Recent scenes in Poland are supposed to be the stuff of history. After all, it’s no longer the awkward transition years of the 1990s or early 2000s. Walking around Polish cities, even small ones, an observer can’t miss the economic dynamism. Poland feels like a rich country now. Surely there shouldn’t be police raids on the public television headquarters and the presidential residence, or political prisoners and show trials.
Yet, international spectators fail to notice, or quickly forget, that these represent a break from Poland’s recent history, especially as pressing events elsewhere in the world demand attention. They dismiss proceedings as corruption-tinged shenanigans in a post-communist backwater. Establishment voices rationalize lawlessness in the name of ‘rule of law,’ and diminution of rights in the name of ‘human rights.’
According to the Financial Times, “[reelected Prime Minister Donald] Tusk is proving that democracy can bite back.” The Washington Post celebrated Tusk’s moves as “a test case for reviving a corrupted democracy.” CNN proclaimed, “Poland’s new leader is hellbent on restoring democracy—even if it means war with his populist rivals.” Tusk has a vote of confidence from establishment voices, so there is nothing to see here.
But voters are less likely to forget. Nearly two decades later, Hungarian voters still haven’t forgotten their own brush with gangster tactics in the post-communist era, and the result has been a period of remarkable political consistency—matched in this century only, perhaps, by Angela Merkel. To be sure, the various Orbán governments leading Hungary since 2010 have pursued policies that are popular domestically, and they have exhibited enough political savvy to learn from mistakes. But the less-known element of success lies outside the governing party’s control: the opposition’s credibility is irredeemably tarnished. Polish public figures would do well to recall how this came to be.
The year was 2006. Crowds thronged in Kossuth Square, the site of Hungary’s iconic Parliament building. They demanded the resignation of socialist Prime Minister Ferenc Gyurcsány, who had been in power for two years. The people’s anger was palpable. Budapest’s main squares were immobilized under the weight of the protests, as thousands of Hungarians poured into the streets. Similar sights appeared in cities across the country. It was the largest public demonstration in Hungary since at least 1989.
The crisis began on September 17, when an inflammatory May speech from Gyurcsány at a party retreat leaked to the public. His party coalition had recently secured reelection. In the recording, he boasted, “I had to pretend for 18 months that we were governing. Instead, we lied morning, noon, and night.” “And meanwhile,” he added, “by the way, we’ve done nothing for four years. Nothing.” The vulgar speech also featured the assessment, “We f***ed it up, not just a little, but a lot.” He had won a contentious election just months earlier. This represented a betrayal. Spontaneous protests began almost immediately.
The protests surrounded the revolution’s 50th-anniversary commemoration, set to begin on October 23 of that year. Protesters seemingly channeled that spirit of ’56 in their demonstrations, and the police took a page from their communist forebears’ playbook. Rubber bullets, often fired by police officers without their usual identification numbers, peppered the crowds. Officers beat protesters and innocent passersby with truncheons on the street. Columns of riot police, shields and all, moved to disperse the crowds. Water cannons and tear gas disoriented those unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place. Protesters built barricades in the streets. A Soviet T-34 tank—a tank!—made an appearance and drove a few hundred meters before the driver thought better of it.
Images of the beatings and of protesters with bloody faces appeared on international news. In one infamous case, police stormed a bar on Blaha Lujza Square, forcibly removed several customers, beat them (breaking the fingers of one), and fired rubber bullets point-blank into their backs. A Catholic priest and one parliamentarian suffered physical harm from the police violence.
Gyurcsány made no attempt to rein in the brutal police tactics; in fact, he tacitly approved of them. The Ministry of Health officially lists 195 injuries, including two men who each lost an eye to a rubber bullet. An official government report completed the next year disingenuously cited government reforms as the reason for the protests and blamed the opposition Fidesz party for encouraging an attempt to overthrow the government. It further stated that the police’s use of force was justified.
The unrest continued until November 4. Though the justice minister, national police chief, and Budapest police chief all resigned shortly thereafter, Gyurcsány and his government remained in place for three more years, until 2009, before being replaced by ‘technocrat’ Prime Minister Gordon Bajnai, a favorite of the American foreign-policy establishment. In 2010, Viktor Orbán’s Fidesz-led coalition swept to power with a parliamentary supermajority and has enjoyed that level of popular support ever since. In 2022, the prime minister won his fifth election and his fourth consecutive term (he governed from 1998-2002 as well).
Eighteen years after the protests, much of the international rhetoric about Hungary centers on the person of Prime Minister Orbán and hot-button issues like migration and the sexual education of children. Yet, relatively unknown outside Hungary, the events of 2006 continue to have a profound impact on the domestic political landscape. Reflecting on why Orbán dominates Hungarian politics and how he is “still demonstrably in charge,” historian Norman Stone asserted, “The heart of this is the failure of the Left in Hungary.” Faced with this reality, opposition figures turn increasingly to the U.S. foreign-policy establishment and Brussels politicians. This, however, has largely backfired, since many now consider them beholden to foreign interests, a significant addition to their already scandal-tarnished public perception.
