A Transylvanian Dawn – and Victor Orban

I woke early, with streaks in the black. night sky hinting of dawn but in the chill of a mountain house in a village 1400 metres high - with the snow still glowing thick on the two mountain ranges which lie south and north of the house.

I spent a few hours updating an old post on the intellectual disputes of the last century which now lead off the draft book which has occupied me these past couple of weeks – but aware that an article on “the new practice of public problem-solving” awaits my attention. 

It’s by a couple of Americans who presented it recently in Berlin but, worthwhile as it is, it completely fails to recognize that it reflects a “community-control” model which many of us were struggling to put into practice in the 1970s.

And it raises the fundamental question of how exactly the insights and experience so many of us had in those heady days were so easily and quickly trashed by the managerialism which took over our minds in the 1980s.    

I will get round to that post eventually but got distracted by this superb interview by the infamous French journalist celebre - BHL - with Victor Orban – which reminds me of Oriana Fallaci at her best

Because I am preoccupied with memories and am reluctant to ask Orbán right at the start how a former anti-totalitarian militant discovered conservatism and ultranationalism on his way to Damascus (or rather Moscow), or how the recipient of a Soros grant was able to make his former mentor public enemy No. 1 (with Soros’s caricature plastered all over the streets of the capital a while back), and because I did not wish to begin with the mystery of a true dissident who somehow relearned the Stalinist technique of retrospective reinvention of biographies (in this case, it is his own memory that he is purging), I begin benignly with a polite question, simply to buy myself a little time to let everything settle in.

“Why did you choose this monastery? Why such an austere site?”

But his response is curiously intense and sets the conversation in motion.

“Because my old offices were in the Parliament building down the hill on the other side of the Danube, and that wasn’t good from the point of view of the separation of powers.”

He would have been more truthful had he said, Because I wanted to dominate this town, which is the only part of the country that is still resisting me.

But no.

The inventor of illiberalism, the man who uses democracy to torpedo democracy, the autocrat constantly engaged in gagging the Hungarian Parliament, bringing judges to heel, and controlling the media, tells me baldly that he left his former offices out of concern for democratic processes.

I let it go.

I have no idea, at the moment, how much time he is going to give me.

I have no idea that Hungary’s free press is going to observe, the next morning, that I spent with him, in the course of an afternoon, more time than they, collectively, have spent with him in nine years of demotatorship—a term I use to mean a democratic dictatorship. So I prefer to push on.

“You have become the leader, in Europe, of the illiberal strain of demotatorship—”

The term illiberal seems to take him aback.

“Let me stop you there. Because we should agree on our terms. What is the reality? Liberalism gave rise to political correctness—that is, to a form of totalitarianism, which is the opposite of democracy. That’s why I believe that illiberalism restores true freedom, true democracy.”

This time, I feel obliged to tell him how specious I find this line of reasoning.