be free to determine such matters for themselves. 

So, liberalism finds itself in a very difficult predicament. On the one hand, it must reaffirm and articulate its ethical vision. On the other hand, it must avoid imposing that vision from above, because doing so would ultimately be nothing short of illiberal.

Liberalism’s Personal and Spiritual Renewal

What are the implications of conceiving liberalism as a form of ethical cultivation for addressing contemporary crises of meaning, belonging, and political alienation—and what institutional or cultural mechanisms could sustain such cultivation?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: At its core, liberalism is grounded in a set of values that, in my book, I identify as freedom, fairness, and reciprocity. One could also add values such as tolerance or even, if one wanted to push in that direction, irony and a sense of self-distance. For me, these qualities together constitute something like the liberal personality.

Now, I do not think this vision will appeal to everyone. Conservatives, traditionalists, or people with strong religious commitments may find other values far more meaningful and fulfilling than liberal ones. So, I am certainly not presenting liberalism as a one-size-fits-all solution. Rather, what I am trying to do is encourage readers who are already sympathetic to liberalism to recognize the depth of their own liberal commitments and to recommit themselves to those values more seriously.

This is something I want to make absolutely clear: my book is not an attempt to persuade non-liberals—whether conservatives or others—to become liberals. That may well be a worthwhile project, but it is not my project. My aim is instead to encourage liberals themselves to take their own values more seriously and, through that process, to rejuvenate liberalism not only at the institutional level, but also at the personal and even, in some respects, the spiritual level.

Liberalism’s Double Game

Do you see John Rawls’s project as incomplete in its account of moral psychology and the formation of liberal subjects, and if so, how might it be reconstructed to address democratic fragility and polarization today?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: That is an interesting question, especially because Rawls himself eventually became critical of aspects of his own earlier moral psychology. In many ways, the later Rawls began arguing against the earlier Rawls. To put it in the terms of your question, what concerned the later Rawls was not that the moral psychology and ethical vision developed in his earlier work were incomplete, but rather that they were too complete.

He came to believe that he had articulated a highly specific—and perhaps even somewhat prescriptive—account of what it means to live well as a liberal. As a consequence, he sought to reduce liberalism’s dependence on any singular conception of the good life in order to create more space for pluralism.

So, what can liberalism do in response to this tension? I think it has to play a kind of double game. On the one hand, liberalism must acknowledge that it does possess a rich and relatively comprehensive moral psychology. On the other hand, it must remain sufficiently open and porous to allow for alternative ways of life and different forms of human flourishing, while also resisting the temptation to impose its own moral psychology through liberal institutions.

Comprehensive but Not Coercive

Photo: Michal Suszycki / Dreamstime.

Can liberalism incorporate a more substantive account of the good life without compromising its commitment to neutrality and pluralism—and how might this balance be normatively and institutionally secured?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: What you are pointing to here is the idea that liberalism itself contains a vision of the good life and a conception of ethical fullness. Those who hold this view—and I would count myself among them—are often described as comprehensive liberals. Now, comprehensive liberals can go one step further and become what the literature calls perfectionist liberals, meaning liberals who are willing to use state power to promote their preferred way of life.

Liberalism can incorporate a more substantive vision of the good life, but we have to distinguish carefully the level at which this takes place. If we are speaking about personal life and the broader social and civic sphere, then liberals can certainly promote their values and way of life quite robustly, including through institutions. But liberals must remain very cautious about advancing those values through the direct use of state power. Liberalism has always been deeply uneasy with that possibility, and for two distinct reasons.

Interestingly, those reasons vary depending on which phase of the liberal tradition we are discussing. Early liberals resisted the state promotion of any singular way of life because they elevated freedom above all other values. For example, John Stuart Mill viewed individuality, while Immanuel Kant emphasized autonomy, as central to human flourishing. From that perspective, it would be entirely contrary to the liberal ethical vision for the state to impose or privilege one conception of the good life over others.

Later liberals, however, arrived at a similar conclusion through a somewhat different line of reasoning. They argued that because democratic societies are composed of political equals, all citizens are co-holders of political power. Consequently, for the state to use that shared political power to advance one particular way of life would be unjustifiable to the citizenry as a whole, and therefore illiberal.

So, my broader point is that the liberal tradition has long contained a deep resistance to paternalism and perfectionism when it comes to the state-led promotion of any particular ethical way of life.

Populism and Virtue Politics

To what extent do contemporary patterns of democratic backsliding reflect not merely institutional erosion but a deeper normative exhaustion within liberal societies—and what resources within liberal thought might counter this decline?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: This question is actually at the center of my new research project. I am currently studying illiberal political movements and actors by traveling to countries that are either openly non-liberal or increasingly moving in a post-liberal direction, in order to understand the moral sources that animate these political movements.

