Hungary is rarely examined as an organization, yet its stagnation becomes stark once we use the diagnostic tools of dysfunctional institutions and look at how its elites lead. In any large organization, leaders shape culture: healthy cultures evolve, align with mission, and build trust and coordination; unhealthy ones, sustained by self-interested leadership, drift, constrain, and quietly sabotage progress. Today Hungary increasingly resembles the latter: elite-driven short-termism, compliance-over-initiative norms, mismatched values, low trust, and a mythology built on survival rather than growth. This is less a national character flaw than a leadership and governance failure—the result of elites who keep the mission vague and the operating culture optimized for control, not creativity. Until those who run the “Hungary organization” treat culture as a strategic asset and commit to a future-facing mission, the country will keep running on an obsolete operating system built for endurance, not advancement.

We rarely talk about Hungary as an organization. I did that once with the Would You Red Card Your CEO? contrarian essay.

We talk about it as a nation, a long historical arc, a story of grievances and victories. But if we want to understand why Hungary keeps failing to modernize, we may need a different lens—one borrowed from organizational science.

Organizational scholars like Edgar Schein1 argue that culture is not an abstraction; it is the operating system of any institution. Culture either promotes effectiveness or it destroys it. There is no neutral ground. And crucially, as Schein repeatedly emphasizes, leadership is the primary source of culture. Leaders create, reinforce, and reproduce the norms that determine how an organization behaves.

If we apply this (contrarian) logic to Hungary—and examine it the way Schein or Gareth Morgan might examine a large, poorly led corporation—the country’s stagnation becomes far easier to understand. Hungary increasingly resembles a legacy organization whose leaders maintain outdated routines because those routines serve their interests. Policy tweaks cannot overcome this deeper cultural-structural problem.

Below, I use Schein’s classic cultural diagnostic—twelve elements widely used in organizational analysis—to map Hungary’s operating culture. The picture is uncomfortable but clarifying.

1. Observed Behaviors: Daily Survival Mode

Schein calls observed behaviors the “surface level” of culture. In Hungary, these behaviors signal an organization trapped in short-termism: survival over strategy, improvisation over planning, and conflict avoidance over coordination.

These behaviors are not the traits of the people; they are outputs of a leadership class that rewards compliance and tactical survival rather than long-term thinking.

2. Group Norms: Compliance Over Initiative

According to Amy Edmondson2, psychological safety is foundational to innovation. Hungary has the opposite. Informal norms push people toward staying quiet, showing loyalty, and avoiding visibility. Initiative is often punished; risk-taking is coded as naïve. Innovation is tolerated only if it doesn’t disrupt elite networks.

This is not accidental—it is a leadership-produced norm system where predictability is valued over creativity.

3. Espoused Values: “We Value Hard Work”—But Do We?

Chris Argyris3 distinguishes between espoused values (what leaders say) and theories-in-use (what leaders reward).
Hungarian elites publicly praise hard work, competitiveness, and unity.
But everyday life reveals operative values shaped by leadership incentives: suspicion, defensive individualism, loyalty networks, and informal workaround behavior.

The gap between rhetoric and reality is one of Hungary’s deepest structural failures.

4. Formal Philosophy: An Outdated Operating Manual

Schein notes that organizations rely on underlying philosophies—deep stories about who they are and why they exist. Hungary’s philosophy, as cultivated by its elites, is rooted in grievance, historical trauma, and defensive exceptionalism.

This narrative once helped maintain identity under threat. Today, it functions like an obsolete mission statement no CEO dares to rewrite—useful for legitimacy but disastrous for modernization.

5. The Rules of the Game: Loyalty First, Competence Optional

Gareth Morgan’s4 metaphor of the organization as a political system is painfully accurate here. Everyone knows the real organizational rules: connections beat competence, access beats performance, and “don’t challenge the hierarchy” beats “fix the problem.”

These rules are not spontaneous norms; they are leadership-imposed incentives that keep the system closed, predictable, and controllable.

6. Climate: A Permanent Low-Trust Environment

Organizational climate, Schein says, is the emotional atmosphere leaders create through incentives and communication. Hungary’s climate is dominated by low trust, fatigue, resignation, and minimal expectations.

This climate is not cultural fate—it is the natural result of leaders treating transparency as a vulnerability and accountability as a threat.

7. Embedded Skills: Improvisation as a Core Competency

Hungarians are exceptionally adaptive. Improvisation—ügyeskedés—is Hungary’s most embedded skill. Karl Weick5 shows that when formal systems fail, people develop makeshift practices to keep the organization functioning. That is I wrote about corruption is a social resilience here.

Hungarians are superb improvisers because leadership has failed to build systems that reduce the need for improvisation.

Improvisation is not a strategy; it is a coping mechanism.

8. Habits of Thinking: Pessimistic Paradigms

Schein emphasizes that organizational paradigms—the shared assumptions—shape what people believe is possible. The dominant paradigm in Hungary is: “Nothing will change because nothing ever changes.”

This pessimism is not a national trait; it is the predictable cognitive outcome of leadership that discourages autonomy, experimentation, and long-term planning.

9. Shared Meanings: Success = Survival

Weick’s sensemaking theory shows how organizations define success. In many societies, success means achievement. In Hungary, success often means survival: avoiding risks, staying invisible, minimizing exposure.

Why? Because elite leadership has long rewarded stability over initiative, loyalty over achievement.

10. Metaphors and Symbols: The Romantic Past

Schein notes that symbols express an organization’s deepest assumptions.
Hungary’s elite-driven symbols—heroes, martyrdom, lost territory, eternal struggle—anchor identity in the past.

This is the equivalent of a company whose leadership constantly celebrates what it used to be instead of articulating what it aims to become.

11. Artifacts: Institutions Frozen in Time

Artifacts are the visible manifestations of culture. Hungary’s key institutions—schools, bureaucracies, media—behave like legacy systems. They preserve old workflows, resist new ones, and signal stagnation.

These artifacts embody leadership decisions and not public preference that favor control, centralization, and predictability over modernization and agility.

12. Myths and Stories: An Elite-Driven Addiction to Victimhood

Weick shows that stories are how organizations explain their world. That is why every organization has internal myths. Hungary’s dominant stories revolve around betrayal, external threats, heroic failure, and permanent vulnerability.

These once strengthened cohesion.
Now they anchor the nation to dysfunction because elites continually reproduce them to justify centralized control and low accountability.

Core Diagnosis: A Leadership Culture Misaligned With Any Modern Mission

If Hungary were a corporation, any consultant using the Kotter–Schein framework would deliver the same verdict:

The leadership culture no longer supports the mission.
It supports:

• survival, not progress

• control, not creativity

• loyalty, not competence

• homogeneity, not innovation

This is not a failure of the population—it is a failure of leadership incentives.

What Needs to Change: Leadership Must Treat Culture as Strategy

Organizational change literature—from Schein to Kotter6 to Amy Edmondson—is unequivocal:
Culture does not change from below.
It changes when leaders redefine:

• the mission

• the incentives

• the norms

• the stories

• the symbols

• the expectations

Hungary’s elites—political, economic, administrative, cultural, academic—have avoided doing this because the existing culture serves them.

But a modern nation cannot thrive with a leadership culture optimized for a 20th-century threat environment.

Closing Thought

Hungary’s stagnation is not a moral failure of its people.
It is an organizational failure produced by a leadership class that maintains an outdated operating system.

Cultures can change.
But only when leaders stop treating the past as a shield and start treating the future as a responsibility.

Hungary doesn’t need a new ideology.
It needs a new leadership culture—and a mission that finally faces forward.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Hungarian banks have spent years quietly taxing everyday life — fees on every move, bad FX, high rates while your HUF slowly evaporates — and Revolut’s low-cost, transparent app exposed that it never had to be this way. Now the push to “regulate” and domesticate Revolut isn’t about protecting you, it’s about pulling your money back onto their rails so that when it comes to real sums — flats, mortgages, long-term savings — they can still decide the terms and punish you for escaping their system in the everyday.

A couple is selling their flat in Budapest. They’re not rich, not investors — just moving to a slightly bigger place because they finally have a kid on the way or they. They’ve been using Revolut for a while: low fees, clean app, instant notifications, great FX exchange rate, no hidden costs. When the buyer signs the preliminary contract, they give him their Revolut Hungarian forint (HUF) account to send the deposit and downpayment. The money arrives. They see it in the app, breathe out, and start planning the move.

The buyer, meanwhile, goes to his (specific) Hungarian bank to arrange the mortgage for the rest of the price. There’s the usual process: documents, income statements, approvals, more papers. Weeks go by. Then one day the bank calls him back:

There’s a problem. First, we can’t disburse the mortgage to a Revolut account. Second, we cannot accept downpayment paid to Revolut accounts, therefore tell the seller to refund the deposit and downpayment, give you a proper Hungarian HUF account. Once the money goes back and you have a local bank account from the seller, we’ll continue.

The buyer stares at the phone.

The contract is signed. The sellers have already mentally moved. The deposit and downpayment is sitting safely on their Revolut. Now his bank is basically saying: go back, unwind what’s already done, and pull the sellers into our system too — or you’re not getting your loan.

He calls the sellers, embarrassed:

I’m sorry, the bank says they won’t pay out the mortgage to Revolut. They want you to give a Hungarian bank account. They even told me to ask you to send back the deposit and downpayment first, and then I should pay it again to your local bank.

The sellers are confused and angry. Why should they open or use a more expensive Hungarian account, with significantly higher fees and worse conditions, just to make the buyer’s bank happy? Why should they reverse a perfectly valid payment that everyone agreed to?

But they also know the truth: if the buyer doesn’t get the mortgage, selling is getting complicated. So now the bank isn’t just deciding how the buyer can bank. It is indirectly deciding how the seller must bank as well.

Not by talking to them, not by regulation, but by holding the buyer’s mortgage hostage.

God bless freedom, rule-of-law and consumer rights!

On paper, this is “risk policy” and “procedural requirements”.

In reality, it’s a very simple message to everyone involved:

You can play with your shiny foreign fintech app for everyday things, but when it comes to real money — flats, mortgages, life decisions —you will come back to us, on our terms.

That’s Hungarian reality in 2025.

This is what the fight about Revolut looks like, not in press releases, but at the kitchen table.

For years, being a normal Hungarian bank customer felt like paying a quiet tax on existing.

You opened an account because your employer told you to (even though, in theory, you have the constitutional right to be paid in cash). You took the card they pushed at you. Every month, a little money disappeared: account management fee, card fee, SMS fee, transfer fee, “whatever-we-feel-like” fee — which easily adds up to a few hundred euros a year. You didn’t really understand the statements, but you understood the pattern: the bank always gets paid.

You weren’t a customer. You were yield.

The banks did well. Very well. FX denominated mortgage schemes (scams), above-average profits, year after year, in a small market where everyone politely pretended there was “competition,” but somehow the price of being banked never really came down. They invested in marble floors, owned glass buildings, branding, political connections – and called that “stability.”

Then one day, someone at work or in the family said:

Have you tried Revolut?

You download it, mostly out of curiosity. Two minutes later you have a card in your phone, physical card shipped in 24 hours for free, and a balance in an app that looks like it was designed this decade. You test it: top up, pay somewhere, buy a train ticket, send money to a friend.

And then you see it:

the FX rate is… close and not far from the actual FX rate.

No mysterious “bank buying/selling” spread, no hidden surcharge, no “surprise, we shaved 2–3% off because we can.”

You make a few more transactions. You realise:

• there’s no monthly account fee quietly eating you alive, your notifications are instant, clear, and human-readable,

• sending money abroad doesn’t feel like being fined.

At that moment, somewhere deep inside the system, an alarm goes off.

Because you’re not just saving a few hundred forints. You’re discovering a forbidden truth:

being banked doesn’t have to mean being milked.

From the banks’ perspective, Revolut was never just a “new competitor”.

Competitors they can handle. They know how to copy a product, throw together an “offer,” tweak a fee, quietly coordinate. They’ve been doing that for decades — at least on paper. In reality, Hungarian banks were never really competing with each other; they were competing in who could milk customers more efficiently. And politics was always there to help.

Revolut was worse: it was a comparison point.

Side by side, it exposed the domestic game:

• Here is how much FX really costs.

• Here is how fast a transfer can really be.

• Here is what an app looks like when the goal is usability, not upsell.

• Transparent and easy terms.

Every forint you moved to Revolut was a forint that didn’t go into the comfortable Hungarian profit machine, ultimately landing as a saving to you.

You started using Revolut for trips. Then for online shopping. Then for saving a bit in different currencies. Then you thought: what if my salary went here? What if I stopped feeding the old bank so much?

Multiply that by hundreds of thousands of people (actually cc. 2 million Hungarian customers). Now you see why “regulating Revolut” suddenly became a national sport.

Of course, that’s not how the story was told.

The official lines were clean and responsible: we must protect Hungarian consumers; we must ensure fair competition; we must make sure everyone contributes to infrastructure and plays by the same rules.

Some of it wasn’t even wrong.

Revolut operated for a long time like a ghost in the Hungarian system: officially a Lithuanian bank with Hungarian customers. Complaints, supervision, accountability – all a bit abstract and far away. From a regulator’s point of view, that’s uncomfortable.

But notice what’s missing from the speeches and press releases: You.

Your reality in this story is simple:

• before Revolut: high fees, opaque pricing, sluggish digital services;

• with Revolut: cheaper, clearer, faster.

So when the same banks that have been quietly overcharging you for the last 30 years suddenly discover their inner consumer-rights activist, you’re allowed to be suspicious. Those banks who are not failing on the rule of law (i.e. FX denominated mortgages)

Because if this was really about you, the logic would be:

Revolut proves the old price level is indefensible.

Let’s regulate Revolut properly and force domestic banks to match or beat its value.

But that’s not what happened. It never happens in Hungary.

Instead, the energy went into pulling Revolut into the same cage: same domestic obligations, same infrastructure burdens, same regulatory leash. The goal is not to lift everyone up to the Revolut standard; the goal is to drag Revolut down into the old ecosystem where banks set the terms and you adjust.

Look at the ATM debate. It’s a perfect example.

Banks began talking about how Revolut was “free riding” on their ATM networks. Revolut customers withdraw cash from Hungarian ATMs, they said, but Revolut doesn’t pay to build or maintain those machines. That’s unfair, that distorts competition, they argued.

Technically, there’s a point there.

But notice how — overnight — the Hungarian ATM network stops being just infrastructure and becomes a moral weapon. Suddenly the big banks are protectors of fairness, defenders of investment, guardians of cash access in rural areas.

Not one of them opens with the more honest line:

We’re upset because we built a system that lets us charge you a lot for basic services, and now some foreign app is teaching you that this was never inevitable.

And then there’s the politics.

Hungary’s banking system isn’t just a market. It’s part utility, part political instrument. Banks are expected to help implement government and political schemes, channel subsidies, support “national strategic goals.” In exchange, they get a certain protection from reality. It’s a strategic partnership with politics!

Revolut doesn’t fit into that pact. It doesn’t care who’s in power. It doesn’t promise to support some flagship loan scheme. It just offers you an account that’s cheaper and better. At least till now!

From the state’s perspective, the more people move their money, salaries, and savings to Revolut, the more financial life escapes the domestic web of influence and data. That’s uncomfortable.

So “consumer protection” becomes a very convenient language for something else: reasserting control over a chunk of financial life that was slipping away.

Where does this leave you?

On paper, you’re supposed to be better off. Revolut is finally opening a proper Hungarian branch. You get a Hungarian account, Hungarian National Bank control, clearer local supervision, easier salary payments. It becomes a “real” Hungarian bank.

But here’s the contrarian fear:

• Revolut gets domesticated, normalised, tied into local obligations.

