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.

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.

Amsterdam, Muslims.

Part IV — Rethinking the Nexus of Racialization and Populism: Lessons from the Study

In the concluding installment of her series, Lianne Nota offers a theoretically and empirically grounded reassessment of the relationship between populism and racialization. Moving beyond conventional assumptions, she demonstrates that while racialization is central to certain forms of right-wing populism, it is not an inherent feature of populism itself but contingent upon broader ideological configurations. By foregrounding the role of “new racism” and the discursive linking of categories such as migration, religion, and security, Nota reveals how exclusionary boundaries can be constructed without explicit reference to race. At the same time, the analysis highlights the possibility of de-racializing political discourse through more inclusive articulations of “the people.” The article thus advances a nuanced framework for understanding how language shapes political belonging and exclusion.

By Lianne Nota*

This series set out to explore a question that is often overlooked in populism research: how and under what conditions does racialization shape the construction of the populist ‘people’? By analyzing parliamentary debates in the Netherlands, the findings point to a clear but nuanced conclusion. While racialization plays a significant role in right-wing populism, it is not an inherent feature of populism as such.

Is Racialization Inherent to Populism?

A key takeaway from this study is that populist actors do not automatically produce racialized understandings of ‘the people.’ Both Dutch populist parties under examination relied on a populist logic separating ‘the people’ from ‘the elite,’ yet only one consistently constructed these categories in racialized terms.

This suggests that the presence of racialization depends less on populism itself, and more on the ideological context in which populism is articulated. In the case examined here, right-wing populist discourse constructed ‘the people’ through exclusionary boundaries that essentialized cultural and religious differences, while left-wing populist discourse emphasized inclusivity and resisted such essentialization.

At the same time, this finding should not be taken to mean that left-wing populism is inherently immune to racialization. Rather, it highlights the importance of examining these dynamics empirically, rather than relying on a priori assumptions regarding the presence (or absence) of racialization in populism.

New Racism

Another important insight is that racialization often operates indirectly. Throughout this study, explicit references to race were absent. Instead, references to culture, religion, and civilization performed a similar function. By presenting religious and cultural differences as fixed and immutable, the discourse created boundaries that closely resemble racial hierarchies, without ever using the language of race itself. 

This reflects what scholars have called ‘new racism,’ where cultural differences replace biological difference as the basis for exclusion. Another word to describe this type of racism is cultural racism. Cultural or new racism is not necessarily less innocent than ‘traditional’ biological racism, for the cultural boundaries that separate people from each other are presupposed to be absolute, meaning no ‘outsider’ can ever be assimilated into ‘the people (MacMaster, 2001: 194-195). In other words, “cultural racism as a discourse performs the same task as biological racism, as culture functions in the same way as nature, creating closed and bounded cultural groups,” (Wren, 2001: 144). 

Understanding racialization in this broader sense is especially important in contexts like the Netherlands. As mentioned in the first article, discussions of racism are often avoided by a majority of academics and policymakers in the Netherlands (Grosfoguel & Mielants, 2006). However, this does not mean that racism is absent from the Netherlands. In fact, as Weiner (2014) argues, racism takes a peculiar form in the Netherlands, rooted in the denial of race as significant and the particular Dutch history of colonization. Building on this, this study shows us how exclusionary logics can persist even in the absence of explicit references to race or racism.

The Importance of Discursive Linkages

The analysis also shows how racialization does not occur only through how ‘the people’ are described, but also through how different categories are linked together.

In right-wing discourse, groups such as Muslims, migrants, and terrorists were frequently connected, forming a broader threatening ‘Other.’ This process can be understood as kind of a discursive chain, where distinct categories are treated as equivalent.

This finding builds on existing scholarship on populism. While scholars have used the idea of a ‘chain of equivalence’ to explain how demands are linked together (Laclau, 2005), this study suggests that a similar logic can operate in the construction of perceived threats. By linking different groups into a single category, the boundaries of ‘the people’ become sharper and can exclude large portions of society from ‘the people’.

Looking Forward

Taken together, these findings draw attention to how processes of (de-)racialization are implied in the construction of the populist ‘people.’ In doing so, this study suggests that race, racism, and racialization are concepts that should be considered more systematically in relation to populism. Societally, this study demonstrates (again) that discourse has real consequences for real people. How something or someone is talked about has real-world implications that can affect the inclusion or exclusion of particular groups from society. In particular, this study warrants us to pay attention to how exclusion is naturalized through language and how groups of people are systemically excluded even in absence of terms like ‘race.’

At the same time, this article series also suggests that such exclusionary discriminatory framings are not inevitable. By emphasizing inclusivity, the protection of human rights, and the rule of law, more pluralistic understandings of ‘the people’ can be advanced. 

However, like any study, this analysis has its limitations. It has focused on a single country, a specific time period, and a limited number of political actors. As such, the findings cannot be generalized to all cases of populism across the world. 

This opens up avenues for future research. Comparative research across different countries could help determine whether similar patterns emerge elsewhere. It would also be interesting to analyze less traditional platforms like social media networks in order to examine whether racialization plays out differently depending on the platform of choice. Finally, future research could link the discursive dimension of racialization more to the material or institutional dimensions of racialization, for example, by examining how racializing or de-racializing discourse translates into policy decisions and institutional practices. 

Ultimately, this article series highlights a broader point: how we talk about ‘the people’ matters. The boundaries drawn through language shape who is included and who is excluded. Paying attention to these boundaries is therefore not only an academic exercise, but also a necessary step in understanding and potentially challenging the dynamics of exclusion in contemporary politics.


 

(*) Lianne Nota is an ECPS intern and Research Master’s student in International Relations at the University of Groningen, with a focus on identity, populism, ontological security, and the ethics of global affairs. These article series is based on her paper “Constructing ‘The People’: The Role of Racialization in Dutch Populist Discourse” that she wrote for her specialization phase at RUG.


 

References

Grosfoguel, R., & Mielants, E. (2006). “Introduction: Minorities, Racism and Cultures of Scholarship.” International Journal of Comparative Sociology47(3–4), 179–189. https://doi.org/10.1177/0020715206065780

Laclau, E. (2005). On Populist Reason (1st edn). Verso.

MacMaster, N. (2001). Racism in Europe, 1870-2000. Palgrave. http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4039-4033-9

Weiner, M. F. (2014). “The Ideologically Colonized Metropole: Dutch Racism and Racist Denial.” Sociology Compass8(6), 731–744. https://doi.org/10.1111/soc4.12163

Wren, K. (2001). “Cultural racism: Something rotten in the state of Denmark?” Social & Cultural Geography2(2), 141–162. https://doi.org/10.1080/14649360120047788

See other parts of the series

Part 1 — Constructing ‘The People’: The Role of Racialization in Dutch Populist Discourse

Part 2 — Studying “the People”: A Discourse-Analytical Approach to Populism

Part 3 — (De-)racializing ‘the People’: Who Is the Dutch Populist ‘People’?

Geert Wilders

Part III — (De-)racializing ‘the People’: Who Is the Dutch Populist ‘People’?

In the third installment of her series, author Lianne Nota presents a nuanced comparative analysis of how “the people” are constructed within Dutch populist discourse. Drawing on parliamentary debates, she demonstrates that right- and left-wing populist actors do not merely differ in tone but articulate fundamentally distinct logics of political belonging. While the Partij voor de Vrijheid (PVV) constructs a homogeneous and exclusionary “people” through the racialization of a Muslim “other,” the Socialistische Partij (SP) advances a more inclusive, civic conception that actively resists such boundary-making. By juxtaposing processes of racialization and de-racialization, Nota offers a compelling empirical contribution that challenges prevailing assumptions about populism’s relationship to exclusion, highlighting instead the contingent and discursive nature of political community formation.

By Lianne Nota*

In the previous parts, we outlined the project in terms of literature, method, and data. In this part, the findings of the analysis will be shared. To reiterate, this study analyzed parliamentary debates about migration, Islam, terrorism, and radicalization in the Netherlands during the 2015 refugee crisis. Through a comparison of how a right- and left-wing populist party spoke about ‘the people’ and various Others, the role of racialization in the construction of ‘the people’ was analyzed. What emerged is not just a difference in tone or emphasis, but a fundamentally different understanding of who belongs and who doesn’t.

PVV: The Homogenous Judeo-Christian People, the Tacialized Muslim Other and the Culpable Elite

The Construction of ‘the People’

PVV consistently presented itself as the party for the ordinary, hardworking, overlooked people. For example, in the debate on the terrorist attacks in Paris at the beginning of January 2015, frontman Geert Wilders stated that I am [emphasis added] one of the victims, and not just me, but the entirety of the Netherlands and lots of others” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). As part of the common Dutch people, the PVV thus insisted on representing their voice.

For the PVV, ‘the people’ consisted of an innocent Judeo-Christian community that is being threatened by ‘Islamization.’ For example, one speaker expressed that “Islam is alien [‘wezensvreemd’] to the Judeo-Christian and humanist norms, values and traditions on which the Dutch society is based” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015b). In the context of the terrorist attacks in Paris, Wilders stated that he was “furious that, because of Islam, innocent victims fell again: jews, Islam critics and innocent people” and that “Islam simply does not belong to the Netherlands and is a danger to it,”(Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a).

Islam was portrayed as slowly taking over and threatening ‘our’ culture, for example, through an expression like “we are having to put our [emphasis added] Christian culture with the garbage” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015c).Wilders even explicitly mentions that he does not see the encounter with Islam as a clash of civilizations, but rather as “a clash, a confrontation, between civilization and barbarism” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). Entire population groups (primarily Muslims) are thus systematically excluded from ‘the people’ along civilizational lines.