I recently spent two months in Hungary working with the government of Viktor Orbán, and in December I will travel to China. Next year, I will continue to India, along with several other countries. What strikes me is that, despite their many differences, these political systems and movements share one important feature: a willingness to use state power to promote a substantive vision of the good life.

Naturally, the content of that vision differs from one context to another. In Hungary, for example, Orbán and the Fidesz government use the state to advance a conception of the good life centered on family, national loyalty, and religious faith. In China, I expect to encounter a very different moral framework, one emphasizing harmony, filial piety, respect for hierarchy, and related values. Yet, despite these differences, all of these regimes are participating in a broader attempt to revive what may be the oldest tendency in political thought and institutional design: the idea that the state should promote a particular conception of the good life.

You can already see this in the opening pages of Aristotle’s Politics. Aristotle asks a fundamentally Aristotelian question: why do we have political communities at all? He considers answers that contemporary liberals might regard as self-evident—security, trade, or the protection of individual rights—but ultimately argues that the true purpose of political life is to cultivate and sustain a particular vision of human flourishing grounded in ethical life.

What I am suggesting, then, is that liberals often assume—or perhaps hope—that the neutral, pluralist state represents the natural or default condition of politics. That assumption is mistaken. The liberal, neutral, inclusive, pluralist state is historically very recent, perhaps only about 200 years old. It emerged out of difficult historical experiences, including the Reformation and the wars of religion. But to imagine that this arrangement is somehow the natural resting point of political life is historically inaccurate.

What we are witnessing today, particularly through the rise of populism, may therefore be understood as the return of a much older tradition of political thought—one centered on ideas such as the common good, the good lifeteleologyperfectionism, or virtue politics. In many respects, that is the deeper political tradition to which contemporary politics is now returning.

Liberalism’s Difficult Position

How can liberal democracies respond to illiberal and populist challenges without reverting to defensive technocracy or mimicking the affective and identity-based strategies of their opponents—and what alternative modes of democratic engagement might be envisioned?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: Liberalism currently finds itself in a very difficult position. It possesses a moral core, but it cannot promote that moral core in the same way that its teleological rivals do. Liberalism therefore has to find ways of demonstrating its moral attractiveness without succumbing to the temptation to advance itself through the direct use of institutional political power. As for concrete strategies, however, that is probably a question better addressed to constitutional theorists. I will leave it there for now, because I do not yet have a fully developed answer to that question.

Liberalism’s Self-Correcting Resources

A rear view of people with placards and posters on global strike for climate change. Photo: Dreamstime.

At the global level, how should we interpret the crisis of liberalism in light of its entanglements with colonialism, exclusion, and geopolitical hierarchy—and what normative or institutional transformations are needed to restore its legitimacy?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: Liberalism has, of course, a long and deeply troubling entanglement with colonial projects. Indeed, even some of the most celebrated liberal thinkers were implicated in them. In the 19th century, for example, two of the most important and influential liberals were John Stuart Mill and Alexis de Tocqueville. Neither was merely sympathetic to colonialism in an abstract sense; both were directly involved in administering aspects of the European colonial project. Mill served as secretary to the East India Company, while Tocqueville, during his brief tenure as France’s foreign minister, was involved in the administration of colonial rule in North Africa.

So, liberalism undeniably possesses deep colonial roots, and these should not be dismissed as historical anomalies. They were tied to an early liberal belief that people could only enjoy freedom once they had attained certain “civilizational” standards or qualifications.

At the same time, however, I do not think that liberalism’s historical entanglement with colonial violence and exclusion means that it is permanently condemned to reproduce those legacies. In fact, I would argue that liberalism contains within itself the intellectual and moral resources necessary to criticize and reject its own colonial past on explicitly liberal grounds. So, at the level of political and moral theory, my view is that although liberalism may have emerged in close connection with colonialism, it is not irredeemably bound to that history.

Bergson, Rawls, and Liberal Spirituality

Your Bergsonian account suggests that human rights must break with “closed moralities” rather than extend them. Could this insight help explain why liberal democracies struggle to counter exclusionary populism—and how might human rights be re-grounded to overcome this limitation?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: That is a difficult question. One of the central themes connecting my earlier work on human rights with my later work on liberalism is the idea that what we often regard as merely political or legal institutions are, in fact, also moral and even spiritual doctrines. In my earlier work, this concerned human rights; in my later work, it concerns liberalism. In both cases, my argument is that these are not simply systems concerned with rights, judges, constitutions, or institutional arrangements. They also contain implicit visions of what it means to live well, decently, and aspirationally.