• Domestic banks keep their habits, maybe making just enough cosmetic changes to claim they’re “innovating” (they already started to copy Revolut solutions).

• The gap between them narrows – not because Hungarian banks seriously improve, but because Revolut is slowly pushed to look and behave like them.

The rebellion becomes a brand. The app remains, but the escape route starts to close.

So yes, you’re right to say:

Revolut was not milking the customers as banks do. Hungarian banks do what they want, make above-average profits.

That’s the core of the story.

Hungarian banks did everything they could to regulate Revolut not because they suddenly care too much about you, but because for the first time in a long time, you had an option that didn’t feed their margins.

Revolut, with all its flaws, was a quiet consumer revolt in app form.

The real question now is simple and brutal:

Now that they’ve dragged the revolt into the tent and called it “regulation”,

will they be forced to change with it —

or will they simply change it and leave you right where you started?

On that day Revolut turns Devolut!

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Orbán’s “work-based society” masks austerity as morality—a system of meager sick pay, three months’ unemployment, and low-wage public works sold as dignity. Since 2015, inflation has soared past wages and GDP, while the forint weakens and people work more yet own less. It’s treadmill economics: control disguised as virtue. The alternative is simple—fair pay, real protection, and a safety net that lifts, not punishes.

When Viktor Orbán announced Hungary’s munkaalapú társadalom—the “work-based society”—he framed it as a moral rebirth.
No more dependency. No more welfare waste. Just the dignity of labor, the discipline of production, and the promise that every forint would be earned.

A decade later, the numbers tell a very different story.

The Myth of Moral Renewal

The rhetoric was seductive: after the “debt-based,” “welfare-dependent” chaos of the 2000s, Hungary would rebuild itself through discipline and productivity.

In practice, munkaalapú társadalom meant dismantling an already fragile social net and reframing poverty as personal failure.

Unemployed people get three months of support—the shortest benefit period in the EU. Sick workers face suspicion and low compensation. If you earn €2,000 a month and fall ill, you quickly fall behind: the allowance is meager, while the Constitution expects adult children to support their parents. Welfare recipients are pushed into state-run public works (közmunkaprogramok) at below-minimum wages, doing tasks with little training, little dignity, and no path to advancement.

Message received: work isn’t a right—it’s a punishment.

The Data: Work More, Own Less

Eurostat shows that since 2015 inflation has risen nearly 70%, outpacing median income growth (≈50%) and far exceeding GDP per capita gains (≈20%). Meanwhile, the forint is about 25% weaker against the euro.

Put plainly: people are working, but getting poorer—at least half the country, for sure.

The chart says it all: inflation rockets upward while wages trudge behind; GDP growth flatters on paper; the currency slides. This isn’t the triumph of a work-based society—it’s the exhaustion of one.

The “Workfare” Illusion

The munkaalapú társadalom was never an economic policy—it was a moral campaign. Its core logic is punitive: those who don’t work don’t deserve to live decently. Hence the 90 days of unemployment support. Hence the bare-bones sick pay, the underfunded welfare system, and public works that keep people busy but not upwardly mobile.

It’s austerity disguised as virtue—precarity recast as patriotism.

In this system, “work” isn’t empowerment. It’s control.

The Vanishing Promise of Middle-Class Life

In 2015, a Hungarian worker could buy more, save more, and travel with less anxiety about the exchange rate. Today, even with higher nominal wages, inflation and FX erosion have eaten most real gains.

Middle-income households are running harder just to stay in place. Teachers, nurses, IT staff, and factory workers share the same paradox: they’re “employed,” yet perpetually insecure.

What the government calls “labor-market success” feels, at street level, like treadmill economics.

The Workfare Trap

Public work (közmunka) is the model’s emblem: people are technically employed, yet trapped on poverty wages and reliant on local mayors who decide their fate. Dependency didn’t vanish—it was nationalized.

A real work-based society would reward productivity and protect workers. Orbán’s version punishes weakness and rewards loyalty.

Inflation as Silent Expropriation

The government loves to boast about full employment—but not about what those jobs pay or what value they add. In Experienced, Educated, and Erased — No Country for Old Minds? I showed that less than 0.3% of listed vacancies required higher education and more than ten years’ experience. The pipeline isn’t for high value-added work or highly skilled candidates.

In this “work-based society,” inflation functions as a hidden tax—a silent expropriation that transfers purchasing power from workers to elites. The central bank prints optimism, the government prints propaganda—but grocery receipts tell the truth.

Savings are gone. Even middle-income families now rely on grandparents, side gigs, or remittances from abroad to stay afloat.

The munkaalapú társadalom promised dignity through labor. Instead, it replaced solidarity with suspicion and security with servitude.

A society cannot build its future on exhaustion. Work, in itself, is not a moral value. Dignity comes from fairness, not from fatigue.

Austerity Rebranded as Virtue

In Western Europe, austerity is a policy.
In Hungary, it’s a worldview.

The munkaalapú társadalom replaces solidarity with shame and turns systemic failure into personal guilt.

If you’re poor, you didn’t work hard enough.
If you’re sick, you didn’t take care of yourself.
If you’re unemployed, be grateful for three months of benefits—and a fluorescent vest to rake leaves.

This isn’t social policy. It’s moral theater.

The Real Alternative: A Value-Based Society

Hungary doesn’t need a “work-based” society. It needs a value-based one—where contribution is rewarded, vulnerability isn’t criminalized, and inflation doesn’t devour effort.

The opposite of a “work-based society” isn’t laziness—it’s a society that values people:

• Work is fairly compensated.

• Social support isn’t treated as sin.

• Security isn’t traded for loyalty.

• Productivity flows from inclusion, not coercion.

• The safety net isn’t a hammock—it’s a trampoline.

The munkaalapú társadalom was never about work. It was about control.
And it has worked spectacularly—just not for the people who do the work.

Postscript

When Orbán boasts that Hungary is “Europe’s most work-oriented nation,” he’s not wrong. Hungarians do work more hours for less pay than almost anyone else in the EU. They do take fewer sick days, accept shorter unemployment support, and endure inflation and currency devaluation that would topple governments elsewhere.

But that’s not a triumph of national character.
It’s proof that a government can sell austerity as morality—and exhaustion as patriotism.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Eurostat’s Severe Material Deprivation fell sharply across CEE in 2011–2020; Hungary dropped from 23.4% to 7.8%—a 2020 high-water mark, not a new normal. Since then, pandemic aftershocks, energy/food inflation, soaring Budapest rents, and real-wage erosion suggest gains were scaffolding, not structural. In 2024, KSH’s poverty lines (~€5.2k for one; ~€11k for four) collide with ~€8.3k/year rent and ≤€7k average net income per person. Contrarian takeaway: single digits were brief; vulnerability hides beneath the headline.

One of Eurostat’s most telling indicators is the Severe Material Deprivation Rate—the share of people unable to afford basic essentials (adequate heating, a protein meal every other day, replacing worn-out furniture, covering an unexpected expense, etc.). Unlike GDP or headline inflation, this metric gets uncomfortably close to lived reality.

Across Central and Eastern Europe, the last decade reads like a social turnaround story—just not an evenly distributed one.

Quick scan of the league table (first → last value in your 2011–2020 series):

• Bulgaria: 43.6% → 19.4%

• Latvia: 31.0% → 7.3%

• Romania: 29.5% → 15.2%

• Hungary: 23.4% → 7.8%

• Lithuania: 19.0% → 7.7%

• Croatia: 15.2% → 6.9%

• Poland: 13.0% → 2.6%

• Slovakia: 10.6% → 5.9%

• Estonia: 8.7% → 2.7%

• Czechia: 6.1% → 2.4%

• Slovenia: 6.1% → 3.0%

The pattern is stark: convergence is real, but it isn’t equal. A Bulgarian today is still far more likely to face severe deprivation than a Czech. Yet the direction across the region is unmistakably downward.

Hungary’s Success Story—Frozen in 2020

Hungary’s severe material deprivation rate fell from 23.4% at the start of the series to 7.8% in 2020—one of the steeper declines in the region. After peaking at 27.8% early on, the trend bent decisively into single digits. That’s the headline achievement: single digits, at last. It is also the last year before permanent crisis mode set in.

Should we take the victory lap? Looking at relative position: in 2011 Hungary ranked fourth from the bottom (fourth-highest deprivation rate) among these countries; by 2020, despite a large improvement in its own rate, it still ranked third from the bottom.

Since 2020, households have been hit by:
– Pandemic disruption (lost income, patchy support)
– Energy and food inflation (sustained double-digit price rises, despite official caps)
– Housing cost explosion (Budapest asking rents up by well over 50% in five years)
– Wage erosion (median pay lagged inflation)

Implication: 2020 is not a new normal. It’s a high-water mark—the best the indicator looked before rolling crises began testing whether the gains were resilient.

Contrarian Take: The Post-2020 Stress Test

If deprivation truly fell because households became structurally stronger—higher productivity, better wages, a wider middle class—hardship should stay low even under crisis.
If it fell mainly because of temporary scaffolding (utility price controls, EU transfers, remittances, cheap credit), post-2020 shocks should push hardship back up.

We don’t yet have the same Eurostat series beyond 2020 to settle it. But lived-reality proxies point one way:
– Savings drawdowns (pandemic buffers spent down)
– Rising debt-service strain as caps loosen
– Record food-bank demand despite that “7.8%” on paper
– Divergence from Poland and Czechia, where real wages held up better

Inference: Hungary’s convergence to low deprivation may already be slipping in practice, even if official indicators lag.

Why You Should Care

Hungary’s deprivation rate is a lesson in how fragile statistical victories can be. Policymakers love the 2010–2020 trend lines. Ordinary households live in 2021–2025—years when hardship is no longer falling and may be creeping back.

Hungarian Central Statistical Office (KSH) poverty threshold, 2024:
• One-person household: 2,087,879 HUF net/year (≈ €5.2k)
• Four-person household (two minors): 4,384,545 HUF net/year (≈ €11k)

KSH average net yearly income per household member, 2024: 2,796,704 HUF (≲ €7k)
– Budapest rent (typical asking): ≈ €690/month → ≈ €8,280/year

Put simply: KSH says poverty is ~€5.2k/year for one person. Budapest rent says ~€8.3k/year. Which number rules your month?

Contrarian conclusion: Hungary reached single digits—but only for a moment.

Willing to bet on 2021–2025? My baseline: National averages have stopped improving, but trouble is piling up in certain places—mostly outside the big cities.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Direkt36 ’s Brussels spy story piece is vivid—park-bench coffees, a recruitment push, whispers about pressure on Commission texts—but it leans on anonymous voices and loaded phrasing, not published artefacts or a clear benchmark for what’s over the line in a city where allies routinely collect on allies. Published on 9 Oct 2025 as a cross-border exposé, it brands Hungary’s tradecraft as uniquely malign without showing receipts or a comparative baseline. This isn’t “kill the story”—it’s invert the workflow: do the hard analytical and investigative work before the prose. Otherwise it’s the same old “their spying is malign, our liaison benign” trope in a new wrapper.

The story painted a vivid picture: Hungarian diplomats under intelligence cover roaming the EU quarter’s parks, inviting Hungarian Commission staff for coffee, fishing for gossip, and—in at least one dramatic encounter—sliding across the table a recruitment declaration to sign.

The lead figure—known only as “V.”—was said to have headed Hungary’s clandestine network in Brussels until his recklessness brought the operation down in 2017.

Other vignettes fleshed out the network: another officer, “E.,” who after his Brussels stint reportedly reappeared inside an EU security directorate as a national expert; Hungarian officials allegedly pressured by intelligence handlers to tweak Commission reports; and a permanent representation led by future Commissioner Olivér Várhelyi, accused of turning a blind eye. The through-line was stark: Hungary’s Információs Hivatal (IH), the civilian foreign-intelligence service, was not serving national interest but the narrow political power of Viktor Orbán’s government.

Presented in the polished tones of international investigative journalism, the article promised to expose a hidden scandal. Yet beneath the drama, the evidence rests almost entirely on anonymous recollections, “according to sources” attributions, and rhetorical flourishes. No expulsion orders, no leaked tasking memos, no administrative footprints. In other words: it lands more like a morality play—or a political play—than a dossier.

The Blind Spots of “Objective” Investigations

Brussels is arguably the world’s busiest square mile for political intelligence. It packs the European Commission, Council, Parliament, and NATO headquarters into one neighborhood—plus a sprawl of permanent representations, think tanks, lobbyists, consultancies and security services that quietly trade information every day. In that ecosystem, the line between diplomacy, liaison, open-source intelligence (OSINT)1, human intelligence (HUMINT)2, signals intelligence (SIGINT)3, and outright espionage is thin, negotiable and often judged in hindsight. Precisely because of that ambiguity, any investigation that seeks to recast routine collection as scandal owes readers the highest standards of evidence. Otherwise, it’s political prose.

The article at issue—the multi-outlet collaboration asserting that, in the mid-2010s, IH ran clumsy recruitment operations in Brussels, was exposed, and saw its local network “collapse”—invites a contrarian reading.

Not because allies never overstep (they do), nor because consortia can’t add value (they can), but because the piece leans so heavily on anonymous recollection, interpretive framing, and rhetorical escalation that its own claim to objectivity becomes a live question.

This essay stress-tests the article’s evidentiary standards, framing choices, and proportionality. It also asks what “public interest” looks like when reporting on historical tradecraft in a city where everyone spies on everyone else—yes, allies too.

Take 1. What the Article Claims—And What It Actually Proves

At core, the article claims that (a) IH officers under diplomatic cover attempted to recruit EU-employed Hungarian nationals (!!!); (b) one officer (“V.”) pushed so aggressively that he drew institutional attention; (c) by 2017 the “network” effectively collapsed; and (d) the purpose was partisan power rather than statecraft.

Some of this is inherently plausible. Allies do cultivate compatriots; services do overreach; specific officers get burned by sloppy tradecraft. None of that is extraordinary. But extraordinary claims—collapse of a rezidentúra years later, or tasking to serve a single political clique—require documentary artefacts, administrative footprints (persona non grata actions, accreditation refusals), declassified tasking, disciplinary records, or court-verified facts.

What we actually get is a chain of anonymized recollections, a handful of vivid vignettes, and a cascade of evaluative language (“obviously and clumsily / nyilvánvalóan és ügyetlenül,” “irresponsibly / felelőtlenül,” “like a domino, it dragged the whole system down / dominóként rántotta magával az egész rendszert”). Institutions are quoted with “no comment”—standard in this domain—while the narrative treats that silence as corroborative shadow.

The result is a story that asks readers to substitute trust in unnamed sources for the evidentiary anchors that make strong claims falsifiable.

If “V.” truly tried to have a target sign a source cooperation agreement (beszervezési nyilatkozat), where is a redacted image? If a rezidentúra “collapsed,” where are expulsion notes, accreditation withdrawals, or oversight references? If EU security flagged actors, where are document numbers, case IDs, or dates? Absence doesn’t prove events didn’t occur—intelligence is messy and rarely leaves tidy public trails—but without artefacts, dramatic assertions remain interpretive rather than demonstrative.

Take 2. Brussels Is Not a Church: Parity of Practice Matters

One framing pillar claims that “network-building and information-gathering (hálózatépítés és információgyűjtés)” of this type belongs mostly to non-EU powers (Russia, China, Iran), not EU member states. That’s a political framing, not reality. Network building and information gathering based on this is one way to gather intelligence. In Brussels, capable EU and NATO members run some mix of intelligence tradecraft and liaison-based collection against one another’s policies, intentions, and negotiating positions.