The Construction of ‘the Other’ and ‘the Elite’

The construction of ‘the people’ by PVV happened also through constructing a foreign Other. In this regard, PVV speakers positioned themselves as warriors for freedom fighting against Islam, and simultaneously as experts in Islam. For example, Wilders declared that “I am standing here to fight the root of all evil. That root of all evil is called Islam. I-s-l-a-m. Islam,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015d). At the same time, one of the PVV speakers portrayed an SP opponent as ignorant in claiming that “it takes a lot of work to know exactly what Islam represents and how you can recognize it. I’m not going to give a lecture about it. To Ms. Karabulut of the SP, I say: bury yourself in the books, in the Quran, in hadith, and in the sira. Then you have enough to read and maybe you’ll find out,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015b). This signaled the PVV’s anti-Islam and anti-Muslim position in the debates, while at the same time bolstering their claims as authoritative speakers.

For PVV, the boundaries between Muslims, immigrants, and terrorists were fundamentally blurred. This becomes most clear in the debate about the terrorist attacks in Paris, where Wilders claimed that “of course not all Muslims are terrorists, but almost all terrorists nowadays are Muslims,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). He continued, “For decades, mass immigration has brought hundreds of thousands of people with an alien culture into Europe, into our country. Why do we import all this misery? Islam brings hate and violence everywhere it goes,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a).

In passages like these, it is assumed that terrorism stems from Islam, and through mass immigration, we are inviting Islamist terrorists to our country. Importantly, PVV speakers also linked these categories discursively through attributing physical features. Immigrants were portrayed as “masses of young men of around 20 years with beards” singing “allahu akbar-like songs” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015c). This obviously refers to young Muslim men. But in the data, terrorists were described by Wilders as “people who scream allahu akbar” as well, linking terrorists to immigrants and Muslims (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015d). 

As for the elite, PVV speakers depicted political opponents and ruling parties not only as failing to address issues like terrorism and migration, but also as actively enabling them. For example, in the context of the Paris terrorist attacks, Wilders starts by saying that “of course the government is not responsible for every attack.” Still, he continues that “if someone who could have been stopped from returning to the Netherlands, if someone who the government has stopped from returning to Syria, if someone from another Schengen country comes to the Netherlands and commits a terrorist attack, then this government has blood on its hands,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). Statements like these elevate responsibility into moral blame. 

These kinds of accusations were blended with portrayals of political opponents as “the political elite who look away,”(Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a), “incompetent” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a) and “scandalously neglecting its duty” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). 

PVV speakers also frequently used a kind of rhetoric that was meant to ridicule political opponents, for example declaring that “I was scared for a moment that clown Bassie [a famous clown in a children’s tv programme] was standing in front of me, but it was mister Kuzu” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015b). As opposed to these political opponents, PVV was depicted as telling the uncomfortable but necessary truth. For example, Wilders mentions that “it’s an awkward truth, but one that must be told: we are talking today about an invasion, an Islamic invasion of Europe, of the Netherlands,”(Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015c). The mixing of these strategies creates a sharp moral divide between ‘the people’ as represented by the PVV and the elite who are portrayed as detached from or indifferent to concerns of ‘ordinary’ Dutch people.

Presence of Racialization in the Discourse

The framing of ‘the people’ by the PVV can be seen as an instance of racialization. There is a boundary that is drawn very clearly between ‘us,’ ‘the people,’ and ‘them,’ Islam or Muslims. In addition, Islam is constructed not merely as a set of beliefs, but as an essentialized and homogeneous category that is incompatible with ‘our’ Dutch identity. In this regard, ‘we’ are clearly presumed superior vis-à-vis ‘them.’ 

Furthermore, the PVV construction of ‘the elite’ did not directly racialize ‘the people’ but could indirectly reinforce how racialization happens. The strong moral opposition between ‘the elite’ and ‘the people’ heightens the sense of urgency and crisis, which indirectly strengthens the exclusionary boundaries drawn between ‘people’ and ‘other.’ Overall, the PVV thus constructed a threatening racialized ‘other’ which, in turn, sharpened the boundaries of ‘the people’ as a homogeneous collective. 

SP: The Inclusive People, the De-racialized Other and the Irresponsible Elite

The Construction of ‘the People’

In contrast to the PVV, the SP tried to portray itself as the protector of the rule of law and individual freedoms by emphasizing “the freedom to think, believe, draw, and write whatever you want” as a central part of ‘our’ democracy (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). SP speakers also stressed that they represented the ‘ordinary’ people in terms of wealth. For example, a speaker assertively stated that “nothing is shared fairly. Everything is for the rich, and those who are poor are screwed” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015e). 

SP members also emphasized that the Netherlands is generally a rich country, such as claiming that “in a rich country like the Netherlands, nobody sleeps under a bridge and we don’t eat from trash bins” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015f). SP thus positioned itself as defenders of the law and the less wealthy.

The ‘people’ constructed by SP was also a far more inclusive category compared to PVV. For example, regarding the terrorist attacks in Paris, the frontman of SP at the time, Emile Roemer, stated that “I am also here to protect the freedom of all [emphasis added] Dutch people. That means I have a lot of trouble with Mr. Wilders describing 1 million Dutch people with an Islamic background as potential terrorists,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). 

In the other debates as well, it becomes clear that, for the SP, Muslims are explicitly included in their understanding of ‘the people.’ For example, in one debate, a SP member stated that “I want to clarify that we should all stand firm for the freedoms and fundamental rights of all people, whether it concerns Islamic people, non-religious people, or people of a different religion,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015b). In this way, ‘the people’ is constructed not as a homogeneous entity but as a diverse collective united by the law.

The Construction of ‘the Other’ and ‘the Elite’

As for the construction of a foreign Other, the SP presented itself as a protector of vulnerable communities and their human rights, often explicitly opposing the PVV. For example, Roemer expressed that “people fear attacks in the Netherlands and wonder how they can defend themselves when terror comes so close. But people also fear that divisions between population groups are growing, between Muslims and non-Muslims, and that people of good will are being pitted against each other,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a).

SP also expressed their involvement in these communities by positioning itself as an eyewitness to the experiences of these minorities, especially migrants. For example, Roemer stated that “my party members have seen with their own eyes how vulnerable children are who are in the region of Syria, Libanon or Turkey,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015g). SP thus saw itself as defender of the human rights and safety of vulnerable people, especially migrants.

For the SP, the boundaries between Islam, migrants, and terrorists were very clearly maintained. While SP speakers also addressed issues such as terrorism, they did so mostly from a legal point of view, describing terrorism as “a horrible form of criminality” or terrorists as “people who try to overthrow or harm the legal order here or in other parts of the world,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015h). SP speakers were adamant that terrorists should be seen as “extremists that attack our freedoms under the flag of Islam,” instead of ordinary Muslims (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015a). As such, rather than Islam or Muslims being framed as ‘other,’ terrorists are the clear ‘other’ of a ‘people’ that expressly includes Muslims.

As implied before, migrants and refugees were frequently constructed as vulnerable individuals rather than a potential threat. This was done, for example, by explicitly including children in descriptions of migrants. In this regard, Roemer talked about “children of 3, 4, 5 years old selling flowers in those camps to be able to buy something like a slice of bread,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015g). Thus, just like ‘the people’ are seen as victims of terrorism, refugees and migrants are seen as victims of war and conflict, similarly in need of protection by the government.

As for their attitude towards the elite, the SP was markedly less aggressive and condemning towards the ruling parties and the government than the PVV. The SP did frame political elites as naïve and detached, such as in statements like “the prime minister is bailing again” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015g) or calling on a minister to “do his job better” and asking whether “he still has all his ducks in a row” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015h). However, in general, SP discourse was fairly institutional and targeted towards policy effectiveness. Rather than accusing the government of betraying the people, it was (constructively) criticized for not doing enough or not taking the right actions.

Presence of De-racialization in the Discourse

As a result, the framing of ‘the people’ as including multiple diverse population groups could be seen as an act of de-racialization that can be summed up by the following contribution: “Whether it concerns people who are black or white, whether they are being persecuted because of their race or their religion; people are people, European or not, and they remain people,” (Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal, 2015e). Here, race and religion are both explicitly invoked to argue that they should not be used as discriminatory bases. Therefore, the SP’s discourse constructs ‘the people’ largely in a more inclusive and civic way, rather than drawing divisions between groups of people in society.

Two Logics?

Taken together, the analysis demonstrates that the constructions of ‘the people,’ ‘the other,’ and ‘the elite’ are combined in different ways with different effects by PVV and SP. While PVV consistently constructed a homogeneous ‘people’ through racializing a threatening ‘other’ reinforced by a strongly antagonistic ‘elite,’ SP constructed a more inclusive understanding of ‘the people’ by resisting the racialization of out-groups. These findings highlight not only important differences between right- and left-wing populist actors but also raise important questions about the relationship between populism and racialization in general. In the following and final part, we will therefore reflect on what these findings mean for how we understand the relationship between populism and racialization more broadly.


 

(*) Lianne Nota is an ECPS intern and Research Master’s student in International Relations at the University of Groningen, with a focus on identity, populism, ontological security, and the ethics of global affairs. These article series is based on her paper “Constructing ‘The People’: The Role of Racialization in Dutch Populist Discourse” that she wrote for her specialization phase at RUG.


