Viktor Orbán’s government is in full celebratory mode after pushing through Hungary’s 2026 budget, headlining with fresh tax cuts and new fiscal promises despite mounting warnings of fiscal risk and economic instability. It’s vintage Orbán: project confidence, deliver relief to key voter blocs, and deflect criticism with a well-timed enemy.
In the fine print, Hungary’s budget gamble comes at a delicate moment. While Budapest trumpets tax relief and the lifting of EU deficit procedures, the government is simultaneously ramping up foreign borrowing and stoking anxieties over the war in Ukraine. This is not an accidental juxtaposition—Orbán’s playbook depends on casting his government as the embattled defender of “real Hungarians” against meddling Brussels bureaucrats and the spectre of war next door.
The past week has seen Hungary’s ruling party escalate its anti-Ukraine messaging, portraying itself as the only buffer between Hungarian families and the chaos allegedly unleashed by Kyiv’s conflict with Moscow. This “fear and tax cuts” formula is not just populist theater—it’s the underlying logic of Orbán’s entire illiberal project, from media control to legislative sleight of hand.
On the global stage, Budapest continues its defiant course. Hungary is drawing international criticism after announcing its withdrawal from the International Criminal Court (ICC), a move denounced by human rights groups as a “slap in the face” to victims of global abuses. Orbán, however, is betting that gestures like these will shore up support among domestic and regional allies—especially in Georgia, where Hungary has become the main EU lobbyist for the embattled Georgian Dream government.
Meanwhile, in a parallel display of the regime’s dual nature, Budapest’s mayor has vowed to circumvent government obstacles to organize Budapest Pride, even as Orbán’s party maintains its opposition to what it calls “foreign ideological campaigns.” The result: a capital city that dances between European values and nationalist retrenchment, forever managing crisis through careful choreography.
All of this takes place under the shadow of Orbán’s historical self-mythologizing. This week, he publicly marked the anniversary of the fall of communism, casting his rule as the final chapter in Hungary’s long quest for sovereignty—even as critics argue he’s simply replaced one system of centralized control with another, cloaked in the language of “family” and “freedom.”
Hungary’s present, in other words, looks a lot like its recent past: performative independence, weaponized grievance, and a governing style that turns every budget line and foreign spat into a fight for the nation’s soul. In Orbán’s Hungary, the drama never ends—it just gets a new headline, a new scapegoat, and, this year, a fresh round of tax cuts to sweeten the show.