The Merkel–NSA–Denmark episode did not happen on Mars: a Danish review showed the NSA4, with Copenhagen’s help, tapping Danish internet cables to monitor senior EU leaders, including Angela Merkel. Leaks later showed U.S. surveillance of French presidents Chirac, Sarkozy, and Hollande, serious enough for the Élysée to convene an emergency meeting. Germany’s BND5 curtailed elements of its NSA cooperation - hardly limited to ‘war on terror’ —after disclosures that U.S. “selectors” had hit European officials and firms. And the UK’s GCHQ6 ran the sweeping Tempora program, tapping hundreds of fibre-optic cables and sharing the take with Washington, effectively vacuuming up European traffic transiting the UK.

These cases show allied-on-allied intelligence in Europe is structural, not aberrant—so it’s misleading to treat Hungary’s alleged operations as unprecedented. The Szájer-scandal7 did not arise from a concerned citizen’s police report; it bore the hallmarks of a European peer-service operation, underscoring how politics, leverage, and intelligence narratives constantly collide in the heart of the EU quarter.

If the article claims Hungary went beyond accepted allied norms, it owes a comparative baseline: how, concretely, did Hungarian methods deviate from what France, Germany, Italy, or others have historically considered “within bounds” in Brussels? Without that, readers are nudged toward a moralized asymmetry: when “they” do HUMINT, it’s malign; when “we” do liaison and networking, it’s benign. Emotionally satisfying, analytically thin.

Take 3. From Networking to Espionage: Where Is the Line?

The piece is strongest where it describes conduct that—if documented—would cross the line: payments for sensitive information, an attempt to get a target to sign a cooperation document, or requests for non-public internal texts. But most vignettes orbit the liaison/intelligence gray zone common in Brussels: coffees with compatriots in parks, spot-and-assess mapping (“tippkutatás”)8, gauging attitudes, trading gossips. None of this is a smoking gun.

The legal/diplomatic threshold is not whether a diplomat asks questions, but whether they induce transfer of protected information by means that breach the Vienna Convention and host/organization rules: payment, improper inducement, or coercive leverage. Even then, practice tends to be handled administratively (silent withdrawals, cooling-off) rather than via scandal. If the article claims a breach, it should show precisely where the conduct crossed codified lines—not rely on the reader’s moral intuition that “this felt wrong.”

Take 4. Motive Imputation Is Not Evidence

The sweepiest claim is that IH’s Brussels activity served partisan power rather than the state. That may be true—but without access to tasking orders, budget lines, and distribution lists, it’s inference, not proof. Governments routinely redefine “national interest” around their agenda. To show partisanship, you would need documents linking collection directly to political rather than policy objectives. The article doesn’t provide that.

Raising the Bar: Beyond Narrative

Cross-border formats (Der Spiegel, Der Standard, De Tijd) lower risk and broaden reach, but they can create echo effects—shared sources and frames can mimic independent corroboration. That’s why method transparency isn’t optional: how many sources, how many first-hand, what corroboration steps, and which claims rest on a single voice. The same goes for funding or institutional briefings—if an NGO, OSINT lab, or peer agency shaped the story, readers deserve to know.

Proportionality matters too. Most alleged events predate 2018 and have long circulated in Brussels corridors. Publishing names, roles, and methods without artefacts risks more heat than light—especially when the payoff is moral clarity rather than hard proof.

Language also betrays bias: “obviously and clumsily,” “like a domino,” “the domain of Russia/China but not EU states.” These aren’t neutral descriptors; they nudge toward condemnation. A rigorous approach anchors claims in artefacts, numbers, and dates—and tests benign explanations rather than waving them away: routine compatriot liaison, spot-and-assess mapping, organizational churn mistaken for collapse. None of these disprove misconduct, but they prevent narrative inevitability.

What Stronger Journalism Would Show

• Receipts: redacted recruitment forms, accreditation notes, expense records.

• Methods: source counts; first-hand vs. hearsay; single- vs. multi-source claims.

• Comparative baseline: how other EU services draw the line in Brussels.

• Chronology: verifiable timestamps anchoring vignettes in time.

• Provenance notes: who supplied which document and how it was corroborated.

Why It Matters

In Brussels, everyone collects—even allies. Journalism that brands one state’s HUMINT as uniquely malign while others’ liaison is treated as benign must meet higher evidentiary standards. Otherwise, it teaches the wrong lessons: that coffee equals espionage, that “no comment” equals guilt, and that allied collection is an aberration.

Skepticism here isn’t cynicism. It’s civic hygiene. If we’re going to name and shame, we must also show and prove.

Conclusion: Evidence First, Narrative Second

A stronger version of this investigation would lead with documents, dates, and administrative footprints—not recollections and rhetoric. If specific officers crossed bright lines, show the artefacts; if consequences followed, cite expulsion notes, accreditation withdrawals, case numbers, ethics files. Otherwise, we’re connecting dots with the ink of suspicion.

Hungarian investigative journalism—at its best—can do this. Too often, as here, the craft leans on scenes and adjectives instead of data and verification. The writing is the easy part; the real work is collection, provenance checks, adversarial corroboration, and method transparency. Without that, moral clarity drifts into moral theatre.

What “working harder” looks like in practice:
• Publish the receipts (forms, metadata, travel/expense, internal memos, docket numbers).
• Show your methods (source counts; first-hand vs. hearsay; how each claim was corroborated).
• Add provenance & funding notes (OSINT vs. insider vs. institutional; who funded; conflicts).
• Provide a comparative baseline (where conduct crosses law, Vienna Convention, internal rules).
• Offer replicability (timelines, appendices, a small public data room for audit).

In a city where everyone collects—friends included—the burden on any newsroom claiming objectivity is to raise the bar above narrative. If we invoke the public interest, we should submit our journalism to the same evidentiary rigor we demand of the institutions we scrutinize.

Skepticism toward this piece is not hostility to journalism; it’s a demand that the work be less performative and more probative.

Do the hard part first—the research, analytics and intel—then write.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

This alternative book review examines Phishing for Phools: The Economics of Manipulation and Deception by Nobel laureates George A. Akerlof and Robert J. Shiller. While acknowledging the book’s central insight—that markets reward manipulation as well as efficiency—it argues that the authors overstate human gullibility, understate adaptive learning, and underestimate the manipulative capacity of regulators and states. It also highlights a post-2008 shift from hidden deception to open simulacra, where legitimacy itself becomes performance. Applied to the Hungarian context, the analysis warns that a narrative of “market exploitation” can be co-opted by paternalistic governments to entrench cronyism and state capture. The conclusion: manipulation is real, but not destiny; agency, adaptation, and cultural resilience matter as much as regulation.

This edition is different. Instead of Hungary, it’s about a book—one that pushed me out of the shadows, made me embrace contrarian thinking, and become a “tenth man.” That spark led to Critical Hungary, where I regularly dissect system blind spots and failures, everyday perceptions, daily distortions and the mechanics of manipulation in Hungary. The aim is simple: add a few honest drops to counterbalance a sea of manipulation and deception.

From time to time, I’ll also highlight books worth your attention—chosen by a single criterion: they help build resilience against everyday manipulation and deceit.

Some Words About the Authors

George A. Akerlof and Robert J. Shiller are not fringe critics of capitalism. They are two of the most decorated economists alive today. Both Nobel Prize-winning economists.

George Akerlof won the Nobel Prize in Economics in 2001 for his work on “asymmetric information”—most famously his paper The Market for Lemons, which explained how markets can break down when sellers know more than buyers. He’s also known for mixing economics with psychology and sociology, often challenging the rational-agent model of mainstream economics.

Robert Shiller shared the Nobel in 2013 for his work on asset prices and bubbles. He co-created the Case-Shiller Home Price Index, one of the most widely cited measures of U.S. housing prices, and his book Irrational Exuberance (2000) famously warned about the dot-com and housing bubbles before they burst.

Both Akerlof and Shiller are associated with the behavioral economics tradition: skeptical of pure “rational choice” theory and eager to show how real-world markets deviate from textbook ideals. Phishing for Phools is their joint attempt to popularize that skepticism for a general audience. To be fair to the authors, they also point to countervailing institutions, norms, and moral community as partial remedies—not only top-down technocratic fixes.

The irony, of course, is that their authority as Nobel laureates gives the book more persuasive power than its arguments really deserve. They trade on credibility to hook readers—deploying the very logic of persuasion and framing that they claim markets use against us. Fair note: that’s my interpretation, not theirs.

What Phishing for Phools Book Says

Akerlof (Nobel Prize–winning economist) and Shiller (Nobel Prize–winning economist, co-creator of the Case-Shiller housing index) set out in this 2015 book to show that markets don’t just deliver efficiency—they also deliver exploitation.

Their core argument are:

Markets maximize profits, not well-being. If tricking people is profitable, markets will reward it.

Humans are psychologically vulnerable. We have biases, emotions, and blind spots—what behavioral economists call “bounded rationality.”

Businesses exploit those vulnerabilities. From junk bonds to junk food, from tobacco to political campaigns, the “free market” is full of actors who win by manipulating, not by creating real value.

The result is a “phishing equilibrium” and not the “invisible hand” as we believe to know it. Left unchecked, markets will tilt toward deception because deception pays. For fairness, Akerlof and Shiller also emphasize the role of watchdogs, reputational pressures, and ethical norms as counterweights, even if they argue these are often insufficient on their own.

The book illustrates this with dozens of US examples: mortgage lending before the 2008 crisis, credit card fees, dieting fads, tobacco marketing, alcohol, and political lobbying. Each is framed as evidence that, in modern capitalism, consumers aren’t just buyers—they’re targets.

It’s a clever inversion of the usual celebration of markets as efficient and self-correcting. Where Adam Smith saw the “invisible hand” guiding supply and demand, Akerlof and Shiller see an invisible hand slipping into your pocket.

George Akerlof and Robert Shiller’s Phishing for Phools (2015) is one of those books that feels like it was written to be endlessly quoted in op-eds, MBA classes, and Twitter threads. Its central argument is neat: markets are not only mechanisms for efficiency, innovation, and wealth creation—they are also machines for manipulation. If you give entrepreneurs incentives to make money, they will inevitably exploit our psychological weaknesses. That’s “phishing.” And since we’re all “phools,” we get hooked.

It’s an elegant narrative. Almost too elegant.

The problem is that Phishing for Phools is both obviously true and deeply misleading. Yes, manipulation exists. Yes, corporations prey on human bias. But Akerlof and Shiller collapse that complexity into a moralistic story that ultimately misunderstands how markets, people, and even manipulation actually work. Worse, their diagnosis is too blunt to be useful—and their implicit prescription is paternalism wrapped in behavioral economics. In fairness, they also acknowledge non-coercive correctives—community standards, industry self-regulation, and transparency—that don’t require heavy-handed paternalism.

Let’s take it apart.

1. Manipulation Is Not a Market Bug. It’s a Social Constant.

Akerlof and Shiller’s big reveal is that sellers don’t just sell products—they sell stories, temptations, and illusions. The cigarette industry sells glamour and rebellion, not just nicotine. Banks sell mortgage dreams that end in subprime nightmares. Politicians sell slogans rather than policies.

But here’s the thing: this is not a market-specific pathology. Humans manipulate each other constantly, with or without money involved. Parents manipulate kids into eating vegetables. Activists manipulate emotions to rally people to causes. Teachers “phish” attention through tricks of rhetoric and authority. Even love and friendship are full of strategic performances.

Markets didn’t invent manipulation. They simply provide an arena where manipulation becomes visible—and sometimes scaled. To single out the market as if it uniquely corrupts human psychology is to confuse the mirror for the face. To their credit, the authors do argue that better norms and institutional design can channel these dynamics toward less harmful outcomes.

2. Phishing for Phools Overstates Our Gullibility

The book leans heavily on behavioral economics: cognitive biases, irrationality, and bounded rationality. But it treats people as if they are permanently drunk on cognitive error. We’re all “phools” all the time.

That’s simply not true. Yes, humans are biased—but we also learn. The same person who once fell for payday loans may later become hypervigilant about debt. Generations that watched their parents get scammed by MLMs often develop cultural antibodies against them. Markets are dynamic because people adapt.

In other words: the phishing equilibrium is never stable. Consumers wise up. Regulators sometimes catch up. Entrepreneurs exploit the manipulators in turn (see: fact-checking businesses, “truth in labeling” industries, or simply new firms offering simpler alternatives). Fairness note: Akerlof and Shiller acknowledge some of these feedbacks; my critique is about how much weight they give to persistent manipulation versus adaptation.

3. Regulation Can Manipulate Too

Akerlof and Shiller suggest that markets left alone will “phish” us into harm, so we need institutional guardrails. Fine. But who builds the guardrails? Governments, regulators, experts. And these actors are just as prone to manipulation, rent-seeking, and cognitive failure as corporations.

The 2008 financial crisis wasn’t just about greedy bankers phishing naive homeowners. It was also about regulators captured by Wall Street, politicians hooked on campaign donations, and voters intoxicated by cheap credit. The state was phished too. To be fair, the authors do not claim regulation is a cure-all; they frame it as one tool among countervailing forces, alongside norms and reputational discipline.

After 2008, something changed. Before the crash, deception still needed a mask—AAA ratings, sober central-bank speak, ESG gloss, the rituals of credibility. After the crash, the mask slipped. The performance kept going, but belief drained out of it. What we got was a kind of simulacrum: institutions and actors performing legitimacy without anchoring it in reality. Manipulation no longer hides; it’s flaunted. You’re not “fooled” in the old sense—you’re made to live inside the spectacle. That shift matters for Akerlof & Shiller: the problem isn’t only that markets phish; it’s that post-2008, the performance of legitimacy itself became the phish.

4. The Moralizing Tone Ignores Agency

There’s a whiff of contempt running through Phishing for Phools. If only people were not so gullible, if only they weren’t so easily seduced, if only they were more rational… then markets would function more nobly.

But that view strips ordinary people of agency. It assumes people are passive prey rather than active navigators of complex environments. In reality, individuals constantly balance trade-offs: the “irrational” purchase of luxury sneakers may also be an entirely rational investment in social capital, identity, or joy.

Labeling all non-utilitarian consumption as “phoolish” is an economist’s arrogance. It reduces culture, desire, and meaning to pathology. That’s not analysis—it’s thinly disguised moral scolding. Fairness: Akerlof and Shiller do not label all such choices as pathological; they emphasize patterns that systematically profit at consumers’ expense.

5. The Irony: Phishing for Phools Is Itself a Phish

Here’s the meta-irony: Akerlof and Shiller’s book sells by deploying the very tactics it critiques.

It offers a moralistic narrative that flatters the reader: You are wise enough to see through the system, unlike those poor phools.

It packages complex realities into vivid anecdotes: credit cards, tobacco, alcohol, dieting fads.

It casts markets as villains in a drama where the economist-authors play the role of heroic truth-tellers.

That’s a classic marketing move. They hooked us with story, emotion, and fear—then cashed in with bestsellers and lecture tours. A book about manipulation that manipulates us into agreement is a kind of performance art. But it’s also self-defeating. For fairness: compelling storytelling does not, by itself, invalidate their evidence or examples.

6. A Better Way to Think About Phishing

Instead of lamenting that markets breed manipulation, we should embrace a more nuanced view:

Manipulation is ecological. Just as parasites exist in nature, so do manipulative actors in economies. They’re part of the system, not external to it.

Markets are evolutionary. Bad actors can profit for a time, but they often collapse when exposed. Reputation, competition, and consumer learning create feedback loops.

Paternalism is risky. Overregulation can infantilize consumers and entrench elite manipulators. The cure can be worse than the disease. Fairness: the authors also highlight constructive “countervailing institutions” that raise standards without smothering choice.

Agency matters. People are not phools by default. They are learners embedded in cultures, communities, and histories. Sometimes what looks like “irrationality” is actually resilience or strategy.

In short: rather than seeing markets as phishing machines that exploit helpless humans, we should see them as contested arenas of meaning, power, and adaptation. Manipulation is real, but it is not destiny.