Henri Bergson, one of the major French philosophers of the early 20th century, turned in his later work toward questions of politics and morality and developed a fascinating conception of human rights. Bergson himself was closely connected to the intellectual milieu surrounding the creation of the League of Nations, and he understood human rights in a rather unusual way. For him, the true purpose of human rights was not simply to protect vulnerable populations or defend individuals from harm. Rather, he saw them as institutions designed to initiate human beings into a form of universal love—a mode of attachment and affection capable of breaking beyond closed communities. In that sense, our obligations and affections would no longer remain confined to people like ourselves, to family members, friends, or fellow citizens, but would instead become universal in scope.

In my own work on liberalism, I have tried to pursue a similar line of thought. Bergson himself regarded this vision as a secularized form of a Christian doctrine. He understood human rights as a secular recreation of the Christian ideal of universal or agapeic love. Likewise, when I examine liberalism, I see a doctrine whose roots lie partly in Christianity, especially in early Protestant and Reformed traditions. These institutions may appear secular, legal, and political on the surface, but they remain deeply shaped by a Christian moral inheritance and continue to carry many of its ethical orientations.

My own reading of John Rawls is that, at the deepest level, he was someone who had lost his Christianity but nevertheless wanted to preserve an ethical vision that emerged from it. In that sense, Rawls attempted to construct a liberal political philosophy capable of recovering or redeeming aspects of Christianity within a secular framework.

So, when I speak about “closure,” whether in relation to human rights or liberalism, I am implicitly drawing on this hidden or cryptic Christian inheritance. And although I am myself secular and not Christian, I nevertheless believe that this inheritance remains internal to the functioning of these institutions even today, in the 21st century.

Resources, Attention, and Justice

Illustration by Lightspring.

And finally, Prof. Lefebvre, if liberalism is to be revitalized as a transformative ethical practice rather than a purely procedural doctrine, what combination of institutional reform, civic education, and cultural rearticulation is required—and where do you ultimately locate the most promising remedy for liberalism’s current crisis?

Professor Alexandre Lefebvre: If I could wave a magic wand, I would do two things. And that magic wand takes us directly back to the point I made at the beginning: liberalism is grounded in two core ethical ideas—freedom and generosity, liberty and liberality. My sense is that liberalism has largely forgotten the generosity and liberality side of its own tradition, and my imaginary intervention would be aimed at recovering precisely that dimension.

The first thing I would do to restore the liberal ethos of generosity would be to pursue comprehensive tax reform, especially reforms oriented toward fairness. I am pleased to see that my own country is beginning to move in that direction. I am both Canadian and Australian, but in Australia, at least, new measures are currently being introduced to address intergenerational justice more seriously. This is absolutely essential if liberalism is to regain vitality, because people—particularly younger generations—need to see why these institutions are worth believing in and investing in. In other words, liberalism has to rediscover generosity and solidarity through institutions rooted in justice and fairness.

The second thing I would do is encourage liberals to become more generous not only materially, but also in the way they extend attention and judgment toward others. One of the most damaging tendencies within liberalism today is its inclination toward condescension—the habit of scolding others and assuming that liberals possess a monopoly on correct opinion. First of all, we do not. And second, in a democratic culture that values equality and encourages people to speak for themselves, nothing is more corrosive to public support than appearing as a self-righteous know-it-all intent on prescribing the one correct way to live.

So, if I had two wishes for liberalism, they would be these: that liberals become more generous with their resources and more generous in the attention they give to others.

Dr. Javier Sandoval

Dr. Sandoval: The Erosion of Trust Outlasts Electoral Change

In this ECPS interview, Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval examines how democratic erosion is increasingly shaped by forces operating beyond conventional accounts of executive aggrandizement and electoral backsliding. Drawing on his research on global illiberalism, state erosion, populism, political violence, and subnational authoritarianism, Dr. Sandoval argues that the international democratic environment has become less supportive of opposition forces and more permissive of illiberal practices. He warns that while populist leaders may be defeated electorally, the institutional damage they leave behind is far harder to reverse. The interview also explores Mexico’s “ballots, bots, and bullets” dynamic, where digital manipulation and criminal violence reshape democratic competition from below, while declining trust undermines democratic recovery at both domestic and international levels.

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

The accelerating crisis of liberal democracy is no longer confined to domestic arenas of polarization, institutional decay, or electoral contestation. Increasingly, democratic erosion unfolds within an international environment that has itself become more permissive of authoritarianism, more tolerant of illiberal governance, and less capable of sustaining democratic norms across borders. In this context, the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS) spoke with Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval, Postdoctoral Research Associate in Democracy at the Kellogg Institute for International Studies at the University of Notre Dame, whose research explores the intersections of global illiberalism, populism, state capacity, political violence, democratic resilience, and subnational authoritarianism. Across a wide-ranging conversation, Dr. Pérez Sandoval offers a rich analysis of how contemporary democracies are being reshaped not only from above by executive aggrandizement, but also from below through institutional hollowing, criminal governance, digital manipulation, and declining public trust.