Living and researching in Budapest at the time of the 2022 Hungarian parliamentary elections, my wife and I were struck when we observed the sense of trauma of one Hungarian acquaintance when she remembered the Gyurcsány years. (To be clear, she felt this way about the entire era, not just the period of the protests—times were bad then in Hungary.) She exhibited similar trauma when recalling her childhood under communism. Not particularly a fan of Orbán, she enthusiastically intended to vote for the ruling party to prevent Gyurcsány’s allies from returning to power (Gyurcsány’s wife, Klára Dobrev, was a leading figure in the grand coalition that challenged Orbán’s). The woman’s story isn’t especially uncommon.
Indeed, the tarnished Gyurcsány political brand is still impactful in Hungarian politics. Fidesz deployed a series of advertisements depicting opposition PM candidate Péter Márki-Zay as ‘Mini Feri’ (nickname for Ferenc) ahead of the 2022 elections. The candidate appeared next to the former prime minister in the style of Mini Me and Dr. Evil from the Austin Powers movie series. Over a decade after leaving power, Gyurcsány still elicits the sort of emotions that make such an advertisement relevant. He and Dobrev have remained the Machiavellian figures behind every left-wing electoral coalition since Hungarians returned Fidesz to power. The 2022 United for Hungary alliance (a ‘rainbow’ coalition of parties across the political spectrum that united to challenge the ruling coalition) attempted to portray Márki-Zay as a fresh, moderate, Catholic face. It largely worked for the international press but not among Hungarians, who regarded him as a Gyurcsány puppet. Association with the former prime minister remains a politically poisonous proposition for many, and the emotion draws from the memory of the 2006 protests.
The protests were as rich in symbolism as in political significance. They occurred exactly 50 years after Hungarian freedom fighters captivated the world in their fight against communist oppression as Soviet tanks prowled the streets of Budapest. They also occurred in the post-Cold War EU and NATO, during Francis Fukuyama’s feted ‘end of history’ era. They were seven years before Ukraine’s Maidan Uprising and a decade and a half before the U.S. Capitol debacle that reliably generates headlines today. And the upheaval has proven a sort of Rubicon moment for Viktor Orbán and Hungarian politics.
Orbán evokes both admiration and loathing among international observers. His critics blame ‘democratic backsliding’ for his style of governance and decade-plus of uninterrupted rule; his supporters cite unrivaled political skill. Yet, no analysis of Orbán’s governance can possibly be complete without consideration of the dramatic events of 2006 that eventually returned him to power with unprecedented popular support and, undoubtedly, have helped keep him there.
Since 2010, he and his governments have thoroughly shaped Hungary, Central Europe, and, to a noteworthy extent, EU politics. Remarkably, nearly two decades after the protests, the opposition is still so weak that a united front of all key parties fails even to dent the Fidesz supermajority (in 2022, the Fidesz-KDNP coalition won 135 parliamentary seats out of 199 and 54.1% of the vote, compared to 57 seats and 34.4% for United for Hungary). The specters of 2006 and ‘gyurcsányism’ linger. The Hungarian Left, after so many years and opportunities to offer an alternative vision of governance, has failed to convince a majority of voters.
Orbán’s political style creates Western media attention that belies Hungary’s small size. Those who blame authoritarianism, backsliding, cronyism, or any of the other ABC’s of journalistic outrage for his political longevity are employing careless analysis. Ferenc Gyurcsány reinstated Warsaw Pact governing tactics in post-Cold War Europe and is particularly responsible for the current Hungarian political environment. Until Hungarians believe he and his allies deserve another chance, it will remain that way.
In Poland, Donald Tusk has willingly emulated Gyurcsány. Of course, the Polish episode won’t prove to be a carbon copy of the Hungarian one. Poland’s population, economic muscle, and foreign-policy profile distinguish it from smaller neighbors. Its various leftist and centrist political elements have demonstrated effective collaboration, at least in periods of opposition, something that has eluded their Hungarian counterparts. Approximately half of the country, by geography, and virtually all major cities tend to favor the Left, again in contrast to Hungary. And surely that Polish economic dynamism must herald some political patterns detrimental to conservatives.
Perhaps, then, the Tusk government’s gangster tactics will spark different outcomes from Gyurcsány’s. Nonetheless, as the Hungarian case reveals, these events are certain to linger in some capacity in the Polish civic consciousness.
Hungary’s Lesson for Poland
Tens of thousands of people protested in front of the Hungarian Parliament in Budapest, September 21, 2006.