7. Why This Matters for Hungary (and Beyond)

This isn’t just an academic quibble. In places like Hungary—where my critical blog is rooted—the “phishing for phools” narrative easily morphs into populist economics: the story that markets are inherently predatory, that only strong paternalistic government can protect the masses, and that individuals are too weak to navigate economic life.

Hungary is a distilled version of this post-2008 world. The state doesn’t bother with a careful mask; it stages legitimacy as spectacle—headlines, narratives, “results”—and expects citizens to treat the simulacrum as reality. In that environment, the most effective “phish” isn’t subtle persuasion but the relentless performance of authority.

That story becomes an excuse for cronyism, “consumer protection” that actually entrenches oligarchs, and anti-market rhetoric that disguises state capture. Ironically, the Hungarian state often “phishes” its citizens more effectively than any multinational could.

If you take Akerlof and Shiller too literally, you end up empowering precisely the kinds of manipulative actors their book claims to resist. To be fair, their focus is the U.S.; I am extending the logic to Hungary and drawing my own conclusions.

Conclusion: The Phishers and the Phished

Phishing for Phools wants us to see ourselves as victims of cunning markets. But the reality is more complicated—and more hopeful. Markets are not morality plays. They are messy, adaptive, human systems where manipulation, learning, resistance, and creativity coexist.

The book is right to highlight the dark arts of persuasion. But it’s wrong to frame the public as helpless phools. We are not passive fish waiting for the hook. We are also anglers, builders, storytellers, and, yes, sometimes hustlers ourselves.

If there’s one thing worth resisting, it’s not the manipulations of markets, but the seductive simplicity of books like Phishing for Phools—the very narratives that comfort us by making us feel smarter while quietly phishing our attention, our fears, and our sense of agency. Fairness: none of this negates the book’s useful language and many well-chosen cases; it’s a caution against letting its thesis do all our thinking for us.

In that sense, the real “phish” is not the cigarette ad or the credit card. It’s the intellectual bait of the moralizing economist. And I, for one, refuse to bite.

Or maybe I’m naive… and need to wake up.
Either way, that’s why I like the book. You should read it too.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

After 2015, Orbán didn’t fumble the art of persuasion; he walked beyond branding. When growth cooled and threat signals rose, he swapped campaign gloss for decision design: collapse the noise into one clear stake—us vs. them—then pin it to things you can touch and count: jobs, roads, pensions, rezsi. The result wasn’t louder slogans; it was a simpler choice set that mapped fear to protection and talk to delivery.

Critics call it corrosive, and they’re not wrong about the democratic toll. But the opposition mostly mirrors the binary, casting Orbán as the villain while offering no equally legible payoff. In a market where attention is scarce and trust is rationed, the winning play isn’t “be nicer”—it’s out-clarify and out-prove: one sentence of what’s at stake, a credible safety bundle, and evidence people feel in their bills and paychecks—which, unfortunately, is why the us-vs-them play keeps winning.

In contemporary Hungarian politics, Prime Minister Viktor Orbán has cultivated a distinctive rhetorical style that increasingly merits close attention.

In an earlier essay—The Politics of Persuasion: Strategic Branding in Hungary’s Electoral Landscape. Orbán Was Winning Like a Brand. The Opposition Still Hasn’t Learned How —I highlighted how, between 2010 and roughly 2015, Fidesz built durable dominance through disciplined political marketing, narrative craft, and brand strategy.

Yet from about 2015 onward, the marketing compass appears to have shifted: exaggeration, fear appeals, and top‑down messaging crowded out dialogue. What began as persuasive branding hardened into propaganda; vision ceded ground to threat inflation—particularly as economic headwinds mounted and the “product” grew harder to sell.

From Branding to Propaganda—and the Friend/Enemy Turn

From 2015 onward, government communication increasingly adopted an antagonistic binary—friend or enemy. By Orbán’s third and fourth terms, the message architecture had normalized a continuous, war-like posture, staging simulated conflicts against actors labeled “enemies.” The move resonates strongly with the work of Carl Schmitt (1888–1985), the German jurist and political theorist, and appears to draw directly on Schmittian premises.

In Schmitt’s terms, this shift marks an intensification of the political: a move from persuasive branding to existential positioning, where collective identity coheres by naming an enemy.

For Schmitt, the essence of the political is the friend–enemy distinction: a collective becomes political when it recognizes another collective as a possible existential adversary. The enemy is public (not personal) and defined not by moral fault but by the intensity of opposition that may culminate in violent conflict. The point is not that war must occur, but that its possibility gives politics its distinctive gravity and calls for decisive leadership. This criterion also underpins Schmitt’s notions of sovereignty and the “exception”: the sovereign decides, in concrete circumstances, who counts as the enemy and what extraordinary measures are required to preserve political unity. In practice, this logic tends to manufacture “exceptions”—moments framed as extraordinary (migration, “Brussels,” the war in Ukraine, disorder) that justify extraordinary measures in messaging and policy.

Schmitt’s influence is profound across political theory and constitutional thought; his Nazi affiliation and authoritarian commitments, however, shadow his legacy, making him a thinker many consider indispensable to read but hazardous to admire.

“Schmitt left a mark on four different incarnations of his native Germany: the absolutist regime that was Wilhelmine Germany, the failed republic of Weimar Germany, the authoritarian and totalitarian Nazi Germany, and the consolidated democracy of the Federal Republic of Germany”.1

Importantly, his concepts have been taken up across the spectrum—the left, too, adapts Schmitt (e.g., Mouffe/Laclau’s left-populist “people vs. elite” framing and Agamben’s “state of exception”) to advance progressive agendas.

A Contemporary Example

The communicative style that once showcased competent brand‑building now tends not merely to oppose rivals but to annihilate them rhetorically. Rather than engage policy or ideology on their merits, opponents are often reduced to illegitimate, threatening caricatures.

Here is one example of an Orbán’s September 2025 Facebook post distilled this strategy into a striking binary:

“Their weapon is aggression. Lies. Boasting. Incitement. And finally: the pistol. Now not only in words, but in its physical reality…”

“…We have no weapons. Our strength lies in our words and our deeds. The 1,000 kilometers of motorways and highways we have built. The family support programs we have introduced. The one million new jobs we have created. The 13th-month pension we have restored. The Home Start program and the utility price cuts. The peace we stand up for day after day. And all those many plans with which we will make Hungary the greatest, most livable, and safest country in Europe…”

”…We carry the trust of the Hungarian people. They carry a pistol in their pocket. That is the difference between us. So let us bid farewell to weapons. By next April at the latest.”

Context matters. In mid-September 2025, Romulusz Ruszin-Szendi—former Chief of the Defence Staff and, by then, the TISZA Party’s defence spokesman—acknowledged bringing a legally owned firearm to a public forum. As a high-profile former military leader, he reportedly held a lawful carry licence. The incident triggered a political storm; authorities later intervened and seized the weapon. Pro‑government and opposition media alike amplified images and footage from multiple events where he had allegedly carried a gun. While Hungarian law allows firearm ownership under very strict rules (one of the strictest if not the strictest in European Union), carrying a weapon at rallies or public assemblies is prohibited; even licensed owners can face consequences for doing so.

Against this backdrop, Orbán’s post functioned as a narrative keystone. To be clear, this essay does not dispute the illegality of bringing a firearm to a public assembly; it examines how that genuine misstep was instrumentalized into a broader campaign narrative and a tool of instant character killing. The “pistol” frame operates as a mini‑exception, converting a discrete incident into a generalised warrant for heightened, extraordinary political language.

Instant Character Killing: Concept and Mechanics

Instant character killing names a communicative move that collapses argument into condemnation. It operates by metaphor, escalation, and moral labeling rather than by evidence and debate.

The maneuver does not merely question competence or policy; it invalidates personhood as a legitimate political actor. In a polarized environment, once an opponent is framed as violent, dishonest, or anti‑national, deliberation becomes unnecessary. The rival’s program need not be weighed—its proponent has already been expelled from the circle of legitimate contestation.

Operationally, this applies the friend–enemy boundary at the level of persona, excluding the rival from the circle of legitimate political actors.

The Sequence: From Word to Weapon

Orbán’s September 2025 post lays out a rhetorical ladder:

1. Aggression – The adversary’s default mode is hostility.

2. Lies – The adversary is not mistaken but fundamentally dishonest.

3. Exaggeration – Speech is inflated; truth‑value is suspect.

4. Incitement – Language aims to provoke unrest.

5. Pistol – The trajectory culminates in physical violence.

The “pistol” functions both symbolically and literally. It condenses disparate worries—about public order, national trauma, and the sanctity of peace—into a single, vivid image. Thus, the opponent is mapped onto a path from immoral words to criminal deeds, justifying exceptional vigilance and, ultimately, exclusion.

The Positive Mirror: Accumulating Achievements

After delegitimising the adversary, the narrative pivots to a list of concrete achievements: highways built, family support expanded, jobs created, pensions restored, housing support and utility cuts delivered, peace defended. The device is accumulation—tangible results are stacked to produce an aura of competence and benevolence. The contrast is total: abstract threat (them) versus material delivery (us). Politics becomes a choice between chaos and order.

Binary Moral Cosmology and Populist Structure

Where Schmitt’s enemy is public and amoral, this rhetoric moralizes the enemy into evil—turning a Schmittian structure into a Manichaean moral frame:

• They: aggression, lies, incitement, weapons.

• We: trust, work, construction, peace.

It dovetails with a familiar populist structure—“the pure people” versus “the corrupt/alien elite”—but retools corruption as violence. Recurring antagonists in this register include “Brussels,” migration and border threats, “Soros/NGOs,”and, since 2022, a “pro‑war” opposition contrasted with a government of “peace.” At times, opposition actors mirror the game, recoding Orbán himself as the malevolent antagonist—an authoritarian “evil” whose removal is framed as a moral imperative—thereby reproducing the same Manichaean split from the other side. Elections, in this idiom, are not contests of visions; they are rituals of purification. Hence the closing call to “bid farewell to weapons… by next April at the latest,” implicitly reframing the coming vote as civic disarmament.

Strategic Function and Democratic Costs

Strategically, the approach consolidates in‑group cohesion, saturates the agenda with security cues, and crowds out complex policy debate. The democratic costs, however, are steep: opposition is delegitimised, policy is moralised, and pluralism is flattened. Stability is fetishised; deliberation withers.

Conclusion

Orbán’s post-2015 playbook looks Schmittian to the core: friend–enemy politics scaled for mass audiences. Trading branding for a friend–enemy frame—with instant character killing baked in—wins elections but rewires the democratic field. The opposition follows the same route, participating in the very logic it condemns.

In such a frame, Orbán is cast not merely as candidate but as guarantor of national survival—a position that secures hegemony even as it erodes the conditions for genuine democratic contestation.

First, public speech narrows: security-coded cues and moral binaries crowd out policy argument, raising the cost of dissent and rewarding performative outrage over deliberation.

Second, pluralism thins: opponents are cast as illegitimate rather than alternative, so competition becomes purification, not persuasion.

Third, institutions bend toward the exception: extraordinary framing (migration, “Brussels,” war) normalizes extraordinary measures—in messaging and sometimes in policy—making emergency a habit rather than a threshold.

Fourth, media incentives tilt to conflict maximalism, amplifying the binary and shrinking the middle.

Finally, citizen autonomy degrades: choice architecture reduces complexity to a single moral stake (order vs. chaos), trading informed consent for compelled alignment. In this frame, Orbán is not merely a candidate but a guarantor of survival—an advantage that sustains hegemony even as it erodes the conditions for democratic disagreement and renewal.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Hungary’s housing market breaks the mold: with 91% ownership, low mobility, and minimal reliance on agents, what looks like inefficiency elsewhere functions here as a survival strategy. Bricks and mortar remain the only reliable safety net in a volatile economy. Government policy, however, runs against this logic—pouring subsidies into new, unaffordable builds that prop up developers and a narrow band of buyers. With so few new units and transactions, these programs cannot reshape the market; they only expose how housing policy serves industries more than households.

Hungary’s real estate market runs on a set of unwritten rules— that are rarely questioned, yet deserve much closer scrutiny.

Beneath the surface, the housing market is full of peculiarities that raise more questions than answers.

Let’s break it down.

Hungarian Real Estate Market Oddities Explained

To understand the unique character of Hungary’s real estate market, a few key features stand out.

Ownership: First, home ownership is exceptionally high—over 91%—a figure far above the EU average. This stems from a mix of historical, cultural, and economic factors.

During socialism, private property was restricted, but the transition of the 1990s saw a wave of privatisations, with apartments and houses sold off at very low prices. This allowed many families to secure ownership cheaply. At the same time, Hungary developed only a weak rental market: institutional investment in housing remained minimal, tenant protections limited, and renting widely seen as unstable and unattractive.

Culturally, ownership became deeply associated with security, family continuity, and social status. Intergenerational transfers—parents helping children buy or inherit property—further reinforced the cycle. The result is a system where owning a home is the rule, not the exception.

Housing stock: According to the Hungarian Central Statistical Office, Hungary’s housing stock stood at 4.616 million units as of January 1, 2025.

Since 2007 the yearly average housing stock increase was approximately 20k units. The average value is heavily skewed by the FX denominated mortgage loans period between 2007-2011 (see more related information in The Hungarian Mortgage Propaganda essay). However when comparing the 2025 January 1st data with 2024 same data, the increase was only approximately 12k unit.

Based on real estate transaction data, the overall transaction rate in 2024 was 2.5%. Applying this rate to the current housing stock translates into just over 115,000 transactions across the country in 2024.

At this level of ownership, though, the deeper question is whether such low growth is really a “problem” at all—or rather a sign of saturation, where the market has simply run out of new buyers and new demand. In other words, Hungary may not be building too little housing—it may already be as owned-out as a country can get… or is there still room for genuine organic growth?

Real estate pricing: If we take 2015 as a baseline, real estate prices in Hungary had surged by 325.1% by Q3 2024—a staggering increase compared to an inflation index of around 165% over the same period.

Looking at the shorter horizon, the three-year growth rate exceeded 35%, only slightly below the cumulative inflation rate of just over 39%. Still, it’s important to note that much of this growth was built on a relatively low starting base when compared with other European housing markets.

Currently the national average sqm prices are at slightly higher than €2.000, while average asking price is around cc. €180.000. While in Budapest the average sqm prices are higher than €3.450 based on koltozzbe.hu statistics. You are going to have a significant variation in the prices in different geographical regions or locations.

But this raises an uncomfortable question: is this price surge truly organic growth, or something else? Are we seeing genuine demand and purchasing power at work—or are prices inflated by speculative buying, distorted credit policies, or the lack of viable investment alternatives in Hungary’s economy? In other words, is the housing market reflecting real value, or is it simply the byproduct of a system where money has few other places to go?

Real estate brokerage paradox: Another striking oddity of Hungary’s housing market is the role—or rather, the lack of role—played by real estate agents.

In most mature housing markets, agents are central intermediaries. They handle 50–70% of transactions, professionalize the process, and shape public perceptions of value. In Hungary, the picture is radically different.

According to the Hungarian National Bank’s 2023 Housing Market Report, only 10.6%–13.1% of transactions involve agents. That means that out of roughly 115,000 housing deals a year, barely 12,000–16,000 pass through an agent at all. Yet an estimated 8,000–10,000 agents (or more) compete for this sliver of the market.

The math is brutal: on average, each agent closes fewer than two transactions per year. Which raises the obvious question: how can there be so many agents for so little business?

Unless, of course, the numbers don’t capture the full picture. Is the data misleading, incomplete—or is the Hungarian real estate profession built on something other than actual transactions?