At the center of the interview is Dr. Sandoval’s argument that the international democratic order itself has undergone a profound transformation. Drawing on his recent Journal of Democracy article, he argues that the post-Cold War assumption that “linkages to the West” would provide a reliable democratic impetus has weakened considerably. As democratic turbulence intensifies within the United States and Europe themselves, “it is no longer certain that these linkages to the international arena, and specifically to Western democracies, provide robust support for democratic forces around the globe.” In their place, long-established autocracies have become “increasingly organized and much more sophisticated in how they operate internationally,” contributing to what he repeatedly describes as the “normalization of illiberal practices” both domestically and internationally.

This transformation, Dr. Sandoval argues, has profound consequences for democratic oppositions operating in hybrid regimes and eroding democracies alike. Global illiberalism raises the costs of resistance, fragments opposition coalitions, and produces what he terms a “credibility gap,” in which democratic actors may sacrifice long-term democratic commitments for short-term electoral viability. The result is an increasingly zero-sum international environment in which “policy preferences and regime preferences are becoming increasingly aligned.”

The interview also explores Dr. Sandoval’s influential work on state erosion and populist governance. In his collaborative research with Andrés Mejía Costa, he distinguishes democratic backsliding from the “hollowing out” of state institutions through mechanisms such as the dismantling of bureaucracies, the rearrangement of state agencies, fiscal centralization, and judicial reconfiguration. While populist leaders may be removed electorally, the institutional damage they leave behind is far more enduring. As he warns, “state erosion and state damage are much harder to undo.”

Particularly striking is Dr. Sandoval’s discussion of democratic trust in both domestic and international contexts. Reflecting on transatlantic relations, he observes that “a partner that was once regarded as reliable may suddenly appear far less trustworthy,” adding that “even when a government leaves office or is voted out, the damage to trust may already have been done.” This erosion of institutional confidence, he argues, extends from citizens’ relationships with the state to alliances such as those between the United States, NATO, and Europe. Hence the interview’s central warning: the erosion of trust often outlasts electoral change itself.

The conversation further examines Mexico as a paradigmatic case of democratic vulnerability under conditions of criminal governance, digital misinformation, and political violence. Discussing the country’s 2024 elections—described through the now familiar formula of “ballots, bots, and bullets”—Dr. Sandoval analyzes how criminal organizations increasingly shape electoral competition and democratic participation. He warns that when political elites are effectively “vetted by criminal organizations,” the minimal democratic principles of electoral contestation and elite rotation become fundamentally distorted.

Yet despite the gravity of these developments, Dr. Sandoval does not embrace fatalism. Instead, he repeatedly returns to the importance of democratic diagnosis, documentation, institutional rebuilding, and civic cooperation. Democratic resilience, he argues, begins with the ability “to diagnose and call things what they are,” and with the willingness of democratic actors to unite around minimal democratic thresholds rather than maximalist ideological positions. In sum, this interview presents a sobering but deeply illuminating reflection on the contemporary condition of democracy—and on the difficult but necessary work required to defend it.

Here is the edited version of our interview with Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval, revised slightly to improve clarity and flow.

The International Arena No Longer Guarantees Democratic Support

US President Donald Trump and Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán arrive for a working dinner at the NATO Summit in Brussels, Belgium on July 11, 2018. Photo: Gints Ivuskans / Dreamstime.

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval, welcome. In your most recent Journal of Democracy article, you argue that global illiberalism reshapes the strategic environment in which democracies operate. How should we conceptualize the transition from a democracy-promoting international order to one that is increasingly permissive—or even enabling—of authoritarian practices?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: That is one of the big questions we have to face and answer, and one that we try to address in the paper. In thinking about this question, my first response is to suggest that we have to acknowledge that it is happening. Sometimes the international environment appears distant or somehow separate from domestic politics. There is already enough happening within domestic politics, and the international environment can seem either too far removed or very static.

The first task in conceptualizing, theorizing, and properly understanding what is happening is to look closely at the changes that have taken place over the last decade or 15 years. In the paper, we suggest that there are at least three key ways in which the international environment has changed. Critically, the point of departure is an idea that was very prominent in the 1990s and early 2000s—namely, the concept developed by Levitsky and Way regarding linkages to the West. The assumption was that the international environment possessed a pro-democratic “flavor,” so to speak, and that one could rely on the international arena to provide a democratic impetus. But given the pressures we now see in the US and Europe, along with their own domestic democratic turmoil, that dynamic has certainly weakened.

So, the argument we present in the paper is that it is no longer certain that these linkages to the international arena, and specifically to Western democracies, provide robust support for democratic forces around the globe.