Photo: Dimitar Dilkoff / AFP
Recent scenes in Poland are supposed to be the stuff of history. After all, it’s no longer the awkward transition years of the 1990s or early 2000s. Walking around Polish cities, even small ones, an observer can’t miss the economic dynamism. Poland feels like a rich country now. Surely there shouldn’t be police raids on the public television headquarters and the presidential residence, or political prisoners and show trials.
Yet, international spectators fail to notice, or quickly forget, that these represent a break from Poland’s recent history, especially as pressing events elsewhere in the world demand attention. They dismiss proceedings as corruption-tinged shenanigans in a post-communist backwater. Establishment voices rationalize lawlessness in the name of ‘rule of law,’ and diminution of rights in the name of ‘human rights.’
According to the Financial Times, “[reelected Prime Minister Donald] Tusk is proving that democracy can bite back.” The Washington Post celebrated Tusk’s moves as “a test case for reviving a corrupted democracy.” CNN proclaimed, “Poland’s new leader is hellbent on restoring democracy—even if it means war with his populist rivals.” Tusk has a vote of confidence from establishment voices, so there is nothing to see here.
But voters are less likely to forget. Nearly two decades later, Hungarian voters still haven’t forgotten their own brush with gangster tactics in the post-communist era, and the result has been a period of remarkable political consistency—matched in this century only, perhaps, by Angela Merkel. To be sure, the various Orbán governments leading Hungary since 2010 have pursued policies that are popular domestically, and they have exhibited enough political savvy to learn from mistakes. But the less-known element of success lies outside the governing party’s control: the opposition’s credibility is irredeemably tarnished. Polish public figures would do well to recall how this came to be.
The year was 2006. Crowds thronged in Kossuth Square, the site of Hungary’s iconic Parliament building. They demanded the resignation of socialist Prime Minister Ferenc Gyurcsány, who had been in power for two years. The people’s anger was palpable. Budapest’s main squares were immobilized under the weight of the protests, as thousands of Hungarians poured into the streets. Similar sights appeared in cities across the country. It was the largest public demonstration in Hungary since at least 1989.
The crisis began on September 17, when an inflammatory May speech from Gyurcsány at a party retreat leaked to the public. His party coalition had recently secured reelection. In the recording, he boasted, “I had to pretend for 18 months that we were governing. Instead, we lied morning, noon, and night.” “And meanwhile,” he added, “by the way, we’ve done nothing for four years. Nothing.” The vulgar speech also featured the assessment, “We f***ed it up, not just a little, but a lot.” He had won a contentious election just months earlier. This represented a betrayal. Spontaneous protests began almost immediately.
The protests surrounded the revolution’s 50th-anniversary commemoration, set to begin on October 23 of that year. Protesters seemingly channeled that spirit of ’56 in their demonstrations, and the police took a page from their communist forebears’ playbook. Rubber bullets, often fired by police officers without their usual identification numbers, peppered the crowds. Officers beat protesters and innocent passersby with truncheons on the street. Columns of riot police, shields and all, moved to disperse the crowds. Water cannons and tear gas disoriented those unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place. Protesters built barricades in the streets. A Soviet T-34 tank—a tank!—made an appearance and drove a few hundred meters before the driver thought better of it.
Images of the beatings and of protesters with bloody faces appeared on international news. In one infamous case, police stormed a bar on Blaha Lujza Square, forcibly removed several customers, beat them (breaking the fingers of one), and fired rubber bullets point-blank into their backs. A Catholic priest and one parliamentarian suffered physical harm from the police violence.
Gyurcsány made no attempt to rein in the brutal police tactics; in fact, he tacitly approved of them. The Ministry of Health officially lists 195 injuries, including two men who each lost an eye to a rubber bullet. An official government report completed the next year disingenuously cited government reforms as the reason for the protests and blamed the opposition Fidesz party for encouraging an attempt to overthrow the government. It further stated that the police’s use of force was justified.
The unrest continued until November 4. Though the justice minister, national police chief, and Budapest police chief all resigned shortly thereafter, Gyurcsány and his government remained in place for three more years, until 2009, before being replaced by ‘technocrat’ Prime Minister Gordon Bajnai, a favorite of the American foreign-policy establishment. In 2010, Viktor Orbán’s Fidesz-led coalition swept to power with a parliamentary supermajority and has enjoyed that level of popular support ever since. In 2022, the prime minister won his fifth election and his fourth consecutive term (he governed from 1998-2002 as well).