Rethinking Hungary’s Housing Market

Step back, and the numbers tell a story almost the opposite of what conventional wisdom suggests. Commentators like to describe Hungary’s housing market as “underdeveloped” compared to Western Europe: weak rental markets, low agent penetration, uneven regional pricing. But what if those so-called shortcomings aren’t flaws at all? What if they are deliberate adaptations—features that make sense in a country shaped by volatility, inflation, and mistrust of institutions?

Take the home-ownership rate of more than 91%. From a Western perspective, it looks like an imbalance: proof of a broken rental sector and lack of institutional capital. But from inside Hungary, it can just as easily be read as a rational hedge against uncertainty. When inflation, currency swings, and political shocks have repeatedly wiped out savings, property becomes the default insurance policy. It may not be efficient, but it is resilient.

Or consider prices. A 325% surge since 2015 screams “bubble” to outside observers. Yet Hungary’s market started from a historically depressed base. Even now, at around €2,000 per square meter nationally and €3,450 in Budapest, Hungary is still far cheaper than most European capitals. The surprise isn’t how high prices have climbed, but how long they lagged behind.

Then there’s mobility. Barely 115,000 housing transactions take place each year in a country of nearly 10 million. By most standards, that looks like market stagnation. But again, what if low churn isn’t failure but design? In a society where homes are inherited, passed within families, and tied to identity, stability—not liquidity—is the point.

Seen this way, Hungary’s housing market isn’t broken. It’s operating under its own set of rules. History, culture, and deep distrust of intermediaries have created a system that looks strange only if you expect it to behave like Germany, France, or the Netherlands. Property here is not primarily an asset class; it’s a survival strategy.

But resilience comes with contradictions. The same features that protect households expose the flaws in government policy. If nine in ten Hungarians already own their homes, what exactly is being solved by subsidies1 for new construction? Are these programs designed to improve affordability, or to manufacture demand for the construction industry? With less than 2.5% of the housing stock changing hands each year and fewer than 15,000 new units built annually, can subsidies move the needle at all—or are they little more than symbolic politics?

The bigger challenge is not quantity but quality: modernising Hungary’s vast existing stock with insulation, energy upgrades, and basic liveability improvements. Why should taxpayers underwrite new-build buyers—often middle- or upper-class families—while millions remain in outdated housing? Is it constitutional to subsidies with taxpayer money certain preferential segments? If the real goal is family welfare and population stability, wouldn’t deep modernisation subsidies deliver more by cutting bills and raising living standards for everyone?

Which leads to a sharper suspicion. Housing subsidies may not be about households at all. They may be about channeling resources toward politically connected developers.

Hungary’s housing story, then, is both one of survival and of distortion: a system that protects households in spite of volatility, but where policy increasingly seems designed to protect industries instead.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Growth rates are the trendlines of governance and indicators of momentum. By focusing on annual changes rather than absolute levels, they strip away inherited advantages and reveal whether leaders are truly moving their country forward—and how quickly. Hungary’s decade-long record shows a clear pattern of declining competitiveness: respectable in some years, but consistently outpaced by peers, leaving it entrenched near the bottom of the regional league table.

The Great Illusion: Political Stability Does Not Necessary Mean Economic Performance

Imagine your country as a publicly listed company. Citizens are the shareholders, the Prime Minister is the CEO, Parliament approves the strategy, and auditors—statistical offices, Eurostat, the ECB—publish the accounts. Elections are the annual general meetings where contracts are renewed—or terminated. (And yes, every four years is far too infrequent—which is why, in my essay on rebuilding accountability in public office, I argued for more frequent and enforceable mechanisms of accountability.)

In theory, this is democracy. In practice, most citizens evaluate their CEO the way amateur investors judge companies: by scanning one big, shiny number. GDP growth is the favorite headline—politics’ equivalent of a CEO boasting, “Revenue up 5%!” The problem is that reality, like financial markets, doesn’t reward a single number. It rewards sustainable, balanced, peer-beating performance.

No investor would be satisfied with a CEO announcing, “Revenue grew 5%” while competitors delivered 7–10%, margins collapsed, and the product pipeline ran dry. Yet in politics, governments often get away with exactly this trick—especially when there is no competent opposition or an independent media willing to play watchdog.

Hungary is a perfect case. Between 2015 and 2024 it had the most stable government in the region: an uninterrupted CEO (Viktor Orbán), full control of the boardroom (supermajority), and no shareholder revolts. Political stability should have been a competitive advantage: continuity, long-term planning, credibility. It was constantly presented as one.

But the peer-comparison scorecard tells a different story. Across the decade, on economic and financial year-on-year growth rates—the momentum, the trendlines of governance—Hungary’s CEO delivered one of the weakest performances among regional peers. Stability hardened into complacency, and complacency produced chronic underperformance.

That is the illusion. This essay argues for breaking it.

Citizens should act like activist shareholders: benchmarking government performance against peers, measuring not only growth but also stability, discipline, and resilience—and issuing a red card to underperforming CEOs, no matter how glossy their annual letters look.

Hungary Inc.: Turning Statistics Into a Shareholder Report

The logic is simple: you don’t judge a company on one quarter’s revenue, but on consistent performance against peers. The same principle applies to governments.

Between 2015 and 2024, eleven Central and Eastern European (CEE) and Baltic economies—Bulgaria, Croatia, Czechia, Estonia, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Romania, Slovakia, and Slovenia—competed on the same pitch.

Fifteen economic and financial KPIs were tracked annually (Eurostat, ECB). These included GDP growth, GDP per capita, productivity, disposable income, inflation, debt, deficits, employment, wage growth, the current account, and others.

For every indicator, the year-on-year growth rate was calculated—2016 vs 2015, 2017 vs 2016, and so on—to capture direction and momentum. Each year, countries were ranked from first (score = 1) to last (score = 11). For “lower is better” indicators, such as inflation and debt, scores were inverted so that discipline was rewarded. Annual scores were then summed and aggregated across the decade. The lower the total, the stronger the performance.

This produces a robust dataset covering ten years—long enough to filter out one-off shocks and reveal enduring trends.

Crucially, it punishes selective storytelling.

You cannot trumpet GDP growth if inflation wipes out real incomes, debt piles up, or productivity stagnates. You cannot boast about wages if median income in PPS lags peers. Success comes only from broad, consistent improvement.

The results?

Hungarian Government Economic Momentum Scorecard: Yearly Gains, Decade-Long Underperformance versus Peers

Over the decade, on momentum (growth rates), Hungary ranked 10th out of 11—ahead only of Slovakia. Bulgaria, Romania, and Croatia formed the top tier; Lithuania, Latvia, Poland, Slovenia, and Czechia anchored the midfield; while Estonia, Hungary, and Slovakia trailed as laggards. Momentum, after all, is the trendline of real performance.

If this were a corporate peer review, Hungary Inc. would be a laggard stock—not bankrupt, but chronically underperforming its sector.

Hungary’s position was not based on cherry-picked numbers or on “bashing Orbán” emotional narratives, but on year-on-year growth across key indicators: GDP per capita, disposable income, wages, labour productivity, inflation, debt, fiscal balance, exchange rates, FDI, consumption, and inequality1. Each year, every country was ranked from best to worst. Hungary did not break into the top tier on any of them.

Some years looked decent in isolation. But compared with peers, Hungary was consistently outpaced.

Its record was not one of collapse but of lagging momentum—others simply advanced faster.

The fundamentals told the story citizens lived daily. Disposable income held up relatively well compared to neighbors, but at the expense of household consumption, dampening demand and economic vitality. Repeated inflation spikes destroyed the real value of wage gains. The forint’s weakness against the euro added another layer of erosion, making travel, imports, and savings more expensive. Families saw that even as wages rose on paper for some, median wages declined in real terms—and real purchasing power slipped further behind.

Volatility punished the overall score. Economies that avoided wild swings steadily climbed the table. Hungary stumbled with repeated “yellow cards”: inflation shocks, fiscal swings, inconsistent income growth. For investors, volatility destroys trust; for citizens, it creates daily insecurity—whether their paycheck will stretch or their savings will hold value.

One fact sets Hungary apart: it had the most stable government in the region from 2015 to 2024. While most countries saw contentious changes, Hungary kept a single management team in place. In corporate terms: a CEO with full control, uninterrupted tenure, no shareholder revolts. That stability should have been an advantage—continuity of strategy, long-term planning, investor confidence.

Instead, relative performance across ten years of year-on-year growth rates left Hungary at the bottom of the momentum league. Stability did not translate into efficiency, productivity, or future readiness. It calcified into complacency.

If the country were a listed firm, analysts would conclude: “Revenue growth positive, but balance sheet weak; margins eroded by inflation; volatility risk elevated.” In other words: a sell recommendation, not a buy.

The Unfulfilled Role of Shareholders

In capital markets, CEOs cannot hide for long: analysts, rating agencies, and financial media publish comparisons that strip away spin. If a company trails its sector, investors know it.

Opposition parties, the supposed shareholders, rarely translated Eurostat and ECB tables into narratives ordinary citizens could grasp. Facebook likes mattered more. They failed to apply pressure, failed to offer credible solutions, and remain stuck on the “bitching lane” of politics. Nobody explains how they would outperform the government—what they would build better.

Independent media, another set of shareholders, reported individual statistics but seldom built comparative, holistic stories about the economy. They were politically critical of the government, but largely silent on its real economic anomalies. Instead, they leaned on emotional narratives that deepened polarization.

In ten years, neither opposition nor media effectively challenged the government’s narrative. Even now, as economic and social pressures create a growing pool of potential protest voters, the alternative CEO and board have no clue how they would address the country’s challenges.

Citizens—the real shareholders—were given banners (“5% growth!”) instead of scoreboards (“10th of 11 over the decade”). Without opposition or media pressure, complacency flourished. The CEO stayed in place despite chronic underperformance.

If citizens acted like activist shareholders, they would demand the same discipline markets demand: benchmarking against peers, consistent execution, and clear strategic direction. They would ask whether Hungary grew faster than Bulgaria, Romania, and Poland; kept debt lower than Slovenia and Czechia; innovated like Estonia and Lithuania; and raised median incomes above inflation. The scorecard answers no.

Remaining in the business metaphor, the investor’s logic is clear:

Recommendation: Hold / Sell. Growth respectable, but peers outperform. Balance sheet and volatility risks high. Key pipelines weak.
Peer comparison: Ranked 10th of 11 over the decade. Only Slovakia fared worse.
CEO accountability: In any listed company, activist investors would demand change. A CEO who underperforms the sector for a decade is replaced.

Yet in politics, incumbents survive by celebrating isolated wins. A “5% GDP” headline is the CEO’s glossy annual letter—carefully crafted to obscure a decade of missed benchmarks.

The Final Verdict

The CEE league on momentum (growth rates) is not about humiliating any flag. It is about cutting through selective growth storytelling and asking the only question that matters in a competitive region: compared to whom?

On that measure, the Hungarian government failed. Ten years, fifteen KPIs, thousands of datapoints: second from the bottom, despite unmatched political stability. In business, no investor would tolerate such a CEO. Shareholders would revolt, boards would fire management, and new leadership would be installed.

Citizens should be no less demanding. The scorecard doesn’t care how polished the speech is—it only cares where you rank when the numbers are added up. And Hungary, after a decade of stability, sits near the bottom of its league.

For shareholders, the verdict is clear: red card for the CEO.

Would you keep your CEO?

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Hungarian banks not long ago sold citizens the dream of affordable homeownership through Swiss franc mortgages—only to turn them into lifelong debtors. This essay reveals how banks profited, how governments staged “solutions,” and why the 2025 CJEU ruling C-630/23 could finally upend the system.

Homeownership is Hungary’s Holy Grail.

Hungarians don’t just like to own homes — they worship them. After centuries of losing land to empires, wars, and politics, a house isn’t just a roof here. It’s a shrine to security. That’s why 92% of Hungarians own their homes, one of the highest rates in Europe.

But in the early 2000s, banks found a way to weaponize this cultural obsession. They dangled foreign currency (FX) mortgages — loans denominated in Swiss francs (CHF) or euros (EUR) — that looked like a ticket to middle-class heaven. Glossy ads. Cheerful bankers. Numbers that made regular forint (HUF) mortgages look like daylight robbery.

And we believed them. Why wouldn’t we? When the priest, the banker, and the politician all sing from the same hymn sheet — trust authority, obey the experts — who dares hum another tune?

The Pull and the Push: How to Sell a Trap

• The pull: 5–7% lower interest rates compared to standard HUF loans. CHF loans were cheaper because Switzerland had lower interest rates than Hungary.

• The push: TV spots and ads where a banker told you, “Your income doesn’t matter — just your property.”

Let that sink in. Your income didn’t matter. Only your house did. Because to the banks, you weren’t a borrower. You were collateral wrapped in skin.

The Hungarian Banking Association even went on record in 2006, assuring people that the forint would never weaken beyond 270–275 HUF/EUR. Spoiler: it tanked to nearly 330. That wasn’t just a bad forecast — it was the financial equivalent of a doctor prescribing cigarettes for a cough.

FX mortgages became the preferred option promoted by both the financial and political systems. The entire banking industry pushed a very aggressive mortgage propaganda.

How Banks Profited — Twice

Every FX loan was a magician’s trick:

You applied in forints (HUF, Hungary’s national currency).

You were approved in forints.

You were told the numbers in forints.

Then — abracadabra! — at contract signing, your loan turned into a Swiss franc chimera.

At disbursement, Banks converted francs to forints at below-market rates, padding their pockets. For Repayment, your forints were reconverted to francs at worse rates, gutting your repayment power.

Profit in. Profit out. All legal. All applauded.

And if the forint strengthened?

Many banks hedged both ways. That wasn’t risk management — that was you betting on both horses and still losing.

Government’s Pseudo Steps — Orchestrated Theater

When the Swiss central bank unexpectedly allowed the franc to jump, it rattled Central and Eastern Europe, with Poland and Hungary hit hardest as countless franc-denominated mortgages became unserviceable and family budgets were thrown into disarray.

The Hungarian state didn’t bungle the FX mortgage crisis. It choreographed it.

Between 2011 and 2015, instead of letting courts enforce EU consumer protection rules (i.e. EU Directive 93/13/EEC on unfair terms in consumer contracts) provides that contracts with unfair terms are not binding on consumers, and unfair terms must be removed (they “shall not bind the consumer”), with certain consequences, the government staged a series of “solutions” that looked good on paper but were theater for the cameras:

• Fixed-Exchange Windows (2011): Only the wealthy could participate. If you had cash, you got temporary relief. If not, you got a front-row seat to your own financial funeral.

• 2015 Conversion: Foreign-currency mortgages were converted to forints at prevailing market rates — after the forint had fallen 73%. Borrowers absorbed the entire loss. Banks smiled. Politicians called it a solution.

The result? Families who had repaid more than the original loan still owed the same amount. The government didn’t fail to protect citizens — it ensured banks could never fail on its watch.

In Hungary, “helping people” meant legalizing the FX scam, going against the EU consumer protection rules and blocking all legal remedies. That’s not incompetence. That’s prioritizing profit over people, then dressing it in bureaucratic respectability.

Poland vs. Hungary: Same Storm, Different Boats

Poland faced the same FX mortgage tsunami, but its courts, not politicians, handled significantly better the fallout. By 2025, nearly 190,000 lawsuits had been filed there, many ending with borrowers recovering real money.

Hungary? The government blocked legal avenues, staged “pseudo-solutions,” and declared the matter closed. Justice wasn’t delayed here — it was abolished by decree.

The New Game-Changer: Case C-630/23

On April 30, 2025, the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU, Case C-630/23) dropped a bomb. It declared:

• Contracts that dump all currency risk onto uninformed consumers are unfair.

• Removing the unfair term isn’t enough — restitution must restore the consumer to the pre-contract position.