The second point, very evidently, is that long-established autocracies have become increasingly organized and much more sophisticated in how they operate internationally. They have strengthened their presence within international organizations and become far more adept at navigating the international system.

Ultimately, what this suggests is a certain normalization of illiberal practices. I would not necessarily describe these as openly anti-democratic practices, because I still think the democratic narrative retains the upper hand. You can see this even in the way illiberal and populist leaders continue to adopt the democratic umbrella rhetorically.

So, in narrative terms, democracy still has the upper hand, but there is nonetheless a growing normalization of illiberal practices, both domestically and internationally. That would be my two-part answer to the question.

Global Illiberalism Raises the Costs of Resistance

You highlight that global illiberalism constrains opposition actors by raising the costs of resistance and reducing external support. How do these shifting international conditions alter the prospects for democratic resilience in hybrid regimes?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: This is an interesting question, especially the last part. Because, when we were writing this piece, we were thinking primarily about eroding democracies—democracies facing autocratizing pressures. But the setup of hybrid regimes makes me think that we perhaps have to refine our thinking about what the starting position is for forces that are trying to strengthen democracy domestically. Even so, I would say that the three key areas or domains in which we highlight increasing costs are still applicable to hybrid regimes.  There is the very obvious issue of material and financial support, which might become harder to secure.

But on top of that, we also add the domain of symbolic support. In the paper, we argue that this creates a sense of the narrowing of the international space, in which politics increasingly becomes a kind of zero-sum game. Opposition forces have to compete for international alignment, or they are immediately sidelined by it. And so there is this zero-sum logic that is becoming increasingly present in the international arena when it comes to democratic support.

The immediate consequence of this is the fragmentation of oppositions. Whether you are in an eroding democracy, in a consolidating democracy that is eroding, or in a hybrid regime, this situation fosters the fragmentation of opposition forces. Rather than cooperating and presenting a united democratic front, what happens instead is that these forces begin to fragment and fall apart.

The third cost—which is perhaps the trickiest one because it requires a great deal of strategic thinking—is what we label the credibility gap. This is the idea that some opposition forces will prioritize short-term electoral viability and, in order to achieve that, may compromise their democratic credentials. But what does that imply for democracy-promoting actors in the future if their democratic credentials can later be questioned? It creates a dilemma and a misalignment of incentives between short-term electoral goals and long-term democratic promotion.

It also highlights that, between this fragmentation, the narrowing and zero-sum nature of the international space, and the credibility gap, we may be observing a situation in which both policy preferences and regime preferences are becoming increasingly aligned. Whereas perhaps in the past you would not have compromised your regime preferences if you wanted to support or campaign on a right-wing ideological platform—or a left-wing ideological platform—today, choosing one or the other may also limit what you are then able to stand for in terms of the regime-level question.

Illiberal Practices Now Outlive Their Leaders

Labour Day celebrations
Labour Day celebrations at Old Town Square in Prague on May 1, 2017, featuring a banner depicting democracy as a leaf eaten by caterpillars labeled Putin, Kaczyński, Orbán, Babiš, Trump, and Fico.
Photo: Jolanta Wojcicka.

Your work suggests that illiberal regimes increasingly learn from one another. How significant is this transnational diffusion of strategies for the consolidation of populist and authoritarian rule?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: That is a big question, and the first thing I would say is to return to this idea of normalization. So, not only is there perhaps a learning of strategies, but there is also a normalization of what, in other contexts and historical periods, would have been considered highly abnormal behavior, non-standard behavior, or sometimes even openly illegal behavior. In that sense, this undermines not only the domestic rule of law, but international law itself.

We are seeing—people often describe it as a return to inward-looking politics, a turn toward domestic issues at the expense of international ones—but I also think we are witnessing a very evident shift toward, for lack of a better word, realpolitik, where law, and especially the normative dimension of law, is increasingly sidelined in the face of economic interests and power politics.

The normalization of those practices and values is perhaps one of the most pressing and long-term dangers that we face. Because insofar as this process is generated and reinforced through diffusion, it creates a mechanism through which these practices survive and outlive current leaders. So, this is not only a conjunctural issue, but also a question of duration: how long are we going to remain in this process? How long will it last? I think that is the key danger and the key issue we should continue to watch closely.

State Erosion Is Harder to Undo Than Electoral Defeat

In “Why Populists Hollow Out Their States,” you argue that populists systematically erode state capacity. How does this process differ from more familiar accounts of democratic backsliding focused on executive aggrandizement and institutional capture?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: That is another piece that I had the fortune to write with Andrés Mejía Costa, and you are putting your finger on perhaps the most challenging empirical question we face. Ultimately, this asks us to distinguish between what the political regime is and what the state itself is. And sometimes—indeed, often—these things coexist, and they can be difficult to pull apart. Perhaps the best way to think about it is that you can have measures that erode democracy without necessarily hampering the state, and measures that hamper the state without necessarily damaging democracy. So, I will try to give examples of both in order to answer your question.