 

References

Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal. (2015a). “De aanslag in Parijs.” https://www.tweedekamer.nl/kamerstukken/plenaire_verslagen/detail/2014-2015/41#40d004c2

Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal. (2015b). “Komst moskee in Gouda.” https://www.tweedekamer.nl/kamerstukken/plenaire_verslagen/detail/2014-2015/95#b73a0f77

Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal. (2015c). “Gemeenschappelijk asielbeleid in Europa.” https://www.tweedekamer.nl/kamerstukken/plenaire_verslagen/detail/2014-2015/111#07cd76b4

Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal. (2015d). “Aanslagen in Parijs.” https://www.tweedekamer.nl/kamerstukken/plenaire_verslagen/detail/2015-2016/27#d0f39abf.  

Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal. (2015e). “Instroom asielzoekers.” https://www.tweedekamer.nl/kamerstukken/plenaire_verslagen/detail/2014-2015/68#e3e2931c

Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal. (2015f). “Uitkomsten onderhandelingen inzake bed, bad en brood.” https://www.tweedekamer.nl/kamerstukken/plenaire_verslagen/detail/2014-2015/83#ae18d915

Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal. (2015g). “Gemeenschappelijk asielbeleid in Europa.” https://www.tweedekamer.nl/kamerstukken/plenaire_verslagen/detail/2014-2015/111#d573540e

Tweede Kamer der Staten-Generaal. (2015h). “Ontnemen van het Nederlanderschap bij terroristische misdrijven.” https://www.tweedekamer.nl/kamerstukken/plenaire_verslagen/detail/2014-2015/60#9ad08f9e


See other parts of the series

Part 1 — Constructing ‘The People’: The Role of Racialization in Dutch Populist Discourse

Part 2 — Studying “the People”: A Discourse-Analytical Approach to Populism

Part 4: Rethinking the Nexus of Racialization and Populism: Lessons from the Study

Amsterdam, people.

Part II — Studying ‘the People’: A Discourse-Analytical Approach to Populism

In the second installment of her series, the author Lianne Nota advances the analysis by developing a rigorous methodological framework for studying the construction of “the people” in populist discourse. Moving beyond abstract theorization, she introduces a discourse-analytical approach grounded in Critical Discourse Analysis and the Discourse-Historical Approach (DHA), emphasizing the interplay between language, power, and historical context. By operationalizing racialization through boundary-making, essentialization, and moral differentiation, Nota provides a precise analytical toolkit for identifying how political actors construct inclusion and exclusion—even in the absence of explicit racial references. Focusing on Dutch parliamentary debates during the 2015 refugee crisis, this contribution bridges conceptual and empirical inquiry, offering a nuanced pathway for examining how populist narratives produce and legitimize social hierarchies.

By Lianne Nota*

To analyze how and if Dutch populist actors have constructed ‘the people’ in racialized terms, we are in need of an empirical approach to actually study these processes in practice. This approach needs to be attentive to how ‘the people’ is not a concept determined a priori, but how they are actively constructed by populist parties in particular contexts. This is where a discourse-analytical perspective comes in.

Adopting a Discursive Approach

While discourse is a notoriously hard concept to define, for this article series, it is enough to understand that discourse refers to how language use in speech and writing functions as a form of ‘social practice.’ This means that a discourse constitutes situations, people, and objects of knowledge, but is also socially conditioned by them (Fairclough & Wodak, 1997: 258). In other words, discourse treats language not as a neutral medium, but as a form of social practice. Language does not merely reflect social and political reality but also constitutes it.

To capture these dynamics, this series draws on Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA), and more specifically on the Discourse Historical Approach (DHA) in order to analyze racialization in populist discourse.

The Discourse-Historical Approach

The DHA is particularly well-suited for studying questions of racialization because the original purpose of the DHA was to examine racism and discrimination in the context of antisemitism (Reisigl, 2017: 44-45). What distinguishes DHA from other types of CDA is that it links linguistic analysis to broader political and historical contexts (Wodak & Reisigl, 2016: 583). 

In practice, this means that DHA combines three levels of analysis: (1) identifying key topics within a discourse, (2) examining discursive strategies through which different groups are constructed, and (3) analyzing the linguistic means through which these strategies are realized (Reisigl & Wodak, 2016). This means paying close attention to how political actors name certain groups, what characteristics they attribute to them, how they justify these attributions, and how they position themselves in relation to them.

The Data

Empirically, the analysis focuses on parliamentary debates in the Netherlands that have as their main topic migration, Islam, terrorism, or radicalization, because these debates are most salient in terms of racialized constructions of ‘the people’ (de Koning, 2020; Silverstein, 2005; Selod & Embrick, 2013; Woodbridge et al., 2025). In terms of periodization, I look at the year 2015 when debates surrounding these topics were highly relevant due to the 2015 refugee crisis. 

The analysis will be organized around two distinct but interrelated categories: ‘the people’ and “the Other.” These ‘Others’ can be further divided into two categories: the elite and the foreign Other. While the foreign Other typically only plays a role in right-wing populism (which is assumed to be exclusionary), it is included here as a separate category to allow for a systematic comparison between PVV and SP. This structure allows for a distinction between how ‘the people’ themselves are directly constructed, how ‘the people’ are (or are not) constructed in contrast to a foreign Other, and how ‘the people’ are constructed in opposition to ‘the elite’.

Identifying Racialization in Practice

Building on the earlier discussion of racialization (see the first article in this series), this study operationalizes it through three criteria.

  1. Boundary-making: a distinction is drawn between ‘the people’ and others;
  2. Essentialization: groups are portrayed as homogenous and defined by fixed characteristics;
  3. Moral differentiation: these groups are evaluated in normative terms (e.g. as good, dangerous, inferior etc.) 

By analyzing how these elements appear in populist discourse, it becomes possible to identify whether and how racialization happens, even without explicit mentions of race.

Looking Ahead

What happens when we apply this approach in practice?

In the next article, we turn to the empirical analysis and examine how Partij voor de Vrijheid (PVV), a Dutch right-wing populist party, and Socialistische Partij (SP), a Dutch left-wing populist party, constructed ‘the people’ in parliamentary debates. By looking closely at how groups are named, described, and contrasted with others, we begin to see how different versions of ‘the people’ take shape. As we will see, while both parties drew on a populist logic separating ‘the people’ from ‘the elite,’ they constructed these boundaries in fundamentally different ways, raising important questions about how and when racialization enters populist discourse.


 

(*) Lianne Nota is an ECPS intern and Research Master’s student in International Relations at the University of Groningen, with a focus on identity, populism, ontological security, and the ethics of global affairs. These article series is based on her paper “Constructing ‘The People’: The Role of Racialization in Dutch Populist Discourse” that she wrote for her specialization phase at RUG.


 

References

de Koning, M. (2020). “The racialization of danger: Patterns and ambiguities in the relation between Islam, security and secularism in the Netherlands. “Patterns of Prejudice54(1–2), 123–135. https://doi.org/10.1080/0031322X.2019.1705011

Fairclough, N., & Wodak, R. (1997). “Critical discourse analysis.” In: Discourse as Social Interaction (pp. 258–284). SAGE.

Reisigl, M. (2017). “The Discourse-Historical Approach.” In: J. Flowerdew & J. Richardson (Eds), The Routledge Handbook of Critical Discourse Studies (pp. 44–59). Routledge. https://www-taylorfrancis-com.proxy-ub.rug.nl/chapters/edit/10.4324/9781315739342-4/discourse-historical-approach-martin-reisigl?context=ubx&refId=5b29f8d0-009b-41bb-863b-946150a3bfc4

Reisigl, M., & Wodak, R. (2016). “The discourse-historical approach (DHA).” In: R. Wodak & M. Meyer (Eds), Methods of Critical Discourse Studies (3rd edn, pp. 23–61). SAGE.

Selod, S., & Embrick, D. G. (2013). “Racialization and Muslims: Situating the Muslim Experience in Race Scholarship.” Sociology Compass7(8), 644–655. https://doi.org/10.1111/soc4.12057

Silverstein, P. A. (2005). “Immigrant Racialization and the New Savage Slot: Race, Migration, and Immigration in the New Europe.” Annual Review of Anthropology34(Volume 34, 2005), 363–384. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev.anthro.34.081804.120338

Wodak, R., & Reisigl, M. (2015). “Discourse and Racism.” In: D. Tannen, H. E. Hamilton, & D. Schiffrin (Eds), The Handbook of Discourse Analysis (pp. 576–596). John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. https://doi.org/10.1002/9781118584194.ch27

Woodbridge, E., Vanhouche, A.-S., & Lechkar, I. (2025). “The racialization of radicalization and terrorism: Belgian political language on Muslims and Islam.” Ethnicities25(5), 701–723. https://doi.org/10.1177/14687968251329926

See other parts of the series

Part 1 — Constructing ‘The People’: The Role of Racialization in Dutch Populist Discourse

Part 3 — (De-)racializing ‘the People’: Who Is the Dutch Populist ‘People’?

Part 4: Rethinking the Nexus of Racialization and Populism: Lessons from the Study

People skating on the frozen canals at the crossing of Leidsegracht and Keizersgracht in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Amsterdam’s canals rarely freeze, allowing residents and visitors to walk and skate on the ice. Photo: Wessel Cirkel.

Part I — Constructing ‘The People’: The Role of Racialization in Dutch Populist Discourse

In this incisive opening to a multi-part series, ECPS intern Lianne Nota interrogates one of the most taken-for-granted concepts in populism studies: “the people.” Moving beyond conventional definitions that treat the category as self-evident, she foregrounds racialization as a critical—yet often neglected—dimension in its construction. By shifting the analytical lens from race as a fixed attribute to racialization as a dynamic process of boundary-making, the study offers a conceptually rigorous and empirically grounded intervention. Focusing on the Dutch case, Nota situates populist discourse within broader debates on “new racism,” identity, and political representation. The series promises to advance the field by systematically examining how both right- and left-wing populist actors construct “the people” through implicit and explicit forms of differentiation.

