Orbán
Page 8
At the time Viktor Orbán hardened his political line and intensified his anti-government rhetoric. In his speeches, even at international events such as a meeting of the European People’s Party, he maintained that ‘the government has begun a war against its own people’. The radicalisation of Hungarian politics was also reflected in the undermining of trust in democratic institutions. Independent observers generally concluded that the extreme right-wing Jobbik Party, as well as those on the margins of the hard right, profited from the unrest of that autumn, whilst the Socialist–Free Democrat coalition government was beset with helplessness, confusion and fear. The autumn of 2006 marked the beginning of the ‘power of fear’ in Hungarian politics. The phantoms unleashed by Gyurcsány’s fatal ‘secret speech’, feeding Orbán’s ‘all or nothing’ confrontational course, now spun out of control.
8
ORBÁN’S VICTORY IN THE COLD CIVIL WAR
The four years between 2006 and 2010 were characterised by three different, yet inextricably linked developments: the completely unexpected but inexorable decline of the Socialist–Free Democrat government after its apparently great electoral triumph in April 2006; the equally astonishing and rapid rise both of Orbán personally and of his party; and the radicalisation of the political climate in Hungary, in which anti-Semitic and Roma-phobic undercurrents in society, hitherto latent, now came to the fore.
The catastrophic gaffe of Ferenc Gyurcsány’s May 2006 ‘secret speech’, which once leaked was successfully instrumentalised into a political theme, kept constantly in the public eye as a ‘lie speech’, created the conditions for the protracted suicide of the left. That Gyurcsány succeeded at the beginning of 2007 in being voted chair of his party by 89 per cent of party delegates did little to alter the collective denial of reality prevailing among the ruling Socialists, even if it was pepped up with some left-wing rhetoric. It had proved impossible to deal convincingly with the baggage inherited from the Kádár regime, or to push through the reforms clearly recognised by Gyurcsány as necessary. As a self-made man and a multimillionaire, the leader of the party and government was all too often regarded with suspicion as an ‘alien’ by his own post-communist party functionaries.
In addition, influential members of the party elite, particularly in Budapest, were themselves mired in a swamp of corruption. My conversations with Gyurcsány, with his staffers and secret enemies, as well as with independent commentators, confirmed my suspicion that the Socialist Party was not one of common convictions, but rather a disgusting snake pit of old Communists and left-wing careerists posing as Social Democrats. The twelve years of left-of-centre governments led by the Socialists Horn, Medgyessy and finally Gyurcsány were frequently overshadowed by the incompetence, cowardice and rivalries of the ministers responsible for economic policy and their high-ranking civil servants. A sad footnote to this depressing spectacle was the corrosion of the Free Democrats, who through their role as a willing helper bringing the Socialists to power in 2002 and 2006, and their recurring internal disputes, lost all credibility they once might have had.
Seven years later, during a visit to Hungary in October 2014, Heinz Fischer, the Austrian president, deliberately emphasised in a private discussion with Viktor Orbán the importance of the role of the opposition in a parliamentary democracy. The Hungarian prime minister replied with a broad smile that ‘he didn’t need any lectures about opposition because no Hungarian politician had suffered so many defeats as he had!’ He had endured three, in 1994, 2002 and 2006, and even in the upper ranks of the Fidesz hierarchy after 2002 there were some (including the now Hungarian president, János Áder) who expressed doubts that their party would ever regain power with Orbán at its head. Yet, though he assumed responsibility for the third loss, Orbán succeeded in retaining his position of power. To be consistently successful in politics, a party leader requires not only a certain degree of luck and high intelligence but also a character that, without a hint of any scruple, will pursue the stated goals of retaining power and excluding any possible rivals.