• Partial refunds? Not acceptable. Crumbs don’t fix decades of policy negligence.

If this ruling is enforced in Hungary, the FX mortgage saga isn’t history — it’s a live wire. Thousands of cases could be reopened. Banks could face massive paybacks. The government’s 2015 “grand solution” could be exposed as unlawful window dressing.

The Bottom Line — How a Generation Was Sold Out

Hungary didn’t just mismanage FX mortgages. It mis-sold reality itself.

Foreign-currency loans were marketed as opportunity. In truth, they were a masterclass in shifting risk while preserving profit. Borrowers became collateral, contracts were traps, and governments acted as referees only for the winning team: the banks.

When the 2008 crisis hit, the Swiss franc appreciated by more than 70% against the forint. Families were crushed. Banks collected hidden spreads. Government “remedies” arrived too late or excluded the majority.

Poland chose courts over decree. Hungary chose legislation over justice.

The C-630/23 ruling proves one thing: the contracts may be old, the propaganda stale, but the injustice is still alive. Hungarians didn’t just buy homes. They subscribed to a system designed to bleed them slowly.

Will Hungary seize this chance to correct history, or double down on the narrative that everything was done “for the people”?

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Notes for Foreign Readers

1. HUF: Hungarian forint, Hungary’s currency.

2. FX mortgages: Loans denominated in foreign currencies (CHF or EUR).

3. CJEU: European Union’s highest court. C-630/23 is a landmark ruling on unfair consumer contracts.

4. Polish comparison: Shows a neighboring country addressing FX mortgages with legal recourse rather than political decree.

If you want insight beyond headlines and ideology, this is your first step.

In Hungary, “freedom of enterprise” is a trap. The law does not protect entrepreneurs; it ambushes them. To obey the system is often to perish within it. The Hungarian entrepreneur who survives is not the most compliant, but the most evasive—the one who bends the rules just enough to stay alive. Here, illegality is not an exception to the system. It is the system’s byproduct. The grey economy is less a shady alternative than a state-sanctioned refuge—the only place where survival remains possible. Paradoxically, the true outlaw in Hungary is not the rule-breaker, but the rule-follower.

Politicians, policymakers, and the National Bank proclaim their devotion to “strengthening” small and medium-sized enterprises. But the framework they impose—punitive taxes, suffocating regulation, predatory enforcement—ensures the opposite.

In Hungary, compliance isn’t rewarded; it’s penalized. The entrepreneur who plays strictly by the book shrinks, fails, or disappears. The one who survives often does so by slipping into informality. This isn’t moral weakness. It’s systemic design.

The obstacles are not glitches in the system. They are the system. Each policy tilts the field further against small players. And when legality becomes impossible, illegality becomes inevitable.

Let’s follow the chain of pressure.

The Domino Effect of Systemic Barriers

1. Standard VAT Rates

Hungary’s standard VAT rate of 27 %—the highest in the European Union—puts domestic SMEs at an immediate disadvantage. Germany’s rate is 19 %, meaning identical goods cost about 8 percentage points more in Hungary—equating to approximately 6–7 % higher prices at the consumer level. In price-sensitive markets, that difference can determine who survives and who shrinks.

While the EU’s 2021 e-commerce VAT reforms—particularly the introduction of the One-Stop Shop and removal of low-value import VAT exemptions—did simplify compliance and boost collected revenues Taxation and Customs Union, they did not alter the underlying VAT rate, nor fully address the long-standing competitive handicap faced by Hungarian micro and small businesses.

2. VAT Payment Frequency

Unlike most EU peers who pay quarterly, Hungarian microbusinesses hit a low monthly threshold that forces pre-financing VAT. This creates chronic liquidity crises: often entrepreneurs pay the state before they get paid by clients.

3. Narrow Tax Options

The once-popular KATA flat-tax regime, gutted in 2022, now excludes most freelancers, exporters, and growth-minded businesses. What was designed to simplify now penalizes ambition: outgrowing KATA means drowning in complexity.

4. Tax Authority as Predator

Where other EU tax authorities act as advisors, Hungary’s operates like a debt collector. Miss a deadline, and your accounts can be frozen. For small businesses, this often means instant death—not rehabilitation.

5. Consumer Protection Overreach

Hungary extends EU consumer protections to extremes, imposing warranty rules and penalties that multinationals can absorb but one-person shops cannot. Selling a handmade product now carries obligations only a corporate compliance team could meet.

6. Banking Costs

Banks pile on fees—monthly charges, transaction taxes, FX margins—while fintech alternatives are throttled. Small firms pay some of Europe’s highest costs just to move their own money.

7. Public Procurement Gatekeeping

Tenders are written for the big and the connected. SMEs rarely qualify, cutting them off from lucrative state contracts. What should be opportunity becomes exclusion.

8. Licensing and Permits

Starting or expanding a business means weeks—or months—of approvals, inconsistent across municipalities. What takes days online elsewhere in Europe becomes an unpredictable slog in Hungary.

9. Capital Poverty

With collateral-heavy banking and shallow venture markets, Hungarian SMEs remain underfunded. Ideas are not scarce; financing is. Growth stalls because the tools to fuel it don’t exist.

10. Biased Subsidy Distribution

EU funds flow not to the hungry but to the well-fed—large, connected firms. Applications are labyrinthine, deadlines short, criteria selective. For small players, “development support” is a mirage.

11. Forced Informality

Payroll taxes, VAT, and admin overload drive many into the grey economy. This isn’t greed; it’s endurance. Hungary’s informal economy ranks among Europe’s largest because legality itself has been priced out of reach.

12. Administrative Overload

For microbusinesses, half the job is paperwork. Online cash registers, invoice reporting, statistical filings—tasks multinationals outsource but that eat up the hours of a two-person shop. Compliance becomes the business.

13. Cultural Stigma

Entrepreneurs navigating impossible burdens are branded “cheats.” Public discourse blames the victim while ignoring the system that made legality unattainable. The state manufactures illegality, then moralizes against it.

14. Labor Laws as a Growth Trap

Hiring even one employee is prohibitively expensive due to payroll taxes and rigid rules. For microbusinesses, staff expansion often means stepping outside the law—or never expanding at all.

A Paradox of Talent

Hungary has unintentionally bred some of Europe’s most resourceful entrepreneurs. They survive on razor-thin margins, navigate Byzantine bureaucracy, and improvise around arbitrary rules. In another country, these skills would be celebrated as resilience and ingenuity. In Hungary, they are criminalized.

This is the tragedy: the state manufactures informality, then wastes the entrepreneurial energy it produces. What could be Europe’s most competitive SME sector becomes a survivalist underground.

A Broken Incentive Machine

The Hungarian state does not enable enterprise—it manages it. It controls entry points, distributes subsidies selectively, and bleeds small players through taxation and fees. The result is not growth but dependency.

When compliance is impossible, illegality is rational. The grey economy is not pathology—it is adaptation. To condemn entrepreneurs for informality is to punish them twice: first by denying them viable legal paths, then by stigmatizing the survival strategies that follow.

The Way Forward

This need not be Hungary’s destiny. Other European states prove that fairness and proportionality can unleash SME competitiveness. Hungary could:

• Reduce VAT pressure on small players.

• Restore scalable, transparent tax regimes.

• Tailor consumer laws to firm size, not corporate lobbying.

• Open procurement and subsidies to genuine competition.

Freedom of enterprise requires more than slogans.

It requires rules that allow survival without illegality.

Until that happens, Hungarian entrepreneurs will remain trapped in a system where the most law-abiding act may be to stop obeying the law at all.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Hungary’s Sándor Demján Capital Program is being hailed as the country’s "largest-ever SME program"—but a closer look at the criteria reveals it’s far from inclusive. With revenue and headcount thresholds that exclude 85–90% of SMEs, this initiative primarily serves a narrow, elite segment, all while being marketed as a systemic reform. It’s a flagship program designed for the few, marketed to the many.

Chronic capital poverty has defined Hungary’s small- and medium-sized businesses (SMEs) for three decades—undercapitalized, overleveraged, and locked into a vicious cycle where growth is nearly unattainable.

Given this, a large-scale equity program isn’t just welcome—it’s long overdue.

The real question is whether the recently announced Sándor Demján Capital Program actually addresses this critical need or merely gives the illusion of reform.

The Sándor Demján Capital Program

According to the Hungarian Government, the Sándor Demján Capital Program is a flagship initiative within the broader Sándor Demján Program, aimed at accelerating growth and strengthening Hungarian SMEs. The Hungarian Chamber of Commerce and Industry (Magyar Kereskedelmi és Iparkamara) claims about the program:

“The aim of the Sándor Demján Capital Program is to encourage investments by micro, small and medium-sized enterprises, to strengthen their capital base, and thereby improve their creditworthiness. The program pays particular attention to supporting investments related to infrastructure and capacity expansion, market expansion, exports, technological development, digitalization, improvements in energy efficiency, and business development.”

It’s also touted as the largest SME capital program ever launched in Hungary.

With an initial allocation of HUF 100 billion, the program offers equity-like capital ranging from HUF 100 million to HUF 200 million to eligible SMEs. The cost of capital is set at an annual 5%, significantly below market rates.

Crucially, businesses can access the funds with a 0% equity contribution and no collateral, which improves creditworthiness and unlocks additional financing opportunities.

The program is jointly implemented by:

• The Hungarian Chamber of Commerce and Industry (MKIK)

• National Capital Holding (NTH)

• The Hungarian Development Bank (MFB)

Program Target Group

The officially communicated target group includes Hungarian micro, small, and medium-sized enterprises that meet the following criteria:

• At least two closed financial years

• An average annual revenue of at least HUF 300 million (approx. €750k)

• A minimum of two employees

• At least 50% Hungarian ownership

The funding can be used flexibly for purposes including expansion, acquisitions, digitalization, renewable energy, marketing, hiring, inventory financing, consulting, follow-on investments, and even owner-management buyouts.

A Reality Check: Beyond Political Spin

Sounds like a great initiative, right?

As of July 2025, over 55 companies have already received approval, totaling HUF 10.8 billion. The program is said to aim to support 500–600 enterprises in total. Certainly, this is great news for those 55 companies that secured support.

But what happens when political marketing meets the hard data?

According to the Hungarian Central Statistical Office (KSH), there are approximately 902,000 businesses operating in Hungary. Of these, 99% are classified as SMEs.
Interestingly, 73% of all businesses are sole proprietors or have fewer than two employees, meaning they fall outside the headcount criteria for micro-enterprises.
Roughly 22% of Hungarian businesses employ between 2 and 9 people, placing them within the official definition of micro-enterprises by headcount.

Based on an average revenue of €54,000 per employee for micro-enterprises (2–9 employees), a 9-person firm is estimated to generate approximately €486,000 in annual revenue. (Rounded to €490,000 for simplicity; assumes a constant per-head revenue across firm sizes.)

Based on these numbers, it’s clear the program is designed for a very narrow segment of SMEs:

• 4% of SMEs qualify as small enterprises (with average revenue of €101,000 per head)

• 0.6% of SMEs qualify as medium-sized enterprises (with average revenue of €163,000 per head)

While the political messaging frames the program as a broad solution for all SMEs, its eligibility criteria effectively exclude ~95% of businesses.

A very small, top-performing subset of micro-enterprises—those with higher-than-average revenue—would meet the minimum requirements. In fact, over 99% of micro-enterprises are excluded from the program by default.

In the best case, this program in reality targets the top 5% of the SME universe.

Summing Up the Numbers

Although the program is marketed as a broad initiative for SMEs, a closer look at the data reveals that it effectively excludes 95% of Hungarian SMEs.

As of the latest figures (end of July 2025), only 55 companies have been approved.
According to recent government statements, the target is to reach 500–600 companies by year-end.

When these numbers are extrapolated across the SME landscape, the true participation rate is just 0.06–0.07%.

Even when focusing only on the relevant small and medium-sized enterprises (excluding micro-enterprises), the rate barely reaches 1.2–1.4%.

This is yet another example of a program designed for the few but sold to the many—a familiar marketing (or propaganda) tool often employed by the current government.
It does not represent systemic reform, nor does it signal a genuine commitment to supporting SMEs at large. Rather, it reinforces the position of a small, already well-placed elite within the SME sector.

While the financial support may be meaningful for the selected few, the program fails to engage with the broader structural challenges faced by Hungarian SMEs—particularly the micro-enterprises that make up the overwhelming majority.

Key Takeaways: A Narrative Summary

Despite being promoted as a broad solution for Hungary’s small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs), the program in question leaves the country’s core business segment untouched.

The real structural problems remain unaddressed.

Hungary is home to over 850,000 micro-enterprises, employing nearly 1.3 million people and indirectly supporting an estimated 2.5 to 3 million citizens. These are not fringe operators—they are the foundation of the Hungarian economy. Yet, they are persistently excluded from policy considerations, treated as marginal players in economic planning. This isn’t just poor economics. It’s bad governance.

Hungary’s economic performance has lagged behind its Central and Eastern European (CEE) peers for decades. This is not a coincidence. The country’s long-term stagnation can be traced back to the systematic neglect of micro-enterprises—the very entities that drive grassroots entrepreneurship, regional employment, and innovation.

Look across the region, and a pattern emerges: countries that invest more strategically in their SMEs are consistently outperforming Hungary on key economic indicators. These governments have recognized that SMEs are more than a policy talking point—they are a growth engine. In contrast, Hungary’s approach has placed artificial ceilings on business development, through policies that inhibit scale, reduce flexibility, and suppress competitiveness.

A perfect example of this is the recent 2025 EU VAT reform for small enterprises. The updated EU SME Special Scheme introduces two thresholds for VAT excemption:

• A domestic threshold (up to €85,000) within the country of establishment

• A cross-border threshold (€100,000), allowing small businesses to sell in other EU countries without registering separately in each jurisdiction—provided they stay under the limit and submit quarterly reports using a designated EX number

This reform opens the door for EU-resident small businesses to expand across the single market under simplified VAT conditions. However, each member state sets its own domestic threshold, and this is where Hungary’s policy choices again fall short.

While many CEE countries have adopted higher thresholds and more inclusive flat-tax regimes, Hungary maintains a threshold of just €45,000. The result? Around 80% of Hungarian micro-enterprises are excluded from leveraging the new VAT regime. This isn’t a minor technical detail—it’s a structural chokehold on the ambitions of small entrepreneurs.

Hungarian business owners are effectively punished for growing, blocked from simplified regulatory schemes that their counterparts in neighboring countries can freely access. The ecosystem is fragmented and constrained—not just by market forces, but by design.

This is not simply policy inertia. It reflects a deeper systemic problem.

When a government continuously ignores the majority to protect the privileges of a well-positioned minority, it’s not reform—it’s regression dressed up as policy.

Yes, the current program may bring tangible benefits to a select few. But for the overwhelming majority of SMEs—especially the micro-enterprises who form the backbone of the economy—it offers little more than a reminder of their ongoing exclusion.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your Tenth Man view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt—so long as it builds on data. The most useful critique is often the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

This essay explores how political branding has shaped Hungary’s electoral landscape. Prime Minister Viktor Orbán’s ruling Fidesz–KDNP coalition has secured four consecutive supermajorities by building a clear, emotionally resonant brand centered on belonging, security, and control — executed with long-term strategic discipline. In contrast, the opposition has consistently failed to articulate a shared purpose, identity, or message. Fragmented, reactive, and protest-driven, it has lacked emotional connection and struggled to present a compelling alternative. The result: four decisive victories for the ruling coalition, and four defeats for the opposition. Hungarian voter behavior is driven less by ideology than by emotion. Without strategic brand-building, opposition parties remain ineffective — even as dissatisfaction with Fidesz grows.