One measure that might damage the state without necessarily damaging democracy has to do with one of the examples we discuss in the paper: the centralization of spending. If you centralize public spending, you might not necessarily damage the liberal or electoral aspects of democracy, but you may still facilitate executive aggrandizement in the long term, or hamper accountability and the ability of subnational actors, for example, to exercise budgetary authority. So, there is an aspect in which the state clearly changes, while the regime itself may remain relatively constant and not immediately erode.

Another example is the current debate in the United States over gerrymandering and redistricting. These practices have immediate electoral and democratic consequences, but they do not necessarily have immediate consequences for the state itself. So, there are aspects in which we can analytically tease apart these elements.

In the paper, we present at least four ideas—or four mechanisms—through which we can clearly observe forms of state erosion that differ from democratic backsliding alone. These are the dismantling of bureaucracies, the rearrangement of state agencies, the centralization of spending, and the last one—which is perhaps the closest to democratic backsliding—the dismantling or reconfiguration of the judiciary. Those four mechanisms are the key ideas we present in the piece in order to offer a clearer empirical distinction between democratic backsliding and state erosion.

And I would add that the ultimate concern in the piece is that we see both processes as going hand in hand: the process of state erosion and the process of democratic erosion. Our key concern is that while you can push back against the regime question—you can remove illiberal or populist leaders through elections—state erosion and state damage are much harder to undo.

So, our concern is that by damaging certain state institutions and state capacities, democratic recovery becomes much more difficult in the long term. I think that is perhaps one additional distinction that I would emphasize.

Rebuilding Trust Is Harder Than Removing Populist

Luís Inácio Lula da Silva and former President Bolsonaro participate in the debate over Brazil in Sao Paulo on October 16, 2022. Photo: Isaac Fontana.

You emphasize that state erosion can occur rapidly, whereas state-building is slow and cumulative. What does this asymmetry imply for the long-term prospects of democratic recovery after populist rule?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: You are really putting your finger on the issue. As you said, from what we know from the literature on state-building and state capacity, it takes generations to build autonomous and capable institutions that are able to deliver public goods and services. And there seems to be a profound asymmetry between how long it takes to build and accumulate those capabilities and how quickly they can be dismantled.

One key area in which I see this tension emerging very clearly concerns not only public service delivery but also trust—both among citizens and among international allies and partners. Take, for example, the domestic arena. After a populist leaves office, a pro-democratic government may come in and attempt to rebuild institutions. But if citizens have already come to perceive that the state, and the services it provides, can be easily politicized and quickly stripped away, they may become much more wary of relying on or engaging with the state in the future.

In the international arena, you can perhaps see something similar in the relationships between, for example, the United States, NATO, and Europe. A partner that was once regarded as reliable may suddenly appear far less trustworthy. Even when a government leaves office or is voted out, the damage to trust may already have been done, and I do not think it can be rebuilt so easily. So, there is definitely an underlying tension there. Rebuilding that trust will require commitment on both sides: domestically, from incoming governments trying to reconstruct institutions, and from citizens willing to trust again and reengage politically and publicly. And the same can be said at the international level.

When Reform Becomes a Pretext for Capture

Your analysis suggests that populist leaders often justify institutional weakening through anti-corruption and austerity narratives. How do these discursive strategies help legitimize policies that ultimately undermine democratic governance?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: The key answer to that is that they do work. In most instances, if you look at the trajectories through which populist leaders not only get elected but also manage to get away with these measures, what you usually find behind them is a narrative—a campaign in which, with some degree of truth, the institutions being attacked or dismantled are already widely perceived as corrupt, deficient, problematic, or incapable of fulfilling the duties for which they were originally created.

You see this, for example, in Mexico, across Latin America, but even in the United States, where there are attacks on key institutions based on their past performance, or their perceived performance. Those institutions are then dismantled or significantly weakened, and only afterward do people suddenly realize that, despite their deficiencies, they were still performing important functions.

Here, I cannot help but refer to the Mexican case and the recent reform of the judiciary. We all know that Mexico has extremely high levels of impunity. Only around 2 percent of criminal cases ever receive a judicial sentence. So, there are very high levels of impunity, and the central banner of the campaign became: “Well, we need to reform the judiciary.”

But under that pretense, what ultimately happened was the takeover of the judiciary. The long-term consequence then becomes: how do you reverse that damage? I try to put myself in the position of an incoming government—a non-Morena government, a pro-democratic government—and the question they will likely face is whether they, too, should reform the judiciary under the pretext of restoring democracy. But by doing so, do they then expose themselves to criticism for also trying to reform the judiciary in order to capture it?