From the very beginning, and this was obvious as early as his reckoning with the liberal wing of the Fidesz leadership in 1992–3, Orbán observed the maxim of only trusting in his own strength. He always demonstrated a singular and uncanny nose for shifts in sentiment. Thus in May 1994, shortly after that election defeat, there appeared in the conservative Magyar Nemzet, a newspaper then close to Fidesz, an attack both harsh and anonymous on Zoltan Pokorni, the popular Fidesz vice-president, who was accused of seeking power within the party. Two weeks later Orbán defended the honour of his deputy. In January 2007 a long article published under a pseudonym, again in Magyar Nemzet, attacked Orbán’s former chief adviser between 1998 and 2002, Mária Schmidt. A millionaire and director of the controversial House of Terror museum in Budapest, she was alleged to have hatched ‘on behalf of big business’ an internal party plot aimed at replacing Orbán with János Áder, then head of the parliamentary group and former speaker of parliament. Schmidt immediately denied this, challenging the pseudonymous author—who to this day remains unknown—to a TV debate. Two years later Áder became an MEP and left Hungary for Brussels. That Orbán can execute a masterly shot across the bows of his potential rivals was demonstrated by the ‘fall and rise’ of this old comrade in arms: in another about-turn of fortunes, he became state president in spring 2012, replacing Pál Schmitt, who had been compromised by the revelations that he had plagiarised his doctorate.1
Repeatedly, not only in his lightning media and political exploitation of Gyurcsány’s ‘lie speech’ but also throughout his years in opposition, Viktor Orbán demonstrated that even in a seemingly hopeless position he would not be brought to his knees. The very day after his electoral defeat in the spring of 2006, he set decisively to work to rebuild Fidesz and ensure its return to office. Long before the Fidesz leadership finally emerged triumphant in 2010, it could rely on the unrelenting propaganda hostile to the Socialist–Free Democrat coalition and the support of a media empire calculatingly built up by one of Orbán’s closest friends, Lajos Simicska. This comprised two daily newspapers, two weeklies, a free newspaper on the Budapest Metro, two TV and two radio stations. Additionally, there were various websites, TV and radio stations controlled by other groups favourably disposed towards Fidesz.
With the aid of the media, its ingenious connections and opaque networks, the opposition was able to dictate the political agenda in Hungary and repeatedly force the panic-stricken governing coalition onto the defensive. In stark contrast to the incessant internal battles among the Socialists and Free Democrats themselves, not to speak of the very public rifts about their education and health policies, Fidesz was always able to present a unified line, one supported by the Churches and by various other political old faithfuls such as citizens’ fora and teachers’ associations. At the heart of everything lay the permanent mobilisation of the people of Hungary and the collection of signatures for a referendum.
With hindsight, it is incontrovertible that the referendum of 9 March 2008 was the moment of truth for Gyurcsány’s government. The electorate was asked three simple questions: should the charge of 300 forints (about €1) per visit to the doctor, the same charge for every day spent in hospital, and university tuition fees (about 100,000 forints annually) all be abolished? The Free Democrats had always been the driving force behind the privatisation and restructuring of the healthcare system. In spite of the misgivings of some constitutional lawyers, the constitutional court allowed these three questions to be put before the people. The result was, as anticipated, an unprecedented defeat for the government: approximately 82 per cent of those participating rejected the three charges. This outcome, of course, was entirely predictable. What voter anywhere would opt to retain such payments?
This huge vote of no confidence in the Socialist–Free Democrat coalition was, according to the journalist János Széky, tantamount to the collapse of the political order established in the aftermath of 1989, to the e
nd of democracy in Hungary.2 He sees two reasons for the demise of the democratic system. One is Hungary’s continuing inability to come to terms with and draw a line under the national tragedy of Trianon (see Chapter 4). The second was the government’s tendency to overlook the ‘feel-good factor’ of the Kádár era, when there was a massive and sustained rise in living standards not only for the working but also the middle classes. The complacent post-communist Socialists were only able to deploy social demagogy, Széky believes, as long as Fidesz played both this card and, to great effect, the nationalist card.