By Lianne Nota*

Populism is everywhere in contemporary politics, from Europe to the Americas. At its core lies a simple but powerful idea: ‘the people’ should be at the center of politics (Canovan 1999). But who exactly are ‘the people’ and how are they constructed?

This question is more complicated than it seems. In much of academic literature, populism is understood as a ‘thin ideology’ that divides society into two camps: the ‘pure’ people and the ‘corrupt’ elite (Mudde & Kaltwasser, 2017). While this understanding captures something important, it often takes ‘the people’ for granted, overlooking the essentially contested and flexible nature of that category.

This four-part article series explores a crucial but often overlooked dimension of the construction of ‘the people’: racialization.

Beyond Race: Why Racialization Matters

While much has already been written on the people-centeredness of populism, this article series aims to focus the discussion on the construction of the populist ‘people’ through racialization. Using racialization as a concept instead of race, this series aims to avoid reifying race and emphasizes the inherent social constructedness of race (Small, 1994).

As such, racialization refers above all to a process through which differences between groups are constructed, whether cultural or biological. This understanding of racialization draws on the understanding that, nowadays, ‘new racism’ often uses culture and religion as proxies for race to create orders that resemble racial hierarchies, even in the absence of any explicit biological references (MacMaster, 2001). In addition, racialization often serves to subordinate a specific group (Woodbrige et al., 2025). This article series therefore uses racialization to refer to the discursive process of boundary-making by which (political) subjects are constituted and morally differentiated through the attribution of racial meanings, whether those are explicitly biological or not.

What Has Already Been Said?

Existing research on race and populism reflects the assumption that right-wing populism is inherently exclusionary while left-wing populism is inherently inclusionary (Mudde & Kaltwasser, 2013). As such, the relationship between race and right-wing populism has been addressed by numerous scholars (Krzyżanowski, 2018; Krzyżanowski, 2020; Thorleifsson, 2021; Mondon & Winteri, 2020), while the relationship between race and left-wing populism has been largely overlooked. 

Following existing literature, this series does not make any assumptions about the conduciveness of either right- or left-wing populism to racialization. Instead, it asks the open-ended question: how do different populist actors construct ‘the people’ and to what extent does racialization play a role in that process?

Case Study: The Netherlands

To explore this question, we turn to the Netherlands, a country with a long history of both left- and right-wing populism. Interestingly, Dutch political discourse often avoids explicit references to race, favoring terms like ‘ethnicity’ or ‘culture’ (Essed & Trienekens, 2008). This makes the Netherlands a particularly interesting case study for studying how racialization can operate indirectly through seemingly neutral language.

What This Series Will Show

In the upcoming articles, we will work towards answering the puzzle of how Dutch populist actors construct ‘the people’ and, if so, how racialization plays a part in that process. Drawing on a series of Dutch parliamentary debates held in 2015 during the height of the refugee crisis, this series compares how/if Partij voor de Vrijheid (PVV), a right-wing populist party, and Socialistische Partij (SP), a left-wing populist party, constructed ‘the people’ in racialized terms. The findings suggest that, while both parties mobilized a populist divide between ‘the people’ and ‘the elite,’ they differed significantly in how they constructed ‘the people,’ and only one party constructed the ‘people’ in racialized terms. 

Let’s dive into existing literature on the role of race in populist politics first. 

Where Is Race in Populism Studies?

We have already asked a deceptively simple question: who are ‘the people’ in populist politics? Surprisingly, within mainstream populist research, this question is not often framed in terms of race or racialization. To illustrate, let us take a look at the major handbooks on populism in scholarly literature. For example, the Oxford Handbook of Populism, contains no chapter on race, racism, or racialization, despite dedicating large parts of the book to ‘issue-centred’ discussions surrounding populism (Kaltwasser et al., 2017). Similarly, the Research Handbook on Populism and the Palgrave Handbook of Populism also do not systematically address race as a core issue in populist politics (Oswald, 2022). This relative silence suggests that race, racism, and racialization have not been regarded as central elements of populism within mainstream (theoretical) debates.

When research on the relationship between race and populism does exist, it mostly focuses on right-wing populist parties and movements. For example, Krzyżanowski (2018, 2020) argues that racist and xenophobic ideas have become normalized in Poland as a result of anti-refugee and anti-immigration rhetoric introduced by the Polish PiS party, a right-wing populist and nationalist party. This kind of research shows that culture and religion are often used as proxies for race to create orders that resemble racial hierarchies, even in the absence of any explicit biological references. This kind of cultural racism is sometimes called ‘new racism,’ to distinguish it from the biological racism that characterized the pre-1945 era (MacMaster, 2001). While this body of work has been crucial in drawing more attention to the role of race and racialization in populist ideology, it has also contributed to a relative neglect of how similar processes might (or might not) unfold beyond right-wing populist parties.

Two notable exceptions in this regard are worth mentioning. A study by Chazel and Dain (2021) found that left-wing populist movements may also draw on notions like ‘the homeland,’ albeit in more inclusive ways than their right-wing counterparts do. Drawing on narratives about belonging and national identity always engages in some exercise of boundary-making, introducing the possibility for racialization. In their study of Hugo Chávez’s political rhetoric, this leads Barreto and Maldonado (2025) to conclude that left-wing populism can also include racial rhetoric. 

Therefore, rather than assuming a priori that left-wing populism is immune to racialization, this article series critically examines the role racialization plays in left-wing populism and whether this role differs from how racialization operates in right-wing populism. The next article turns to how we can study racialization empirically by outlining a discourse-analytical approach to this process.


 

(*) Lianne Nota is an ECPS intern and Research Master’s student in International Relations at the University of Groningen, with a focus on identity, populism, ontological security, and the ethics of global affairs. These article series is based on her paper “Constructing ‘The People’: The Role of Racialization in Dutch Populist Discourse” that she wrote for her specialization phase at RUG.


 

References

Barreto, A. A., & Maldonado, D. (2025). Race and populism on the left: Political rhetoric in Hugo Chávez’s Venezuela. Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies20(3), 387–402. https://doi.org/10.1080/17442222.2024.2393506

Chazel, L., & Dain, V. (2021). “Left-Wing Populism and Nationalism: A Comparative Analysis of the Patriotic Narratives of Podemos and France insoumise.” Journal for the Study of Radicalism15(2), 73–94. https://www-jstor-org.focus.lib.kth.se/stable/48642382

Canovan, M. (1999). Trust the People! Populism and the Two Faces of Democracy. Political Studies47(1), 2–16. https://doi.org/10.1111/1467-9248.00184

Essed, P., & Trienekens, S. (2008). ‘Who wants to feel white?’ Race, Dutch culture and contested identities. Ethnic and Racial Studies31(1), 52–72. https://doi.org/10.1080/01419870701538885

Kaltwasser, C. R., Taggart, P., Espejo, P. O., & Ostiguy, P. (Eds). (2017). The Oxford Handbook of Populism. Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780198803560.001.0001

Krzyżanowski, M. (2018). Discursive Shifts in Ethno-Nationalist Politics: On Politicization and Mediatization of the “Refugee Crisis” in Poland. Journal of Immigrant & Refugee Studies16(1–2), 76–96. https://doi.org/10.1080/15562948.2017.1317897

Krzyżanowski, M. (2020). Discursive shifts and the normalisation of racism: Imaginaries of immigration, moral panics and the discourse of contemporary right-wing populism. Social Semiotics30(4), 503–527. https://doi.org/10.1080/10350330.2020.1766199

MacMaster, N. (2001). Racism in Europe, 1870-2000. Palgrave. http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4039-4033-9

Mondon, A., & Winter, A. (2019). Whiteness, populism and the racialisation of the working class in the United Kingdom and the United States. Identities26(5), 510–528. https://doi.org/10.1080/1070289X.2018.1552440

Mudde, C., & Kaltwasser, C. R. (2013). Exclusionary vs. Inclusionary Populism: Comparing Contemporary Europe and Latin America. Government and Opposition48(2), 147–174. https://doi.org/10.1017/gov.2012.11

Mudde, C., & Kaltwasser, C. R. (2017). Populism: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford University Press. (1378915). https://research.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=0a98f106-01e2-39bf-9f0c-7ff265fff45d

Oswald, M. (Ed.). (2022). The Palgrave Handbook of Populism. Springer International Publishing. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-80803-7

Small, S. (1994). Racialised Barriers: The Black Experience in the United States and England in the 1980s. Routledge.

Thorleifsson, C. (2021). In pursuit of purity: Populist nationalism and the racialization of difference. Identities28(2), 186–202. https://doi.org/10.1080/1070289X.2019.1635767

Woodbridge, E., Vanhouche, A.-S., & Lechkar, I. (2025). The racialization of radicalization and terrorism: Belgian political language on Muslims and Islam. Ethnicities25(5), 701–723. https://doi.org/10.1177/14687968251329926

See other parts of the series

Part 2 — Studying “the People”: A Discourse-Analytical Approach to Populism

Part 3 — (De-)racializing ‘the People’: Who Is the Dutch Populist ‘People’?

Part 4: Rethinking the Nexus of Racialization and Populism: Lessons from the Study

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?

Péter Krekó is an Associate Professor at the Department of Social Psychology; the Research Laboratory for Disinformation & Artificial Intelligence at Eötvös Loránd University.