So again, trying to connect the dots between the issues raised in the first paper on opposition forces and the issues raised in the second paper on the state, this creates extremely complex scenarios in which the decisions made by democratic forces will be crucial in determining both how quickly and how successfully we are able to recover from certain conditions and situations.

Social Spending Can Become an Electoral Instrument

Volunteers donate food to help homeless and hungry people. Photo: Todsaporn Bunmuen / Dreamstime.

Drawing on the Mexican case, how should we interpret the reallocation of state resources—such as shifts toward social spending at the expense of institutional capacity—in terms of democratic quality and state effectiveness?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: I was once asked whether any and all re-budgeting was necessarily a sign of hollowing out or state erosion. The answer to that is no. In principle, if you were to ask me that question, let’s say in a vacuum—do we think that simply repurposing spending toward welfare and social spending is necessarily a problematic sign for democratic governance? My answer would be no. It is in the context of everything else that is happening, particularly in the Mexican case, where my answer would have to be: Actually, we might need to be worried about it.

Precisely because one of the key things, for example, is that in the Mexican case they are re-shifting the budget and implementing all of these austerity measures, but coincidentally—and I say this ironically—for purposes that are very beneficial to the incumbent government. So, if you redesign social policy in a way that provides beneficiaries with direct, non-conditional cash transfers, the expectation is that you will reap the electoral benefits from those transfers. And not only that, but you are also opposing any sort of strong or robust fiscal reform that would actually expand the size of the pie. By engaging in this kind of budgetary shifting, you are therefore taking resources away from other potentially relevant state activities. 

So, again, in and of itself, it is not necessarily the case that any one of these measures would be problematic, but we always have to situate the analysis within its broader context.

When Elections Face Bots, Bullets, and Criminal Power

In the context of Mexico’s 2024 elections, characterized by “ballots, bots, and bullets,” how do digital misinformation and political-criminal violence interact to reshape electoral competition and citizen participation?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: This is what keeps me up at night, and one of the reasons is precisely because I have the Mexican case very close to home. I am from Mexico, so it feels very immediate to me. But more broadly, Mexico is perhaps a paradigmatic extreme case of the growing relationship between criminal governance, democracy, and the increasing growth and permeability of digital life.

So, I will say two things. First, they have completely reshaped electoral competition, at least in the Mexican case. I can also think of the Brazilian case, particularly at the local level, where it is now pretty hard to win an election if, A, you are not at least on good terms with criminal organizations, and B, you do not have a strong online presence.

There is also the fact that it is hard to collect evidence to ascertain this with 100 percent certainty, but criminal organizations themselves have become quite embedded not only in local politics, but also in terms of their technological reach. The domain of their activities no longer pertains only to drug trafficking. So, it is hard for me to see exactly where the influence ends, if that makes any sense. It is one thing to think about the traditional vision of drug-trafficking organizations as groups simply in charge of moving drugs from point A to point B, and that is basically all they do. Now, however, we are talking about really complex systems of criminal governance.

I recently read a paper that even referred to criminal hybrid regimes, in which state institutions and criminal organizations are conceptualized as fused. And again, in the Mexican case, the now former governor of Sinaloa—who recently stepped away from office—has been accused of having close ties with a criminal organization.

So, absolutely, there has been a reshaping of what elections might allow you to do in a democracy. The question then becomes: how do we protect the electoral mechanism from such complex and disruptive forces as, online misinformation, and criminal organizations? There are ample opportunity and space to learn in terms of candidate selection and campaign monitoring.

Violence Hollows Out Democracy from Below

Mexican soldiers
Mexican soldiers rehearse ahead of the September 16 Independence Day parade in Mexico City. Photo: Alejandro Muñoz / Dreamstime.

Given the documented 401 attacks on political actors during the recent electoral cycle, to what extent does violence function as an alternative mechanism of political selection, effectively hollowing out democracy from below?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: This completely redefines the situation, and you are right to point out that this is not necessarily the kind of executive-led aggrandizement from the top down that we usually conceive of, but rather more of a bottom-up—I do not want to call it grassroots—dynamic. But it completely distorts what the minimal definition of democracy entails, namely the rotation of elites and electoral contestation. So, if the only elites rotating through the system are those effectively vetted by criminal organizations, and if, from their very inception, they already possess what we might call a very lax commitment to the rule of law, then I do not see a very bright future for liberal democracies at the local, subnational, or national level, in Mexico or elsewhere where this might be happening.