According to a poll conducted in 2009, 72 per cent of respondents expressed the opinion they had been better off under communism. These and similar polls formed the gloomy background to the unequal duel between Orbán’s strong and dynamic one-man leadership of Fidesz and the divided government of Gyurcsány, a widely discredited prime minister. Only 46 per cent of respondents in the 2009 poll believed that the transition to capitalism after 1989 had been the correct course; in 1991 this figure had been about 80 per cent. 74 per cent had found the multi-party system desirable in 1991; this fell to 56 per cent by 2009. Developments after 2010—above all the collapse of the centre-left camp and the triumph of the idiosyncratic mishmash of ideas that characterises Orbán’s ideology—can only be understood through this historical and deeply rooted disappointment at the consequences of the political upheavals following 1989.3
The opposition exulted in its victory in the March 2008 referendum on the healthcare system; the shocked Socialists beat a retreat. Gyurcsány began speaking about ‘soft reforms’. Any ideas for the planned restructuring of the state social insurance system sank without a trace, as did the Free Democrat minister responsible. The conflict between the Socialists and the Free Democrats about the health system sparked a crisis within the coalition. All Free Democrat ministers quit the government, and from May 2008 onwards Gyurcsány led a minority government, though it was able to count on the support of a majority of Free Democrat MPs in important votes. However, he owed his survival only to the fear of Socialists and Free Democrats alike of a crushing defeat should early elections be called.
Like many other Hungarian commentators, I now believe that Gyurcsány should have resigned immediately after the referendum debacle. By clinging on for almost a year at the head of a minority government, fighting on many fronts, he reminded some journalists of the lead character played by Sean Penn in the 1995 Hollywood film Dead Man Walking. Gyurcsány maintains that he offered to go but only one member of the party presidium was prepared to accept his resignation.
The onset of the world economic crisis in September 2008 would have led to Hungary declaring bankruptcy had it not been for the immediate financial aid granted to the country by the IMF, the World Bank and the EU. For the first time since the Socialist–Free Democrat coalition had first taken office in 1994, and of course far too late, serious budgetary cuts were now implemented. State employees, for example (civil servants, teachers, railway workers etc.), lost their right to a thirteenth monthly salary. The cutbacks led to a 3.5 per cent fall in consumption and a reduction of 2.5 per cent in real wages. In spite of the crisis, Fidesz MPs persisted with their filibusters: on 20 December 2008, they asked 1,300 parliamentary questions, to prevent ministers and their staff from going on their Christmas holidays.4
Gyurcsány’s impetuousness and his penchant for theatrical exaggeration again won the upper hand when in March 2009, one week after his triumphant re-election as head of his party with a majority of 85 per cent, he announced his resignation. Predictably, Orbán and his party vociferously demanded the immediate dissolution of parliament and the prompt calling of new elections. Yet, the survival instincts of the Socialist and Free Democrat MPs prevailed once more. However, Gyurcsány had no script for his succession in his pocket. He later told me that he had originally wanted to push the cause of Gordon Bajnai, the minister for economic affairs, but had held back ‘for tactical reasons’. Whatever the case, the week-long, at times almost farcical, search for a crisis manager discredited the centre-left camp even more in the eyes of the Hungarians, not to speak of Gyurcsány himself.
There is no question that in the spring of 2009 Hungary stood on the edge of a precipice. The election of a forty-one-year-old economics expert, Gordon Bajnai, as prime minister was a stroke of good fortune for the country, one that was internationally recognised. Even though he had been minister for economic development in Gyurcsány’s minority government, he had never belonged to the Socialist Party. The austerity measures taken by the politically independent Bajnai did indeed save Hungary from the precipice. But they also utterly and irretrievably destroyed the electoral prospects of both the Socialists and the Free Democrats, who had had to give him a written undertaking of their unconditional support. The most important and painful cuts included the cancellation of the thirteenth monthly pension and the thirteenth monthly salary, the raising of the retirement age from sixty-two to sixty-five, the reduction in numerous welfare payments and an increase in VAT from 20 to 25 per cent. The Fidesz opposition, of course, voted against such a rigorous austerity package, but in reality it was very much in Orbán’s interest that the Bajnai government implement the painful programme without any significant opposition. Bajnai, who spoke far better English than his two predecessors, was a modest and likeable expert, accepting as his prime ministerial salary a symbolic €1 a month.