Conventional wisdom suggests that leaders must “walk the talk.” My usual contrarian approach is the reverse this time: focus on the talk rather than the walk. In this essay, I deliberately set aside the question of whether the political “product” delivers. Instead, I analyze the communication, the narrative work, and the branding strategies that underpin Fidesz’s dominance.

As a marketer, I know that branding is one of the most effective long-term investments. Strong brands generate superior shareholder returns, wheather crises with resilience, and recover faster. Politics is no different. A brand is not a slogan but a system — multi-layered and strategically constructed. When executed well, it includes:

• Brand Core: a clear blueprint and purpose

• Brand Identity: coherent architecture and visual design

• Brand Positioning: a well-defined market address

• Brand Experience: a narrative about how it feels to engage with the brand

• Brand Communication: a distinct and consistent voice

• Brand Consistency: unified messaging and visuals

• Brand Engagement: a strong bond with its community

This essay is therefore not a policy analysis but an exercise in political marketing — focused on branding and brand strategy.

From an objective standpoint, since returning to power in 2010, Orbán’s Fidesz–KDNP coalition has delivered one of the most consistent, strategically disciplined, and impactful political communication campaigns in post-communist Europe — arguably even by Western standards.

From a marketing perspective, the government operated like a high-performance boutique brand: continuously investing in communication, cultivating emotional loyalty, asserting narrative dominance, and shaping public discourse with remarkable discipline.

The opposition, by contrast, has often explained its failures by pointing to government propaganda, media dominance, or the supposed ignorance of voters. While these factors cannot be dismissed entirely, they also serve as convenient excuses that deflect responsibility. The deeper problem is simpler: in marketing terms, the opposition is vastly less professional.

This essay aims to unpack some of the branding layers — particularly in the formative 2010–2015 period — that established Fidesz’s enduring dominance.

Take 1:

Political Marketing Has to Understand the Need States Driving Political Brand Choice

The year 2010 marks a pivotal milestone in Hungarian political marketing. It was when Viktor Orbán and the Fidesz–KDNP coalition won the elections, launching four consecutive supermajorities.

Understanding this “ground zero” moment is crucial to analyzing their success, extracting lessons, and applying them today for the benefit of democracy as a whole.

Ahead of the 2010 national elections, the Hungarian branch of Synovate (now Ipsos), a global marketing research firm, released insights on how political brands were positioned during the national election campaign.

Travelling back to understand this “ground zero” moment, revisiting Synovate’s (now Ipsos) proprietary Censydiam model reveals important insights. The analysis treats political choice not as a rational or ideological decision, but as an emotionally driven act rooted in subconscious motivations.

Unlike consumer goods, political brands are complex constructs made up of people, values, narratives, and cultural signals. Yet, like consumer products, political brands succeed only when they satisfy specific emotional and psychological needs of voters — essentially, political “need states.”

Understading the Censydiam Framework

The Censydiam model is built around two axes:

• Horizontal: Individualism (self-driven) vs. Collectivism (community-driven)

• Vertical: Openness (trust, extroversion) vs. Closedness (doubt, introversion)

These intersecting axes create eight distinct motivational segments, each representing a different psychological driver of brand — or voter — choice:

Because 80% of human behavior is subconscious, voters often choose parties based on what feels right emotionally, rather than stated beliefs.

Therefore people often don’t vote according to what they say they believe, but based on emotional alignment — which parties, brands, or leaders "feel right" to them.

Mapping Political Brands to Motivation Segments

Political ideologies and political brands, the press release argues, are no different —also map to these needs.

Earlier Synovate (now Ipsos) studies also found that Hungarian voters cluster heavily in the Belonging and Security segments, with a secondary presence in Control. This makes Hungary a voter base that is emotionally drawn to community, protection, and order — more than novelty, prestige, or fun.

Hungarian Political Parties in the 2010 Campaign

Understanding this, successful political parties in Hungary are those who speak directly to these motivations — and those that don’t often fail to connect with voters, regardless of their policy platform. During the 2010 election campaign, the analysis mapped Hungarian political parties based on how their campaign messages and branding aligned with motivational needs.

• Jobbik (far-right nationalist): Positioned clearly in the Control segment, emphasizing national self-governance, law and order, with uniforms and disciplined imagery.

• LMP (green/liberal): Targeted Recognition, appealing to young urban voters with creative visuals and “being different” messaging.

• MDF & Civic Movement: Lacked clear positioning, falling between Enjoyment and Conviviality, leading to electoral irrelevance.

• Fidesz–KDNP (center-right): Centered on Belonging (+++) and Security (+), using family-oriented visuals and slogans promoting stability.

• MSZP (socialist): Claimed Security (+++) and Belonging (+), but failed to emotionally outcompete Fidesz.

Notably, both mass parties operated in overlapping motivational zones, but Fidesz outperformed by presenting a more trustworthy and emotionally aligned narrative, especially in post-crisis Hungary.

Key Strategic Takeaways from the Press Release

• Voter choice is emotional first, ideological second.

• Clarity beats complexity: niche parties must own a single motivational space.

Hungary’s dominant voter needs are Belonging, Security, and Control. Successful brands own and reinforce these spaces consistently.

Take 2:

There is a Need for Offering Alternative to Orbán’s Political Brand About Clarity and Control

Since 2010, Viktor Orbán’s Fidesz has established itself as one of Europe’s most effective political brands, excelling across nearly every branding layer during its first two terms.

Fidesz built its dominance by excelling across every major layer of branding — and by venturing into advanced strategic territories.

Brand Core: They articulated a clear mission and emotionally charged purpose. Since 2010, Fidesz has consistently framed itself as the protector of Hungary’s sovereignty, Christian values, and national identity — a unifying vision that resonated across elections.

Brand Identity: They cultivated a stable and recognizable image. Consistent use of national colors, familiar fonts, slogans such as “Hungary is doing better”, and Orbán’s central, CEO-like figure reinforced a coherent political identity.

Brand Positioning: They claimed key emotional territories — Belonging, Security, and Control. By presenting themselves as the party of stability and tradition, in contrast to a fragmented opposition, Fidesz aligned with voter fears and aspirations in uncertain times.

Brand Experience: They staged campaigns as emotional, community-driven spectacles. Large-scale rallies, family-centered visuals, and grassroots events fostered belonging and pride, making political participation feel empowering and communal.

Brand Communication: They mastered simple, emotionally resonant messaging. Narratives like “Stop Brussels”, “Protect our families”, and “Let’s not become like the West” relied on repetition and moral framing to build lasting associations.

Brand Consistency: They reinforced stability through disciplined leadership and centralized control. Orbán’s continued role, long-term communication strategy, and message alignment across all party levels sustained trust and brand strength.

Brand Engagement: They cultivated a strong bond with their community, positioning themselves not just as a political party but as a cultural identity. Like Apple or Nike, Fidesz sells a lifestyle: belonging to the “true Hungary.”

Narrative Expansion: They broadened appeal by selectively adopting left-wing themes such as family subsidies or wage growth, reframed within nationalist rhetoric. This allowed the brand to resonate across social classes while preserving ideological coherence.

Global Positioning: Like a boutique brand, Hungary under Fidesz commands disproportionate global attention. Bold, polarizing messages amplified by international media make the brand larger than its domestic market size.

Brand Risks: The model is not without vulnerabilities. Heavy reliance on fear-based messaging risks voter fatigue; international reputational damage could erode credibility abroad; and without innovation, the brand may stagnate.

Fidesz’s success illustrates how professional, disciplined branding can shape political outcomes over the long term. By systematically building a clear mission, recognizable identity, emotionally resonant positioning, and engaging narratives — while expanding into global attention and lifestyle-based appeal — the party created a brand that transcends ordinary politics. Its dominance is not simply a product of resources or government control, but of sustained, strategic brand management. Understanding these layers helps explain why the opposition has struggled to compete: without comparable brand clarity, coherence, and emotional resonance, even widespread dissatisfaction with the ruling party fails to translate into electoral success.

Take 3:

Regain the Occupied Traditional Left-Wing Spaces or Find New Proprietary Narratives

Part of Orbán’s success comes from strategically occupying emotional spaces traditionally associated with the left:

• Utility price cuts framed as protection from foreign corporations.

• Family benefits implemented through a nationalist lens.

• Anti-globalist rhetoric targeting the EU, George Soros, and multinational corporations.

• Worker-centric messaging blending pro-labor rhetoric with nationalist themes.

By appropriating these areas, Fidesz limits the opposition’s ability to claim distinctive, proprietary narratives. For the opposition to regain relevance, they must work harder to identify issues and narratives that genuinely resonate with voters — ones that reflect their values while addressing contemporary concerns.

Take 4:

Missed Opportunities and Weaknesses Define the Opposition’s Brand Void

In stark contrast to Fidesz’s disciplined and emotionally resonant branding, the Hungarian opposition between 2010 and 2025 consistently struggled to construct a coherent political brand. While the ruling party delivered clarity, the opposition projected confusion — reactive, fragmented, and emotionally unanchored. Across seven core branding dimensions, the weaknesses are especially visible:

Brand Core: The opposition lacked a unified purpose or emotional mission. MSZP (Hungarian Socialist Party) drifted between diluted social democracy and short-term populist gestures, while the Democratic Coalition (DK), led by former Prime Minister Ferenc Gyurcsány, focused more on opposing Orbán than presenting a forward-looking national vision. Without a compelling blueprint or shared direction, the opposition’s offer felt like rejection rather than renewal, failing to inspire lasting loyalty.

Brand Identity: Parties repeatedly rebranded into obscurity. Names, logos, slogans, and alliances shifted frequently. LMP gradually lost its distinctiveness, Together 2014 offered little coherence, and Momentum struggled to maintain a singular identity as it expanded. Voters were left unsure who stood for what — or why.

Brand Positioning: Most opposition parties defined themselves primarily as “anti-Fidesz,” rather than clarifying what they stood for. Jobbik’s shift from far-right nationalist to centrist alliance partner blurred ideological lines and alienated its base. MSZP and DK often competed in the same space, undermining collective appeal. Without a clear address in the political market, voters struggled to locate them.

Brand Experience: Opposition events lacked emotional pull. Unlike Fidesz’s large-scale rallies, Momentum’s “NOlimpia” campaign in 2017 was a rare grassroots success. Most other events felt transactional — opportunities to engage were limited, sporadic, and rarely repeatable.

Brand Communication: Messaging was often complex, technocratic, or overly negative. MSZP and DK emphasized policy details and bureaucratic critique, missing the emotional and symbolic language that connects with voters. Social media efforts were inconsistent; Momentum leveraged digital platforms effectively, but in isolation. Overall, opposition communication focused on resistance rather than vision.

Brand Consistency: Frequent leadership changes, shifting alliances, and internal conflicts undermined public trust. Each election cycle brought new logos, new leaders, or new crises, preventing the delivery of a steady, reliable narrative.

Brand Engagement: Opposition presence outside urban centers was limited. Momentum reached younger, educated voters, but broader grassroots networks were weak. The 2022 opposition alliance appeared top-down and disconnected in rural communities, whereas Fidesz maintained local networks and year-round engagement.

The opposition did not fail solely because of Orbán’s strength; it failed because it never built a coherent, emotionally resonant, and strategically disciplined brand. While Fidesz offered voters a mission, identity, and community, the opposition offered only protest and resentment. Slogans like “O1G” express anger but fail to build vision or emotional connection, limiting appeal to moderate or undecided voters.

Unless the opposition addresses this branding deficit — uniting around a shared mission, streamlining its identity, and connecting emotionally with Hungary’s dominant voter needs (Belonging, Security, Control) — it will continue to lose not only elections, but trust.

Take 5:

Opposition Without Vision is Constantly Locked in a Endless Protest Loop

From 1990 to 2010, Hungarian politics was dominated by cycles of protest driven more by voter fatigue than by visionary alternatives.

Today, the opposition risks falling into the same trap. Outrage-driven campaigns, clickbait-style slogans, and aggressive rhetoric — such as the viral O1G hashtag or anti-Orbán memes — may capture attention online and generate likes and shares, but they fail to build credibility, trust, or lasting voter loyalty. Relying on O1G as a platform is neither strategic marketing nor effective brand building; it lacks vision and offers voters no compelling alternative.

By contrast, Fidesz combines emotional resonance with disciplined, multi-layered branding. Slogans like “Stop Brussels” and “Protect our families” are not only attention-grabbing, they are consistent, repeatable, and tied to a clear mission. The party amplifies these narratives across rallies, social media, and grassroots events, reinforcing identity, belonging, and long-term engagement. The opposition, in contrast, remains trapped in reactive protest: visible and viral, but fleeting and strategically hollow.

The lesson is clear: attention alone does not translate into influence or votes. To compete effectively, opposition parties must move beyond outrage-driven campaigns and memes, and instead develop a coherent brand strategy. This requires defining a unifying mission, crafting emotionally resonant narratives, and consistently communicating a vision that addresses voters’ core needs — Belonging, Security, and Control. Only by building a disciplined, authentic, and strategically designed political brand can the opposition transform short-term online engagement into lasting trust and electoral success, creating a credible alternative to Fidesz’s entrenched dominance.

Conclusion

Protest Might Win, But It Won’t Build

Let’s be honest: Hungarian politics has been a playground for propaganda for far too long.

Between 2010 and 2018, Fidesz–KDNP proved that disciplined, emotionally intelligent marketing could win hearts and minds. They built a brand, told a story, and created a sense of belonging. Then, somewhere along the way, the marketing compass broke. In the last two terms, exaggeration, fear, and top-down messaging crept in. Propaganda became the tool of choice. Fear replaced vision. Control replaced dialogue. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that this shift coincided with a slowdown in the country’s economic performance — when the underlying “product” falters, the messaging became louder, sharper, and more manipulative to compensate.

Meanwhile, the opposition has been living in propaganda’s shadow all along — reactive, clickbait-driven, outrage-based, and ever-chasing viral attention. O1G, memes, hashtags — they grab likes, but they don’t build trust. Even new voices like Péter Magyar, bright and visible, carry echoes of Fidesz’s inner circles and haven’t learned the craft of ethical persuasion. They are trapped in a loop: protest as performance, not as a pathway to lasting influence.

Here’s the contrarian truth: the path to real change is not louder shouting. It’s disciplined ethical marketing. And that comes with rules — the do’s and don’ts too often ignored:

• Do use facts, not lies. Don’t distort reality.

• Do respect opponents. Don’t dehumanize or scare-monger.

• Do listen to all (!!!) voters. Don’t speak past them.

• Do be transparent. Don’t hide your intent behind fake neutrality.

• Do use emotion honestly. Don’t manipulate fear or hatred.

• Do allow debate. Don’t silence dissent.

• Do maintain ethical standards. Don’t cut corners.

Here’s the twist: if your strategy feels comfortable, you’re probably wrong.

Ethical marketing in Hungary will require imagination, courage, and a willingness to break the cycle of reactive outrage. Clicks, shares, and viral outrage will not build a movement. Vision, discipline, and ethical persuasion just might.

Sell what people feel they need, not just what they scream for online.

Belonging. Security. Control.

These aren’t slogans — they are the human drivers every strategist ignores at their peril.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right — I write to be tested. Bring your “Tenth Man” perspective, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt — as long as it is supported by evidence and data. Sometimes the most useful critique is the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

Share

What if elections weren’t true accountability—but the illusion of it?
This manifesto challenges the comforting rituals of representative democracy and asks harder questions about performance of elected representatives, power, and public trust. Drawing from Hungary’s recent political record, it exposes how even measurable successes can conceal deeper failures—and offers a bold framework for holding elected officials to real, ongoing standards. This isn’t a call for revolution. It’s a call for results.

A Manifesto from Inside the System—Without Illusions

If I were a politician I would start with this manifesto for accountability.

Not because it’s comfortable. Not because it’s clever. But because it’s honest about a system we all defend publicly while often questioning privately.