Local Politics as a Space of Experimentation and Democratic Defense

To what extent do populist and far-right actors exploit subnational arenas—such as regional governments or municipalities—as laboratories for illiberal experimentation and institutional erosion?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: This is an interesting question, and you will get different answers depending on the case and who you ask. Subnational arenas, or subnational units, have been described both as laboratories of authoritarianism—where exactly the kind of dynamics you mention take place, with parties and politicians experimenting, learning, and seeing what they can get away with—and as arenas of resistance, in which politicians and parties resist and withstand autocratizing pressures from above.

In that sense, it ultimately becomes a matter of the preferences of the actors in power and what they are actually able to push for. The subnational arena allows for experimentation in either direction. It can function in an autocratizing way: actors can learn what the legal framework allows them to do, how they might reshuffle certain budgets, which agencies are absolutely necessary, and which messages resonate with the electorate, and which do not. This can actually catapult actors to the national stage. But it can also serve as a space of resistance—a space in which we learn how to contest autocratization from above.

So, I would try to balance the picture and say that there is evidence for both dynamics. My hope is that we are building enough research and collecting enough evidence regarding best practices in both scenarios: on the one hand, to identify these dynamics early and recognize that certain types of practices tend to lead to autocratizing outcomes; and, on the other hand, to replicate successful efforts toward rebuilding and resisting in defense of democracy.

Trust Is the Long-Term Challenge of Democratic Recovery

Your work suggests that declining state capacity undermines citizens’ trust and fuels disengagement. How does this dynamic contribute to a vicious cycle in which democratic dissatisfaction further empowers populist or authoritarian actors?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: I’ll connect that question to your previous question by saying that there is research showing that the democratic features of the subnational unit in which you live shape citizens’ perceptions of how democratic their country is, and also shape trust in the state, government, and public institutions. In that sense, this broader process of declining state capacity and democratic erosion at multiple levels also affects how we see and relate to the state, the government, and public institutions across different levels.

Trying to connect the two dots, there may still be opportunities, particularly in the subnational arena, where efforts of resistance can serve as bastions for democratic preferences. We may observe national autocratizing trends and the normalization of certain radical ideologies or political preferences, but perhaps the local sphere can still remain a space in which a minimal threshold of democratic practices, norms, and behaviors endures. And that, in turn, can become a baseline from which we can begin rebuilding again from the bottom up.

So, there is this recognition that, as I mentioned earlier, the key issue in the long term is trust. How do you rebuild trust for the future? My hope—and I say this very openly—is that by identifying these very local good practices and efforts, we can find a baseline from which to begin building back up again.

Democratic Defense Begins with Naming the Problem

Illustration: Design Rage.

And finally, considering the combined pressures of global illiberalism, state hollowing, digital manipulation, and political violence, what would a viable strategy for democratic resilience look like in the contemporary era?

Dr. Javier Pérez Sandoval: If I nail this question, I probably need to ask for a raise, because this is perhaps the question being asked in a lot of quote-unquote war rooms for the opposition. The broader question is: How do we successfully defend democracy? And there are multiple answers to this. Perhaps I am thinking of two things. One is a very personal answer, in terms of the way I try to approach it myself. The other is a more practical way of thinking about it from the perspective of an opposition movement or political actor.

The way that I try to do it personally is through documenting—trying to track what is happening to democracy in Mexico, in Latin America, and more generally; trying to document, gather, and collect evidence of where democracy is declining and where democracy is able to make a stand and resist. So, if I were to answer that question from my own experience—”how do I see myself as defending democracy?”—that would be my answer: documenting where it erodes, and also documenting where it resists, not only in a cross-country comparative way, but also within countries, through a subnational lens and perspective.

But beyond that and perhaps trying to extrapolate from that experience more broadly, the first thing would also be to document and agree on the diagnosis. Sometimes—I was watching some depositions in the US Congress where some members of the current administration could not even identify a very blatant non-constitutional act as such. We have become so politicized, and partisanship has seemingly trumped everything, that we cannot even agree on what a plain and clear reading of the Constitution is.

So, simply agreeing on the diagnosis, documenting it, and being able to call things by their proper names would already be a great first step. And then, moving forward, it would also be a crucial first step toward finding a common dialogue.

This is one of the calls that we make in the paper on illiberalism and democracy with Maryhen Jiménez and Timothy J. Power. One of the things that history teaches is that democratic defense and democratic oppositions are more likely to coalesce—and therefore more likely to succeed—when they agree on a minimal threshold. Agreeing on a maximalist position or a very high ceiling is always a difficult strategy. But agreeing on the minimal conditions that we can all defend and stand for is a much more feasible strategy and a more realistic act across different contexts.

But unfortunately, we are still in a situation where there is a precondition for that, which is simply the capacity to diagnose and call things what they are. And agreeing on that language today seems even harder than it was in the past. So, if anything, I hope that my work, and the work of my colleagues—and of the Center, for example, in this space—helps us create that common language to diagnose problems and then move forward.