Gordon Bajnai’s crisis management was rated very highly by the international media and financial institutions. In a little more than a year he and his colleagues succeeded in winning back the confidence of international investors and in making savings of approximately 5 per cent of GDP. That in this crisis situation Viktor Orbán rejected every single one of Bajnai’s invitations to hold discussions, and in fact exchanged barely a word with the prime minister, reflected the poisoned political climate in the country. For the opposition, now so assured of victory, it was important to hammer home the continuity from Gyurcsány to Bajnai, indeed of all governments with a Socialist stamp, and to smear the technocrat Bajnai as his predecessor’s clone.
In his inaugural speech in parliament, Bajnai emphasised that he had no political ambitions and was nobody’s political rival. He had but one task, the management of the crisis. Two or three years later, he tried, albeit without any success, to unify the opposition. The circumstances of his resignation and withdrawal from politics in 2010 subsequently confirmed the opinion, even amongst commentators well disposed towards him, that despite his many talents, Gordon Bajnai was no politician.
And Gyurcsány? It is unlikely that his Democratic Coalition (Demokratikus Koalíció), which split off from the Socialist Party in 2011, will be able to win more than 8–10 per cent of the vote in the 2018 elections. In his book on Hungarian governments between 1978 and 2012, Tamás Sárközy has characterised him as follows:
Gyurcsány has charisma. He cannot be ignored. Extraordinarily resilient, combative, never prepared to capitulate. Some say he is an adventurer, a gambler, others that he is a great strategist. I have always liked him. He had more ideas than all the other leading MSzP [Socialist] politicians put together in 20 years.
However, Gyurcsány had to all intents and purposes already lost his great duel with Orbán, a man two years his junior, following the own goal of his ‘lie speech’. Since his brilliant victory in the ‘cold civil war’ between 2006 and 2010, Viktor Orbán, this vengeful and determined power politician, has with boundless energy and boldness on the international stage built up a new and, in many ways, unique system, one very much shaped by his own personality. This will now be described in the following chapters.
9
THE EARTHQUAKE
On Thursday, 8 April 2010, on our way from Vienna to Budapest my wife and I stopped, as we often did, at a motorway service station about 40 miles short of the Hungarian capital to buy newspapers and mineral water. When I went to the cash desk to pay, I noticed two tall young men with earphones, the standard paraphernali
a of bodyguards. And then, a few steps further on, I saw Viktor Orbán at the bar, where he was just finishing a beer. His minders ignored me as I went up to him and we greeted each other in a friendly manner. Ever since his appearance at the Europa-Forum at the Gottweig Abbey eleven years previously, we had been using the familiar form of address with one another. Orbán told me he was travelling to Vienna because ‘Martens is getting an award there.’ Wilfried Martens had been prime minister of Belgium for many years and was still, aged almost seventy-five, the chair of the European People’s Party in the European Parliament. We exchanged a few words and then he set off in his convoy for Austria. This unexpected meeting took place just three days before the parliamentary elections in Hungary.
That an opposition leader would leave his country—even for a short period—on the eve of an election that he himself had repeatedly called fateful did not seem the least bit absurd to me; and for two reasons. Firstly, Martens (1936–2013) was a doyen among Christian Democrat politicians in Europe, still one of the most influential, and Orbán, both in power and in opposition, has always placed great value on close personal contacts with important conservative politicians from the West. Orbán gave Helmut Kohl and Wolfgang Schüssel the full red-carpet treatment in Budapest in 2000 after the German head of government had had to resign following the 1999 revelations about party financing and the EU was boycotting the Austrian chancellor because of his formation of a coalition government with the extreme right-wing FPÖ. These carefully cultivated political friendships would prove especially useful to Orbán in his own subsequent acrimonious disputes in the EU. Secondly, Orbán knew, as did almost everybody else in Hungary, that he would win the election with a landslide and would very soon be prime minister.