Assoc. Prof. Krekó: Orbán’s Centralized Media and Propaganda Machine Faces a Striking Collapse, Opening New Possibilities for Democratic Renewal

Hungary’s democratic transition after Viktor Orbán may begin where his regime was once strongest: the centralized media and propaganda machine that sustained sixteen years of illiberal rule. In this ECPS interview, Assoc. Prof. Péter Krekó argues that Orbán’s highly professional disinformation apparatus has suffered a striking collapse, opening new possibilities for democratic renewal, media pluralism, and a more critical public sphere. At the same time, he warns that concentrated political power, polarization, and the dangers of re-autocratization remain serious challenges. Drawing on his expertise in political psychology, populism, and informational autocracy, Assoc. Prof. Krekó examines Hungary’s transformation within broader debates on post-truth politics, democratic resilience, and authoritarian adaptation—asking whether Hungary can evolve from a model of illiberalism into a model of democratic recovery.

Interview by Selcuk Gultasli

The collapse of Viktor Orbán’s Fidesz government after sixteen years in power has shaken one of Europe’s most influential illiberal regimes and raised a defining question: can Hungary’s democratic renewal begin where Orbán’s system was strongest—its centralized media and propaganda machine? For more than a decade, Hungary served as a laboratory of democratic backsliding, populist governance, and state-sponsored informational manipulation. Yet, as Assoc. Prof. Péter Krekó argues in this ECPS interview, Orbán’s once highly professional disinformation apparatus has suffered a striking failure, losing its capacity to shape public opinion as effectively as before.

Assoc. Prof. Krekó—Associate Professor at Eötvös Loránd University, Director of the Political Capital Institute, and Senior Budapest Open Society Fellow at the CEU Institute for Advanced Study—examines how this collapse opens new possibilities for pluralism, democratic reconstruction, and a more critical public sphere. At the same time, he warns that democratic renewal is not guaranteed. Concentrated power, one-sided tribalism, and the risk of re-autocratization remain serious dangers.

Drawing on his interdisciplinary expertise as both a political scientist and social psychologist, Assoc. Prof. Krekó situates Hungary’s transformation within broader debates on populism, post-truth politics, democratic resilience, and authoritarian adaptation. He argues that Orbán’s system relied not primarily on overt repression, but on the creation of what became “the most centralized and politicized media environment in the entire European Union,” where hundreds of media outlets operated within a politically controlled ecosystem reproducing state-sponsored narratives, fear campaigns, and disinformation.

Yet despite these highly asymmetrical conditions, the Orbán regime’s informational dominance appears to have reached its limits. As Assoc. Prof. Krekó explains, the very machinery that once enabled Fidesz to consolidate power ultimately failed to maintain public trust and political legitimacy. The interview therefore examines not only the weakening of Orbán’s media empire, but also the broader unraveling of the patronage networks, ideological loyalties, and communicative structures that sustained Hungary’s illiberal order for more than a decade.

At the same time, Assoc. Prof. Krekó repeatedly cautions against simplistic narratives of democratic restoration. While Orbán’s centralized propaganda system may be collapsing, the institutional and psychological legacies of illiberalism remain deeply embedded within Hungarian political culture. The conversation explores the persistence of conspiracy narratives, anti-immigration attitudes, and pro-Russian disinformation, as well as the dangers that can emerge when overwhelming electoral legitimacy becomes concentrated in the hands of a new political force.

Importantly, the interview also highlights the possibility that Hungary could evolve from a model of informational autocracy into a model of democratic recovery. Assoc. Prof. Krekó reflects on the prospects for rebuilding media pluralism, depolarizing public discourse, strengthening democratic norms, and resisting the temptation to reproduce the very forms of centralized power that characterized Orbánism.

Ultimately, this conversation presents Hungary not merely as a case of authoritarian decline, but as a crucial test case for understanding whether democracies damaged by prolonged informational manipulation can successfully reconstruct pluralistic political life. Whether Hungary becomes a model for democratic renewal—or drifts toward new forms of hybrid governance—remains uncertain. But as Assoc. Prof. Krekó suggests throughout this interview, the striking collapse of Orbán’s centralized media and propaganda machine has opened political possibilities that only a few years ago appeared unimaginable.

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

Orbán’s Informational Autocracy Meets Its Limits

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

Professor Krekó, welcome. In your work, you conceptualize Hungary as an informational autocracy, where media control and narrative manipulation underpin regime stability. To what extent does Magyar’s electoral victory represent a structural rupture in this system, rather than merely an elite turnover?

Associate Professor Péter Krekó: Thank you very much. It’s a brilliant question. Just as a disclaimer at the outset, the term “informational autocracy,” or “spin dictatorship,” was coined by Sergei Guriev and Daniel Treisman. I merely applied it to Hungary and wrote an article on the subject. So, unfortunately, the term itself is not my brainchild. Nevertheless, I think it is a very important concept, and when it comes to understanding the nature of the Orbán regime, it is definitely helpful.

What has happened in Hungary challenges some of our traditional concepts for describing certain kinds of non-liberal—and indeed non-democratic—regimes. In many respects, the Hungarian regime under Viktor Orbán was a non-democratic system, but that did not mean it was impossible to defeat through elections.

Regarding your question about informational autocracy and systemic rupture, Viktor Orbán never systematically used violence during his rule. There was no imprisonment of political opponents, no imprisonment of journalists, and no violent crackdown on opposition protests. However, he developed an extremely centralized media system. Hungary had the most centralized and politicized media environment in the entire European Union, with more than 400 media outlets concentrated in a pro-government foundation called KESMA (Central European Press and Media Foundation), all under political control. In a country of only 8 million voters, this represented a massive media conglomerate. Combined with the so-called public media and additional aligned outlets, there were nearly 500 media organizations altogether, practically all parroting the same narratives, spreading politically controlled and state-sponsored disinformation.

The manipulation and spinning of information through television, billboards, and social media became the regime’s most important tool for reproducing its legitimacy. Yet Péter Magyar was still able to challenge this informational autocracy. One key rule of informational autocracies is that the side with greater resources generally enjoys greater support. Viktor Orbán possessed enormous resources in terms of media ownership and money spent on political advertising. Although the most recent elections were somewhat affected by social media self-regulation, in earlier elections the government could deploy far more billboards and advertising resources than its opponents.

In the 2022 elections, for example, the governmental side was able to display eight times as many billboards in public spaces as the opposition. So, while the competition appeared formally fair, in reality it was highly unequal. Despite this highly asymmetric and unfair environment, Péter Magyar was nevertheless able to challenge the government.

What we saw in the latest elections was that the highly professional media and disinformation machinery constructed by Orbán and his cronies was ultimately unable to spread its narratives effectively or shape public opinion in the way it once had.

Dismantling Informational Autocracy Requires More Than Victory

Peter Magyar, a popular opposition politician of celebrity status meeting the press at the site of a soccer arena and miniature train station in Viktor Orban’s village in Felcsut, Hungary. on May 24, 2024. Photo: Blue Corner Studio.

Given the deep institutional embedding of Orbán’s system—including media capture and electoral engineering—how reversible is this model in practice, even with a constitutional supermajority?

Associate Professor Péter Krekó: This is a great question. I would argue that it will be possible to dismantle this informational autocracy through a set of measures. First of all, of course, you have to somehow guarantee the plurality of the media environment. Second, you have to reform the state-sponsored media and its editorial standards, because it has effectively functioned as the cheapest pro-government propaganda imaginable. Third, you have to break up the information monopolies, even in the public domain, because many media mergers on the pro-government side were made legal and possible by the authorities, whereas attempts by independent media outlets to merge often faced institutional obstacles. Fourth, you also have to re-regulate the issue of state advertisements. In Hungary, state advertising became a major tool for financing pro-government media, with 95 percent of state advertisements going to pro-government outlets. In addition, substantial investment in media literacy education is necessary, alongside efforts to address hybrid threats. So, this is a multi-sectoral issue that requires a complex response.

I am hopeful that the new government, understanding that this monopolized and highly over-politicized media system primarily served Viktor Orbán’s interests, will recognize that it is not necessarily in their own interest to maintain it. In that sense, I remain cautiously optimistic. At the same time, however, there are also clear dangers ahead.

When you are in government, you are typically less interested in maintaining a diverse and critical information space than when you are in opposition. I do not need to elaborate on that because it is obvious. But with a constitutional majority, a very large parliamentary group full of political novices appointed by Péter Magyar himself, and no real parliamentary alternative outside the right side of the political spectrum, there are clear risks.

In Hungary today, you have the center-right TISZA party, the far-right Fidesz party, and the extreme-right Mi Hazánk party. So, you have one party from the European People’s Party, one from the Patriots group, and one from the European Sovereignists. In other words, only the right exists in parliament. The alternatives being articulated therefore emerge almost exclusively from one side of the political spectrum, often with authoritarian leanings.

Therefore, I think there are dangers ahead—dangers of re-autocratization and of abuse of power. Again, we have to wait and see. The TISZA movement has a much more diverse, younger, and more pro-democratic voter base than Fidesz had, and that gives some reason for optimism. It suggests that they may genuinely wish to dismantle the information monopoly and move toward a form of informational democracy rather than informational autocracy. But again, we have to wait and see.

We can also note that some competent ministers have been appointed, which is another reason for cautious hope. Moreover, the TISZA government is not entirely homogeneous; it includes many civic actors and some liberal public figures as well. So, we will see, but I think there is at least some basis for optimism that the information monopoly will be broken and that Hungary may move toward a more diverse, more pluralistic, and, in many respects, more critical information space.

Orbán’s Networks Are Collapsing Before Our Eyes

Local office of the Fidesz party in Szeged, southern Hungary. Photo: Jerome Cid / Dreamstime.

How should we theorize the resilience of illiberal governance when formal power changes hands but informal networks of patronage and influence remain intact? Moreover, to what extent might segments of the electorate remain psychologically invested in Orbánism, even after its electoral defeat?

