Viktor Orban

Hungary’s Viktor Orbán was the first populist of the 21st century. The problems his country faced, he said, were immigration – both legal and illegal – and the entrenched class of bureaucrats, judges and NGOs. By the end of 2015, he had built a fence on the southern border, and an attempt to replace the country’s establishment with new people was underway. His project had, for the most part, succeeded on its own terms. And so, what to do then? Once the initial crisis had subsided, Orbán and his theorists' thoughts turned, perhaps inevitably, to the moral character of society and the quest for meaning in the modern world. What they came up with was disappointing, and as certain figures on the American right – J.D.

Hungary in 2026 is what most developed countries were probably on their way to becoming in the 1980s and early Nineties, had mass migration not intervened: a sleazy gerontocracy with occasional bouts of moral-majority politics and ethnic nationalism. With socialism dead, the opposition is made up of liberal parties led by equally sleazy modernizers. Crime has ceased to be an issue, partly because the population is aging. The people, like pandas, do not breed. There is boredom and ennui. There is nothing analogous to, say, the killing of Iryna Zarutska. Hungary has had a dreadful century and is now a tired sort of place Such has been the work of Viktor Orbán, Hungary’s Prime Minister since 2010, who is to face the voters again on April 12.

Walking by Hungary’s immense neo-Gothic parliament building in Budapest’s Kossuth Square, one of Cockburn’s traveling companions sidles up to him. “For a certain kind of right-winger,” he grins, “Hungary is their Rojava.” ‘We were Trumpists before Trump,’ Orbán often says There’s something to this idea, for sure. Since 2010 the premiership of Hungary’s Viktor Orbán has – like the proto-government of the Kurds in Syria – given certain groups in America a space to see their ideas implemented that they do not enjoy at home. The Orbán government is rebuilding Budapest in the traditional Baroque style, and there are generous cash payouts to mothers.

One is a blonde, photogenic woman who grew out of a youthful infatuation with Benito Mussolini to become the first female prime minister of Italy. The other is anything but photogenic, a grizzled veteran of more than three decades of political combat, who began his career as a student activist and became a respectable center-right statesman, only to reinvent himself as a populist firebrand. But if you were to judge Giorgia Meloni and Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán by the frequency with which they appear together in media coverage, usually with adjectives like “far-right” and “extreme” attached, you might assume that the two conservative heads-of-state are basically indistinguishable. The European Union and its assorted sympathizers certainly seem to think so.

When the European Union finally made the decision to ban 90 percent of Russia’s crude oil imports by the end of the year, the bureaucrats in Brussels were jubilant. The EU’s adoption of oil sanctions was thought be a big blow to Russian President Vladimir Putin, who depends on the revenue generated by his country's oil exports to fund his war in Ukraine. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why European officials were so thrilled. The EU imported 2.2 million barrels per day of Russian crude last year, amounting to tens of billions of dollars in profits for the Kremlin every month.

On a nondescript bridge in the northeastern Hungarian town of Záhony, the European Union ends and the war begins. Even amid the turmoil in Ukraine, the local border crossing is strangely quiescent. The flood of cars from the early days of the war has slowed to a trickle, and big eighteen-wheelers continue to cross over from Hungary into Ukraine. There are only two signs that something is amiss: a small notice on the door of the nearby Penny Market asking customers to help Ukrainian refugees, and a massive billboard of Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán’s stern face, promising voters that he will keep Hungary safe and peaceful.

American conservatives are often accused of narrow-minded parochialism, but in recent years, the right has turned its gaze abroad. The Brexit referendum and the rise of Boris Johnson in the United Kingdom anticipated the potential appeal of conservative populism to working-class voters. Alt-right intellectuals look to Singapore’s curious mix of technocratic managerialism and libertarian economics as a blueprint for governance, while their more extreme (and extremely online) fellow travelers celebrate would-be strongmen like Brazil’s Jair Bolsonaro and the Philippines' Rodrigo Duterte. More recently, the presidential campaign of Éric Zemmour in France has captured the imagination of immigration restrictionists.