Eighteen years after the protests, much of the international rhetoric about Hungary centers on the person of Prime Minister Orbán and hot-button issues like migration and the sexual education of children. Yet, relatively unknown outside Hungary, the events of 2006 continue to have a profound impact on the domestic political landscape. Reflecting on why Orbán dominates Hungarian politics and how he is “still demonstrably in charge,” historian Norman Stone asserted, “The heart of this is the failure of the Left in Hungary.” Faced with this reality, opposition figures turn increasingly to the U.S. foreign-policy establishment and Brussels politicians. This, however, has largely backfired, since many now consider them beholden to foreign interests, a significant addition to their already scandal-tarnished public perception.
Living and researching in Budapest at the time of the 2022 Hungarian parliamentary elections, my wife and I were struck when we observed the sense of trauma of one Hungarian acquaintance when she remembered the Gyurcsány years. (To be clear, she felt this way about the entire era, not just the period of the protests—times were bad then in Hungary.) She exhibited similar trauma when recalling her childhood under communism. Not particularly a fan of Orbán, she enthusiastically intended to vote for the ruling party to prevent Gyurcsány’s allies from returning to power (Gyurcsány’s wife, Klára Dobrev, was a leading figure in the grand coalition that challenged Orbán’s). The woman’s story isn’t especially uncommon.
Indeed, the tarnished Gyurcsány political brand is still impactful in Hungarian politics. Fidesz deployed a series of advertisements depicting opposition PM candidate Péter Márki-Zay as ‘Mini Feri’ (nickname for Ferenc) ahead of the 2022 elections. The candidate appeared next to the former prime minister in the style of Mini Me and Dr. Evil from the Austin Powers movie series. Over a decade after leaving power, Gyurcsány still elicits the sort of emotions that make such an advertisement relevant. He and Dobrev have remained the Machiavellian figures behind every left-wing electoral coalition since Hungarians returned Fidesz to power. The 2022 United for Hungary alliance (a ‘rainbow’ coalition of parties across the political spectrum that united to challenge the ruling coalition) attempted to portray Márki-Zay as a fresh, moderate, Catholic face. It largely worked for the international press but not among Hungarians, who regarded him as a Gyurcsány puppet. Association with the former prime minister remains a politically poisonous proposition for many, and the emotion draws from the memory of the 2006 protests.
The protests were as rich in symbolism as in political significance. They occurred exactly 50 years after Hungarian freedom fighters captivated the world in their fight against communist oppression as Soviet tanks prowled the streets of Budapest. They also occurred in the post-Cold War EU and NATO, during Francis Fukuyama’s feted ‘end of history’ era. They were seven years before Ukraine’s Maidan Uprising and a decade and a half before the U.S. Capitol debacle that reliably generates headlines today. And the upheaval has proven a sort of Rubicon moment for Viktor Orbán and Hungarian politics.
Orbán evokes both admiration and loathing among international observers. His critics blame ‘democratic backsliding’ for his style of governance and decade-plus of uninterrupted rule; his supporters cite unrivaled political skill. Yet, no analysis of Orbán’s governance can possibly be complete without consideration of the dramatic events of 2006 that eventually returned him to power with unprecedented popular support and, undoubtedly, have helped keep him there.
Since 2010, he and his governments have thoroughly shaped Hungary, Central Europe, and, to a noteworthy extent, EU politics. Remarkably, nearly two decades after the protests, the opposition is still so weak that a united front of all key parties fails even to dent the Fidesz supermajority (in 2022, the Fidesz-KDNP coalition won 135 parliamentary seats out of 199 and 54.1% of the vote, compared to 57 seats and 34.4% for United for Hungary). The specters of 2006 and ‘gyurcsányism’ linger. The Hungarian Left, after so many years and opportunities to offer an alternative vision of governance, has failed to convince a majority of voters.
Orbán’s political style creates Western media attention that belies Hungary’s small size. Those who blame authoritarianism, backsliding, cronyism, or any of the other ABC’s of journalistic outrage for his political longevity are employing careless analysis. Ferenc Gyurcsány reinstated Warsaw Pact governing tactics in post-Cold War Europe and is particularly responsible for the current Hungarian political environment. Until Hungarians believe he and his allies deserve another chance, it will remain that way.
In Poland, Donald Tusk has willingly emulated Gyurcsány. Of course, the Polish episode won’t prove to be a carbon copy of the Hungarian one. Poland’s population, economic muscle, and foreign-policy profile distinguish it from smaller neighbors. Its various leftist and centrist political elements have demonstrated effective collaboration, at least in periods of opposition, something that has eluded their Hungarian counterparts. Approximately half of the country, by geography, and virtually all major cities tend to favor the Left, again in contrast to Hungary. And surely that Polish economic dynamism must herald some political patterns detrimental to conservatives.
Perhaps, then, the Tusk government’s gangster tactics will spark different outcomes from Gyurcsány’s. Nonetheless, as the Hungarian case reveals, these events are certain to linger in some capacity in the Polish civic consciousness.
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