Associate Professor Péter Krekó: Again, a brilliant question, and I think we will see the answer in the next few months. When it comes to patronage systems and the hidden networks that Fidesz has built up, they have been extremely important. But as we can see at the moment, the Orbán regime and the remnants of Orbán’s networks and patronage system are collapsing as we speak. Former government spin doctors, for example, have come out and criticized the Orbán regime, while also acknowledging that they themselves were victims of this system.

We can also see leading politicians beginning to criticize Fidesz’s internal affairs, while intellectuals who had been close to Fidesz—mostly for pragmatic reasons—seem to be abandoning it. Generally speaking, the fabric of the Fidesz network appears to be unraveling. Perhaps the reason is that Fidesz became a highly pragmatic and cynical organization driven primarily by nepotistic corruption, while ideology became secondary. And if you lack a strong ideological foundation and suddenly find yourself in opposition, with no more resources to distribute, many former loyalists will inevitably turn against you. That is exactly what we are witnessing in Hungary at the moment.

So, I would say this is definitely a systemic transformation, and Viktor Orbán’s chances of returning to power have diminished almost to zero in the recent period. It is fascinating because no one really expected such an abrupt collapse of Fidesz’s networks, yet it is happening before our very own eyes. In that sense, dismantling the system may prove easier than many anticipated.

At the same time, this also gives even more power to the TISZA Party and Péter Magyar, because their main opponent—Fidesz, now moving into opposition—is collapsing and weakening dramatically.

Coming back to your second question—how loyal Orbán’s core supporters will remain—this is something we still have to see. I would expect Fidesz to become a party with around 20 percent of the vote, or roughly one million votes in a country of eight million voters. Thus, it would become a party with significantly lower support than before, perhaps a medium-sized party. It may even shrink further.

The major challenge, connecting your previous question to this one, is how much Fidesz will be able to preserve voter loyalty if it no longer controls the public media. Many older Fidesz voters, according to research, remained loyal because they consumed only public media. And the public media essentially functioned as a mouthpiece for the Hungarian government and Fidesz, spreading anti-Ukrainian, anti-Brussels, and anti-Western propaganda, alongside a great deal of disinformation.

If those same voters continue watching public television, but public television becomes more independent—or perhaps even more pro-TISZA—then their attitudes may also begin to change. Hungary has been a major experimental laboratory of post-truth politics, and it is now going to become a major experimental laboratory of post-post-truth politics as well in the coming period. What the outcome will be is very difficult to predict at the moment.

Can Hungary Unlearn Illiberalism?

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.

Your research shows that authoritarian environments can distort perceptions of democratic quality, making illiberal systems appear more democratic than they are; in this context, how might such cognitive biases shape public reactions to reform efforts under Magyar, and to what extent can a new government effectively recalibrate citizens’ understandings of democracy after prolonged exposure to manipulated informational environments?

Associate Professor Péter Krekó: This is again a very good question, but a difficult one—because, on the one hand, we can say that the voter base of the TISZA Party seems to be somewhat more aware of what democracy really means, and this kind of democratic consciousness appears to be at a higher level in that voter camp than it was among Fidesz voters. Within Fidesz, we could observe a strange combination of authoritarian attitudes among voters and a simultaneous denial of authoritarian malpractices.

On the one hand, the argument was that the Hungarian system was absolutely democratic—nothing to see here. In fact, this is the message they continue to repeat: “We could be defeated in elections, therefore the whole regime was democratic.” Any suggestion of authoritarianism was dismissed as far-fetched.

On the other hand, Fidesz clearly had authoritarian instincts. It wanted, for example, to crack down much more brutally on the independent media, NGOs, and think tanks than it ultimately could, but it was constrained by fears of public backlash before the election. So, there was an interesting duality in that respect. Perhaps this is something we can observe in other hybrid regimes as well. On the one hand, such regimes are willing to use authoritarian tactics; on the other hand, they insist that their systems are fully democratic.

Here again, we face both certain dangers and certain opportunities. One opportunity is that Hungary replaced Viktor Orbán’s party with the highest electoral turnout ever recorded in post-transitional Hungarian political history. Turnout reached almost 80 percent, which is nearly 10 percent higher than ever before. Previously, the highest turnout had been 72 percent. During the transition from socialism to democracy in 1989–1990, turnout was only 64 percent, so the level of political enthusiasm this time was significantly greater.

Of course, polarization was also much higher than before, but political engagement—as well as resistance to and rejection of the authoritarian practices of the Fidesz government among opposition voters—was extremely strong. The opposition gained 53 percent of the vote, which is a very substantial majority in raw electoral terms, and this was then translated into a constitutional majority.

This rejection of authoritarian practices opens up avenues for some form of re-democratization—at the level of institutions, public life, and perhaps, in the medium and long term, toward a more pluralistic party system, which would certainly be welcome in Hungary. The Hungarian political and electoral system is highly majoritarian, and it typically produces constitutional majorities, which I personally think is unhealthy.

So, I do believe there is a path toward re-democratization, but again, we have to see what Péter Magyar’s actual goals are. He is not yet in office, so at this stage we can only speculate. He certainly employs a great deal of democratic rhetoric, and if we take that seriously, then he is probably aware that creating a new authoritarian regime would not only be extremely difficult, but also contrary to his own interests.

At the same time, given that he currently possesses almost absolute political power, along with the capacity to redraw the constitutional system, there is always the danger of abusing such a high level of legitimacy. I would not say that we should automatically assume Hungary will simply return to another hybrid regime similar to Orbán’s. But I do think that if TISZA and Péter Magyar lose popularity over time, there is a possibility that he could misuse his overwhelming parliamentary majority, assuming he is able to keep the party united.

So, we will see. My hope is that Hungary, after serving as a model of illiberalism for sixteen years, might instead become a model for re-democratization. But at the moment, I would say that remains somewhat wishful thinking, because we truly have to wait and see. As political scientists, we understand that whenever someone possesses too much power, there is always the danger that they may use that power not only to democratize the system, but also to entrench themselves within it.

Hungary’s Post-Truth Legacy Will Not Disappear Overnight

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

You argue that misinformation has a “lingering effect” and that even debunked narratives continue to shape attitudes. In a post-authoritarian transition, how can democratic actors overcome the durability of Orbán-era narratives embedded in collective memory?

Associate Professor Péter Krekó: This is one of the biggest challenges we face at the moment, mostly because, in some areas, we can clearly see the damage done to people’s hearts and minds by the Orbán propaganda machinery. State-sponsored disinformation has shaped public attitudes in many domains. To give just a few examples: Islamophobic and anti-immigration attitudes were already strong before the 2014–2015 migration crisis, but they were amplified even further by the Orbán regime. According to international polls, Hungary is one of the most prejudiced countries even within Central and Eastern Europe (CEE), which is already a relatively contaminated region in that respect.

The question is how much public opinion can be shifted toward a more open and nuanced position on immigration, and why this is necessary. No European countries are able to reproduce themselves demographically. Without immigration, European societies would eventually die out, to put it bluntly. And yet, the narratives coming from Péter Magyar and the TISZA Party still remain close to the idea of zero migration, much like their predecessors. So, in that domain, I definitely hope there will be a shift toward a more nuanced and complex approach—one where you do not simply say that everyone is welcome, but where you acknowledge that our economy and society require a certain level of immigration and that immigrants must be properly integrated. Any modern society has a far more diverse population than what we typically observe in Hungary.

The other major issue is Russian disinformation—anti-Ukrainian narratives and this highly hypocritical “peace narrative,” according to which Brussels and the West supposedly want to wage war against Russia, while Ukraine, together with Brussels, is portrayed as the warmonger rather than the Russian Federation itself. Over the last few years, many conspiracy theories have also been spread about foreign powers allegedly conspiring against Hungary, while the victim mentality that nationalist politics typically exploits has become very strong within Hungarian public discourse.

So, I would point especially to these two examples: anti-immigration attitudes and pro-Russian conspiracy theories, both of which have had a long-lasting impact on Hungarian society. Undoing this damage requires, on the one hand, political will. The new government, for example, should speak in a more nuanced way about immigration. But on the other hand, it also requires institutional responses—particularly regarding public media, media pluralism, public education, and so on.

Education itself has become increasingly politicized and ideological in recent years, somewhat following the Turkish model. There have even been attempts to make elementary and public education more ideologically indoctrinating. So, it also requires a certain degree of courage to remove some of the harmful nationalist narratives that are now deeply ingrained in the Hungarian curriculum.

Pre-bunking as a Democratic Defense

Tisza leader Péter Magyar
Tisza leader Péter Magyar begins a symbolic “one million steps” march to Nagyvárad, Romania, addressing reporters with supporters in Budapest, Hungary on May 14, 2025. Photo: Istvan Balogh / Dreamstime.

In your work on countering conspiracy theories, you highlight the epistemic, moral, and democratic dilemmas of debunking, including the risk of reactance and backfire effects. How should a Magyar-led government design interventions against disinformation without reinforcing polarization or appearing to curtail pluralism?

Associate Professor Péter Krekó: I would say that the party now coming to government, as well as Péter Magyar, the leading figure of this movement, has already used certain anti-disinformation techniques during the campaign in a very clever way. What do I mean by that? First of all, they relied heavily on pre-bunking and preemptive communication while campaigning against Viktor Orbán before the elections.

For example, they warned in advance that Russian disinformation could spread fake stories about Péter Magyar’s private life, that kompromat (compromising) materials might emerge, and that deepfake videos related to his personal life could appear. They also cautioned voters that the other side might falsely claim that TISZA intended to introduce measures such as pension cuts—things they had never promised and never intended to implement. In other words, they prepared their supporters in advance for the kind of disinformation they expected from their opponents.

One important consequence of this strategy was that governmental disinformation and Russian influence proved highly ineffective during the elections. We could clearly see that the government’s narratives no longer resonated with the public in the way they once had. And I do think—and this is also my hope—that these tools can continue to be used in the future, not only against foreign disinformation but also, to some extent, against domestic disinformation. In the political domain, they handled the disinformation challenge very skillfully.

Of course, once you are in government, you need a much broader toolkit for combating disinformation, including forms of misinformation that affect everyday life—pseudoscience, miracle cures, and COVID- and vaccine-related disinformation, all of which spread extensively during the pandemic in Hungary. There is even an anti-vaccine party, Mi Hazánk, which has been extremely vocal in opposing mandatory vaccinations, including long-established vaccines against diseases such as rubella and polio.

Governments therefore also need to confront geopolitical disinformation originating abroad. For that, institutional responses are necessary. Media literacy education, for example, could incorporate pre-bunking and other new tools designed to teach people about disinformation and strengthen their critical thinking skills when consuming information.

I also believe there is a need for some kind of hybrid threat center capable of addressing the geopolitical disinformation Hungary is facing. During the last elections, for example, Vladimir Putin made serious attempts to influence the outcome through military intelligence services, foreign security networks, and the so-called Social Design Agency—a social media company running dark online PR campaigns using bots, trolls, and disinformation.

Ultimately, these efforts were unsuccessful. But I think they failed partly because European countries helped expose some of Russia’s plans, and also because TISZA used preemptive communication and pre-bunking very effectively during the campaign. Hopefully, these practices can now be incorporated into a broader anti-disinformation strategy.

The Risk of Reproducing Elite Privilege

To what extent does Magyar’s background as a former insider complicate the narrative of democratic rupture and renewal, and in light of recent accusations surrounding his nomination of his brother-in-law as justice minister, how might such decisions affect the legitimacy of a government that claims to restore the rule of law, potentially reproducing patterns of elite privilege associated with the previous regime?

Associate Professor Péter Krekó: Thank you for this question, because I think it is extremely important for two reasons. First of all, yes, there is always a danger of abusing power, and there is also the danger of falling into clientelistic and, in some respects, nepotistic practices that were widespread under the previous government and are becoming increasingly common around the world. We can even look at the United States as an example.

So, that danger certainly exists. At the same time, I do not think that the mere fact that Péter Magyar was once a regime insider automatically makes him a born or socialized autocrat. I am also a social psychologist, so I tend to believe that human beings—not only groups, but individuals as well—can change over time depending on the environment and circumstances surrounding them.

Over the last two years, Péter Magyar has spent a great deal of time among voters, traveling throughout the country, and he has clearly become more socially sensitive. His program has also become much more left-leaning in terms of policy proposals than it was before. At the same time, he has also become somewhat more liberal—even if he remains fundamentally a conservative politician—and somewhat more democratic in the way he talks about institutional reforms and the restoration of autonomy within society.

So, I think he has changed considerably over the last two years, and everyone working closely with him, including his chief campaign manager, has said that he is probably no longer the same person he was two years ago. We have to give people the opportunity to change. So yes, he has changed significantly, and I do not believe that being a former regime insider is necessarily a problem in itself. However, the huge majority he gained in the elections definitely creates certain risks in that respect.

But there is another danger here, and this is the danger of political tribalism—political tribalism that overrides universal norms in politics and turns every principle into something particular and instrumental for gaining and maintaining political power.

What do I mean by that? I genuinely hope that opposition voters, opposition opinion leaders, and the independent media will remain just as strict regarding nepotism, abuses of power, possible corruption, and similar issues under the future government as they were under the previous one. Because there is a danger that, after sixteen years of Orbánism and widespread frustration with it, some voters may begin to believe that any tool is acceptable if it helps dismantle the remnants of the Orbán regime. That is a very dangerous way of thinking.

I sincerely hope that this transition in Hungary will not become a shift from one hybrid regime to another hybrid regime, but rather a transition from a hybrid regime toward a more democratic one. But for that to happen, you need not only self-restraint from politicians in power, but also voters who are willing to punish leaders if they depart from a democratic path.

Again, after sixteen years of increasingly authoritarian rule, this is going to be a huge experiment. I would not be able to predict exactly what will happen. We have to wait and see, but we must maintain the same critical attitude toward the new government that we had toward the previous one, in the sense that the same rules and the same norms must continue to apply.

The Loss of a Role Model for the International Far Right

From Left: Hungary PM Viktor Orban, Poland PM Beata Szydlo, Czech PM Bohuslav Sobotka and Slovakia PM Robert Fico pose prior their meeting in Prague on February 15, 2016.

Given your argument that Orbán’s model has served as a “teacher” for other illiberal regimes, what are the implications of its apparent collapse for transnational populist networks, and does his electoral defeat signal a broader vulnerability in populist radical-right regimes or rather an exceptional case that such movements may reinterpret as a temporary setback and adapt to—particularly in the realm of narrative and identity politics?

Associate Professor Péter Krekó: The main challenge here is that we are witnessing two contrasting tendencies simultaneously. On the one hand, especially within the European Union, we can clearly observe the rise of illiberal, highly nativist populist parties on the right. Across the last three European Parliamentary elections, populist radical-right parties have steadily expanded their representation in the European Parliament.

We also see upcoming national elections in several countries where these forces are currently leading the polls. In France, for example, Rassemblement National (RN) is ahead. In Germany, the AfD is leading. In Austria, the FPÖ is also leading. So, in many important Western European countries, populist right-wing forces with illiberal tendencies are clearly gaining support. The United Kingdom is not an exception either, where the Reform Party is also leading in the polls.

So, this is one very visible broader trend within Europe. What are the main drivers behind it? There is a growing anti-establishment mood, declining public morale linked to economic stagnation, and immigration continuing to remain a major political issue throughout the European Union. At the same time, there are exporters of illiberalism—such as the United States, Russia, to some extent China, and several other countries as well.

And yet, despite this broader zeitgeist, Viktor Orbán was defeated in the Hungarian election. My most important point here is that perhaps we sometimes overestimate the importance of global political trends and zeitgeists. Domestic issues may ultimately be much more decisive in determining the outcome of national elections.

Viktor Orbán was defeated despite being openly supported by Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, and Benjamin Netanyahu. In the end, it was a sovereign decision made by Hungarian voters. And, in many European elections—and elections elsewhere in the world as well—we may increasingly discover that excessive support from foreign ideological allies can backfire just as much as it can help.

For example, when Donald Trump attempted to intervene politically in Canada, the liberal candidate won. Something similar happened in Australia. In Hungary, J.D. Vance visited the country shortly before the election, but this did not help Viktor Orbán at all.

So, the soft power and sharp power of authoritarian actors—including Trump, but also Orbán himself—may now be diminishing. Viktor Orbán will most likely lose his position as an international role model, and he will no longer be able to use Hungarian state resources to spread his ideology and political influence abroad.

In that sense, this represents both the loss of a symbolic role model and the loss of a financial and ideological resource for the international far right. However, I do not think we can automatically conclude from this that, for example, Marine Le Pen’s party in France is now less likely to win elections. Ultimately, elections are still decided largely by domestic concerns and the priorities of national electorates.

And I think we, as political scientists—myself included, since I am very much part of this field—sometimes place too much emphasis on global tendencies. Of course, such tendencies do exist, but there are also many important exceptions. Hungary was definitely one such exception. But perhaps it is an exception that could itself become a broader rule in the future.

The Danger of One-Sided Tribalism

Peter Magyar, a popular opposition politician of celebrity status meeting the press at the site of a soccer arena and miniature train station in Viktor Orban’s village in Felcsut, Hungary. on May 24, 2024. Photo: Blue Corner Studio.

And finally, Prof. Krekó, in your work on populism in power, you show how populist governance fosters Manichean, tribal political identities that resist compromise. What are the prospects for depolarizing such “tribalized” political cultures after a regime change, and what institutional or discursive tools might facilitate this transition?

Associate Professor Péter Krekó: Thank you again for this question. Many important and fascinating research topics are emerging through this discussion, so it is truly inspirational.

When it comes to polarization and tribalism, you generally need two sides to sustain it. In Hungary, however, I believe the biggest danger in the future may not be symmetrical polarization—where you have a very strong governmental camp and a very strong opposition camp constructing competing realities—but rather one-sided polarization, in which TISZA becomes so dominant in shaping the public narrative that, as we discussed earlier, its supporters may gradually become willing to tolerate democratic transgressions if they are not vigilant enough, simply because they remain focused on fighting the legacy of Fidesz, even if Fidesz itself becomes significantly weaker than before.

So, there is clearly a danger of one-sided tribalism and polarization. At the same time, we cannot exclude the possibility that a new political force may emerge, or that the Mi Hazánk Party—the extreme-right party I mentioned earlier—could become stronger. Polarization therefore depends partly on the direction in which both the political system and the party system evolve. And since these dynamics are changing as we speak, they remain very difficult to predict.

What I would particularly emphasize, however, is the importance of political voluntarism. If you want to weaken polarization and tribalism, you need political will. You have to stop relying on hate rhetoric against your opponents. You have to invest in messages that are more unifying than divisive. And you also have to strengthen the political center.

I actually think that all the preconditions for such a process are currently present. This is a historic opportunity for depolarization—for rebuilding not only the political center, but also the social center, because the center has almost disappeared in vertical economic terms as well. The middle class has weakened considerably in recent years. So, since the democratic transition, there has never been a better opportunity to reconstruct this center.

I can only hope that the new government and Péter Magyar will take advantage of this historic opportunity. But doing so requires self-restraint in the exercise of executive power, and it also requires restraint in the use of campaign strategies and political rhetoric toward opponents. Whether Péter Magyar and the TISZA Party will actually be capable of exercising such restraint remains an open question. Let us hope so.

People live and sift through garbage at a waste disposal site in Lagos, Nigeria on November 22, 2019.  Photo: Alexey Stiop / Dreamstime.

Decolonizing Populism Theory: Ecological Crisis, Informal Governance, and Democratic Claims in the Global South

This commentary by Dr. Oludele Solaja advances a compelling decolonial critique of populism by relocating its analytical center from ideology to material life. It argues that, in the Global South, democratic breakdown is experienced less through electoral conflict than through ecological failure—flooding, waste accumulation, and infrastructural neglect. In this context, environmental crisis becomes a language of political judgment and a site of democratic contestation. The study highlights how citizens respond by improvising governance, producing forms of “everyday sovereignty” that reconfigure legitimacy around performance rather than formal institutions. By foregrounding environmental citizenship and survival politics, the article calls for a fundamental rethinking of populism theory, emphasizing the material genesis of antagonism and the centrality of ecology in shaping contemporary democratic claims.

By Dr. Oludele Solaja

When Ecology Becomes Politics

Democratic anxiety is being defined by populism everywhere today. With elections becoming increasingly polarized, institutions increasingly distrusted, and elites denigrated by citizens hungry for clear moral answers in an age of uncertainty, contemporary populism theory increasingly defines the crisis of democracy in terms of ideological confrontation between “the pure people” and “the corrupt elite.” Influential concepts such as those of Cas Mudde and Ernesto Laclau define this process in terms of party politics, electoral struggles, and discursive clashes, strongly grounded in European experience. The rise of democratic contestation globally necessitates a reassessment of these ideas.

Citizens in many parts of the Global South do not often frame political resentment first and foremost in terms of party politics, immigrant threats or nationalist appeals. For them the crisis of democracy often occurs when streets become inundated, waste accumulates, sanitation collapses, water becomes polluted, food prices spike and the everyday fragility of survival in urban space defines the state’s responsiveness. Citizens experience this failure of government less as a constitutional crisis and more as a systematic material breakdown, turning ecology into language for political dissent.

This is a crucial insight because democratic legitimacy is increasingly negotiated in terms of environmental realities. When storm drainage becomes a source of flooding and waste management failures prevent sanitation, ordinary people perceive these as evidence of the abandonment of the populace, or of their lives being deprivileged by governing authorities. Such environmental breakdown becomes a source of moral judgment, casting doubt upon the moral authority of political elites.

The work of a growing body of scholars is showing that climate and ecological crisis is reframing populist narratives not only through established ideological distinctions. Some argue that the ideational framework of climate populism theory has already failed because it cannot accommodate the varied ways in which ecological grievance leads to different kinds of articulation across various institutions.

The implications are vast: the study of populism cannot be separated from the ecological reality with which it is increasingly tied.

Why Existing Theory Is Not Enough

The existing literature assumes that populist actors are largely capable of mobilizing symbolic opposition against rulers within relatively functioning institutions. In weak democracies the institutional framework is precarious, and the state can be rhetorically present, but materially absent. This creates a unique political terrain.

When institutions routinely fail to provide sanitation, safety and infrastructure, anti-elite discourse emerges less as a battle of ideologies and more as a concrete test of the performance of the state and democratic governance. Citizens criticize rulers not just for corruption, but because roads are impassable, waste remains undeposited and water and electricity do not function properly.

This kind of anti-elite sentiment, in this situation, does not always constitute a threat to democracy. Instead, it constitutes claims to practical citizenship. This is the point at which a decolonial critique must be introduced, for in weak democracies in the Global South the language of populism increasingly derives from everyday experience with ecological neglect.

Environmental Degradation as Democratic Testament

In places of rapid urbanization such as Lagos, Nigeria, environmental crisis has become the defining public face of democratic strain. Repeated flooding, collapsing drainage, rising sea levels, escalating waste accumulation and the spread of disease have increasingly defined the political experiences of urban inhabitants. A recent analysis of flood vulnerability in Lagos highlights how poor waste management, inadequate urban planning enforcement and a lack of community participation continue to undermine efforts to respond to climate risks, despite multiple state interventions. This demonstrates not simply administrative shortcomings, but a failure to provide unequal protection.

Environmental risk in Lagos and elsewhere is socially and materially distributed. Informally governed settlements and the poor suffer greater and more repeated ecological risks than more affluent neighborhoods, yet it is precisely these vulnerable communities that receive slower and poorer infrastructural responses from authorities. Ecology thus becomes a language of inequality and injustice.

The impact of class and settlement vulnerability on flood exposure is reflected in recent studies of urban spatial inequality in Lagos, demonstrating that environmental insecurity is inextricably linked to democratic exclusion. Ecological collapse thus acquires symbolic power: floodwaters signify state abandonment, waste streams become markers of inequality, and infrastructural failures translate into tangible accusations of undemocratic neglect. Citizens may not explicitly define these dynamics as “populist” framework, but the underlying logic is clearly so—a confrontation between the common people and a distant, selectively responsive, and morally indifferent government.

Informal Governance and Everyday Sovereignty

People rarely wait patiently when their formal institutions persistently fail. They improvise governance. Communities organize the cleaning of drainage ditches, youth groups coordinate waste disposal, street vendors pay for sanitation services, religious networks provide disaster relief, and neighborhood committees enforce rules that sustain survival infrastructures. This is not merely emergency survival; it is also a form of practice that demonstrates effective political authority.

This may be understood as everyday sovereignty: the transfer of legitimacy and power from a failing formal state to individuals and organizations that produce concrete solutions to community needs. In weak democracies, citizens increasingly trust those who demonstrate competence in managing crises to produce political order, rather than those who hold office but fail to deliver. This has profound democratic implications. Authority is no longer legitimized primarily by institutions but is increasingly validated by performance. Recent research in Lagos on struggles against displacement-driven urban restructuring shows how communities develop collective strategies to resist state interventions, contest policies, and articulate claims to political belonging as formal governance proves exclusionary.

This demonstrates a radical redistribution of democratic legitimacy from the state to citizens and communities. Waste itself, more than anything else, has become one of the most significant symbolic sites of democratic breakdown. It is immediate, material, accumulating, and unevenly distributed—settling where and when political neglect occurs and public disorder emerges. The prolonged presence of waste in public space signifies delayed state intervention, while its concentrated accumulation in poorer neighborhoods clearly articulates unequal treatment of citizens.

Waste thus emerges as a public inscription of political relations, where the accumulation and persistence of material residue represent not merely sanitation problems but a testament to the priorities governments set in service provision. This sense of abandonment and differentiated citizenship—captured in narratives such as “we contribute but are not protected” or “they rule but do not care”—mirrors populist discourse: the citizenry versus a distant state and ruling elites. Waste has therefore become not only a material problem but also a democratic issue, constituting a core site of political struggle over resource access and state responsibility. It demonstrates that environmental sociology and populist studies must engage more closely to account for the material genesis of antagonism—the very foundation of populism.

A Decolonial Perspective: Three Shifts Required in Populism Studies

For a theory of populism to be decolonized, it needs to abandon some established ideas:

i) Instead of viewing populism as an ideology of the people versus corrupt elites, a material approach to governance can frame political resentment. This recognizes that in fragile democracies, such feelings emerge not from abstract ideas of morality but from tangible experiences of infrastructural failure.

ii) The electoral arena needs to be widened to include the daily life of neighborhood politics, where claims to citizenship are made on the basis of practical survival mechanisms, not solely through party-led contests.

iii) Instead of a detached analysis of the “people,” the concept of environmental citizenship becomes crucial to understanding populism, as citizens engage in political struggle as part of a struggle over their own survival in an ecological context that increasingly determines who has rights and who has a claim to care.

These adjustments do not necessarily invalidate previous research in the field. Rather, they enable populism studies to engage with phenomena that extend far beyond what has until recently been considered “the political.” Increasingly, the theory of populism itself is being reshaped by the recognition of ecological dynamics; this process has arguably already begun in Europe, where ecological movements are contributing to new populist formations. The Global South, however, reveals an even more radical potential, because for its citizens, ecology is often not merely about ideology but about survival itself.

Why Now Is the Critical Moment

Democratic theory needs to acknowledge that political legitimacy is increasingly tied to how effectively the state responds to ecological challenges. In Europe, political disillusionment is fueled by the climate crisis, and the perceived indifference of governments only intensifies citizens’ perceptions of exclusion and corruption. The implications of populist struggles for the state’s capacity and functioning—at both local and international levels—are becoming evident worldwide. The effects are even more pronounced in weaker states, where democratic buffers are less robust and citizens may prioritize life-sustaining functions over procedural norms in demanding effective governance. This underscores that managing drainage systems, coastal defenses, and waste management can no longer be treated as peripheral issues.

Conclusion: Democracy Is Now Being Judged by Its Performance on Ecology

A decolonized approach to the theory of populism must address how it plays out on the ground in contexts where people navigate the daily crises of floods, waste, and uncertain service provision, and where ordinary survival politics are becoming increasingly central struggles that often define the state’s legitimacy in their eyes. It is no longer sufficient for democratic theorists to focus solely on elections and parliamentary institutions when seeking to understand the challenges confronting the globe. The crisis of democracy and the rise of populism in the Global South are, in many respects, a testament to the critical role of ecological and environmental realities in mediating and generating political conflict and claims in everyday life.