Let me be clear: this is not a manifesto for a revolution. It’s not an act of idealism. It’s not designed to go viral.

This is what I’d say if I were a politician who no longer believed in the fantasy that elections equal accountability (at least not enough), or that slogans equal vision. I would write this knowing that most people are tired—not inspired.

That institutions protect themselves.

That citizens have more skepticism than hope.

But I’d also write this because some things are too broken to manage—and too important to abandon.

So this manifesto doesn’t promise fast change. It doesn’t pretend to offer immediate reform. It doesn’t flatter citizens into believing they have more power than they do. It exists for another reason:

To show that one can enter politics without surrendering independent thought.
To prove that critique isn’t disloyalty—it’s integrity.
And to begin rebuilding a language of democratic accountability that means something again.

If I were a politician, I wouldn’t run on this manifesto for accountability.

I would be held to it.

Preamble for The Democratic Accountability of Elected Representatives Manifesto

We, the undersigned, reject the complacency that democracy, simply by having elected representatives, is functioning. We reject the idea that elections, slogans, and symbolic participation constitute the only true public power. We reject the idea that the elected representative is accountable only every four years. And we reject the delusion that leaders can govern without precise goals, deliver without metrics, and rule without consequence.

This is not a call for revolution. It’s a call for performance. For results.

For a representative democracy that works like the systems we already trust: competitive markets, real-time dashboards, empowered shareholders.

We demand a democracy that performs—or stops calling itself one. Because the alternative to non-performing democracy isn’t autocracy—it’s structural reform.

Principles of Democratic Performance by Elected Representatives

To ensure true democratic accountability, elected representatives must meet clear standards of performance—guided by the following five core principles.

1. Citizens Are Shareholders, Not Spectators

Citizens must have a binding voice in goal-setting, budget priorities, and public leadership. Voting every four years isn’t power—it’s the illusion of power.

2. Set the Goal, or Lose the Job

Political parties and representatives must publish binding, measurable mandates and effective goal setting upon election—and face regular public audits on their progress quarterly.

3. Performance Must Be Public

SMART framework, government and elected representative KPIs, budgets, and delivery reports must be published like earnings calls—clearly, comparably, and accessibly.

4. Recall Is a Right, Not a Riot

Citizens must be able to withdraw political executives between elections through a structured recall mechanism in case of poor performance.

5. Independent Oversight, with Teeth

Oversight institutions must be funded, autonomous, and immune to political interference—like external auditors in a corporation. The work of these institution should build on citizens control and feedback.

Just as successful businesses rely on clear goals, transparent reporting, and regular performance reviews to create value and maintain trust, democratic governance requires the same rigor. Without adopting a accountability mindset, politics remains a game of narratives rather than real outcomes.

Hungary: A Case in Point

To illustrate how even measurable achievements can mask deeper structural issues, Hungary provides a revealing case.

To ensure fairness, I’ve deliberately selected a clearly measurable, publicly stated commitment by the current ruling conservative party alliance (Fidesz–KDNP), which has held uninterrupted power with a supermajority for four consecutive terms. It would be nearly impossible to identify comparable, trackable commitments from the opposition as a whole.

Over the past 15 years, the ruling coalition has made numerous promises—most of them vague or lacking measurable targets. However, one notable exception stands out: the explicit commitment to create 1 million new jobs within 10 years.

And on this point, they delivered. The job creation target was met within the pledged timeframe—an achievement in its own right, particularly given how rare it is for political actors to make, let alone fulfill, such quantifiable commitments.

But here, the tenth man rule becomes relevant—that principle that when nine people agree, it becomes the responsibility of the tenth to ask hard questions.

So, we must ask:

At what cost was this achieved?

Were there structural side effects?

What were the trade-offs?

Without attempting an exhaustive response to the earlier questions, the list below outlines key costs, structural side effects, and trade-offs observed during the implementation of Hungary’s employment and reindustrialization agenda—pursued under the current ruling coalition:

• 2010: Launch of the "reindustrialization" strategy under Prime Minister Orbán, prioritizing investment in manufacturing and production sectors. Hungary's "reindustrialization" was marketed as sovereignty-building — yet paradoxically, it outsourced economic resilience to foreign boardrooms. In trying to escape IMF-era austerity, the country may have traded financial dependency for industrial servitude. While “reindustrialization” boosted job quantity in manufacturing, it often resulted in job quality issues, skill stagnation, regional disparities, and vulnerability to external economic forces, limiting sustainable long-term employment growth.

• 2011: Intensive use of government-mandated workfare programs to reduce official unemployment, often substituting for long-term employment policies. While workfare programs lowered official unemployment stats, they masked deeper structural problems, encouraged a cycle of precarious, low-skill jobs, and diverted focus from sustainable employment policies.

• 2012: Increase in the standard VAT rate from 25% to 27%. Raising VAT to the world’s highest rate didn’t just boost government revenue — it quietly choked off the true driver of jobs: consumer spending. Sometimes, the most powerful employment policy isn’t how much you spend, but what you choose to tax. The steep VAT increase hit the heart of the SME sector hardest, undermining competitiveness. It became a hidden tax on SME lifeblood, shrinking profits, complicating compliance, and pushing some toward informality—all while shrinking the very customer base SMEs rely on to thrive and grow.

• 2015–2024: Hungary recorded the highest annual inflation rate in the EU in five separate years within a decade. Hungary’s chronic inflation wasn’t just a number—it was a slow bleed on job stability, SME resilience, and real livelihoods, making every economic plan a moving target. High inflation wasn’t just an economic headline — it quietly drained people’s real life quality, squeezing budgets, futures, and even health, while governments scrambled to keep up.

• 2015–2024: Median real incomes declined, as real wage growth failed to keep pace with inflation. Between 2015 and 2024, median real incomes shrank because wage growth couldn’t keep up with inflation. This wasn’t just a numbers game — it meant many households faced a decline in purchasing power, struggling to maintain their lifestyles despite working more or earning nominally more. When wages lag behind prices, people don’t just lose money — they lose security, opportunity, and hope for upward mobility. Half of the Hungarians among the worse earners in the EU.

• 2020–2024: Continuous devaluation of the Hungarian forint (HUF) against major global currencies. The government communication on keeping the local currency is great for the country narrative decoded means it is in the interest of exporting large companies to keep the forint, and postponing euro. So the weakening currency is boosting exports revenues on paper, but for everyday Hungarians and the backbone SMEs, it quietly meant shrinking wallets, squeezed profits, and a fog of financial uncertainty.

• 2022: Hungary’s preferential tax scheme claims to support small entrepreneurs, but its design tells a different story. After the 2022 KATA (Itemized Tax for Small Taxpayers) reform, over 80% of former users were excluded, losing access to one of the only affordable, simplified tax options. Unlike regional peers, Hungary offers no real path for part-timers, freelancers, or side-hustlers—just hard limits and dead ends. With one of the lowest VAT exemption thresholds in the EU, most SMEs hit complexity before they hit scale.

• 2022–2024: The public debt-to-GDP ratio worsened, especially in the post-pandemic period. Debt piling up after the pandemic isn’t just a fiscal statistic — it quietly narrows the government’s room to maneuver, potentially leaving people and businesses to fend for themselves when they need help most.

• 2025: The job market is increasingly defined by low-skill, low-wage employment, reflecting a preference for low-cost labor over high-value job creation. The data coming from the largest job search portal in Hungary, tells the story. 72% of listings require less than 3 years of experience, only 0.4% of listing need over 10 years experience.

It’s no coincidence that many of the trade-offs, hidden costs, and side effects discussed above show up clearly in the data. What was sold as stability often came at the expense of resilience — and the numbers reflect it.

Far from painting a success story, the below Key Performance Indicator scorecard reveals the Janus-faced reality of Hungary’s recent economic trajectory.

The overall picture does not look like great governance performance isn’t?

On the positive side, Hungary ranks among the top performers in reducing unemployment in three out of five years, fulfilling a major and visible policy objective.

In 2023, Hungary jumped to the top of the regional rankings in GDP growth and household consumption—likely due to a bounce-back effect following a sharp economic decline in 2022. But this rebound needs context: in the prior year, Hungary ranked near the bottom in nominal GDP growth and performed the worst in household consumption.

Even with the 2023 bounce, Hungary ranked only 7th in GDP per capita based on Purchasing Power Parity (PPP)—suggesting that headline growth figures may not fully reflect deeper structural competitiveness.

On the negative side, Hungary consistently ranks near the bottom of the regional table in several core areas, including inflation, currency stability, and public debt.

Looking at the average annual rankings—a blunt but still informative indicator of overall performance—Hungary only approaches the regional average in 2023. In all other years, its performance remains volatile and uneven.

The average ranking scores reveal at least a below-average performance. However, beyond the rankings themselves, the scorecard highlights a deeper methodological issue: the risk of oversimplification. Without granular, indicator-level analysis, flat rankings can obscure structural weaknesses, distort trade-offs, and reward volatility over consistency.

This reinforces the broader need for multi-dimensional, transparent, and context-sensitive assessment tools—especially when evaluating long-term governance and political accountability.

Even when long-term, measurable commitments are technically fulfilled, they should not be viewed in isolation. Success on paper can still raise concerns when broader trade-offs, side effects, and systemic costs are ignored.

Governments often prefer siloed metrics, because isolated successes are easier to communicate and politicize. But jobs can be created in many ways, and not all are sustainable or beneficial in the long term. Some may come with high inflation, stagnant or decreasing wages, or increased debt.

This underscores the need for a more integrated, outcome-oriented approach—grounded in clear, publicly accountable KPIs that reflect not just quantity, but quality of governance.

• No Goals: Campaign promises are vague. Concrete, measurable political mandates are rare to nonexistent.

• No performance review: Power is held between elections with little transparency or structured citizen review.

• No citizen power: Experiments like participatory budgeting in Budapest are hopeful but limited in scope.

And Hungary is not a unique in this.

It’s a familiar template.

Accountability Isn’t Radical—It’s the Minimum

In politics, accountability has become a formality.

Leaders face no real consequences for non-performance—only narrative consequences, easily manipulated through media, timing, and emotion.

In Hungary, we’ve seen this codified:

• Oversight bodies weakened.

• Public procurement metrics created, then ignored.

• Citizens offered symbolic engagement, not structural influence.

Imagine a CEO who could miss every target, ignore board oversight, and rewrite their job description mid-year. That’s what politics allows—without question.

We don’t need idealism. We need infrastructure:

Pre-election mandates with KPIs.

Quarterly citizen audits.

Independent citizen-led review boards.

Legal, mid-cycle recall mechanisms.

This is not radical. It’s normal everywhere else.

Demanding Structural Reform

We call for:

1. Mandatory objective setting like the S.M.A.R.T. (Specific-Measurable-Achievable-Relevant-Timely) framework.

2. Mandatory political KPIs before each election, ratified publicly.

3. Citizen-led quarterly review boards, randomly selected and legally binding.

4. Open data infrastructure at national and local levels.

5. Constitutional right to recall representatives between elections.

6. Performance audits by citizens and independent third parties, published annually.

Conclusion: The Cost of Inaction

Democracy without performance is not a flawed system. It is a failing one. But democracy isn’t failing because it’s wrong. It’s failing because we stopped demanding results.

This manifesto isn’t naïve enough to think reform will come quickly. But it’s grounded enough to know it won’t come at all if we don’t start with a sharper set of expectations.

If I were a politician, this wouldn’t be a campaign.
It would be a contract.
With real consequences.

We’ve inherited democratic rituals.
Now we need democratic results.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your Tenth Man view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt—so long as it builds on data. The most useful critique is often the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

A lojalitás nem tűnt el – csak átalakult. A klasszikus márkahűség gyengülésével párhuzamosan új, érzelmi és értékalapú kötődések jelennek meg. Ez az esszé a fogyasztói lojalitás új formáit, társadalmi kontextusát és a marketing felelősségét vizsgálja egy folyamatosan változó világban.

Az alábbi írás a 2006-ban, a Marketing és Menedzsment folyóiratban (XI. évf. 2–3. szám, 32–38. oldal) megjelent esszém gondolati ívét követi. Akkoriban kritikus, sokszor a fősodorral szembehelyezkedő nézőpontból vizsgáltam a marketinget, különösen a fogyasztói és márkahűség természetét. Közel két évtizeddel később érdemes újra ránéznünk: mi változott, mi maradt meg, és merre tart ma ez a téma?

Lojalitás 2.0 – Siratóének vagy újjászületés?

A fogyasztói hűség évtizedek óta a marketing egyik alappillére – és annak is tűnik maradni. Mégis, a klasszikus lojalitásformák, mint például az ismételt vásárlás, egyre kevésbé jellemzőek. Ugyanakkor a háttérben egy másik, mélyebb lojalitásforma kezd kibontakozni: az érzelmi és értékalapú kötődés.

Ez a változás nem pusztán trend, hanem szélesebb társadalmi átrendeződés része. A kapcsolatok, a közösségek, sőt, az identitások is új keretek közé kerülnek – és mindez a lojalitás értelmezését is újraírja.

Digitális zajban elveszett hűség?

A „lojalitás” kulcsszóra ma több mint egymilliárd találatot ad a kereső – ezek közel harmada valamilyen marketingtémához kötődik. Ennek ellenére a kutatások azt mutatják, hogy a klasszikus értelemben vett márkahűség folyamatosan csökken. Míg 2022-ben a lojalitási mutatók még 77%-on álltak, 2024-re már csak 69%-ot értek el.

A fiatalabb generációk – különösen a Z generáció – még kevésbé ragaszkodnak a márkákhoz. A jelenség mögött komplex okok húzódnak: túlkínálat, információs túlterheltség, állandó technológiai váltások. Minden elérhető, minden cserélhető – miért is maradnánk hűségesek?

De a kép nem ennyire leegyszerűsíthető.

Új lojalitásformák: értékek, kapcsolatok, közös célok

Miközben a viselkedésalapú lojalitás (visszatérő vásárlás, gyakori használat) gyengül, más típusú kötődések erősödnek. A 2021 és 2024 közötti időszakban:

• az érzelmi lojalitás 26%-kal nőtt (35%-ra),

• az etikai lojalitás pedig 25%-kal (30%-ra).

A fogyasztók egyre inkább azokhoz a márkákhoz kapcsolódnak, amelyek megszólítják értékrendjüket, emberi hangon kommunikálnak, és társadalmilag is állást foglalnak.

Ma már nem elég csupán jó terméket kínálni. Fontos, hogy ki áll mögötte, hogyan viselkedik, és milyen ügyeket képvisel.

Marketingesek: siratóasszonyok vagy terapeuták?

A szakma reakciója megosztott. Egyesek szerint a lojalitás elavult fogalom: a fogyasztók egyre inkább hűtlenek, a márkák közötti mozgás kontrollálhatatlan. Mások viszont úgy látják, hogy a lojalitás nem tűnt el – csupán átalakult. Mélyebb, személyesebb szinten van jelen, mint valaha.

Ez a különbség nem pusztán retorikai játék.

A "siratóasszony" típusú marketinges a régi sémákhoz ragaszkodik: tranzakciós adatok, forgalmi statisztikák, konverziók. Ezzel szemben az „érzelmi terapeuta” felismeri, hogy a lojalitás nem csak vásárlási döntésekben, hanem kapcsolati dinamikákban is megnyilvánul.

Lojalitás ≠ megtartás

Sokan hajlamosak összekeverni a lojalitást az ügyfélmegtartással. Pedig ez alapvető hiba. Attól, hogy egy vásárló rendszeresen visszatér, még nem biztos, hogy valóban hűséges – lehet, hogy csak nincs jobb alternatíva.

A lojalitás: érzelem.
A megtartás: viselkedés.

Ezért fontos különbséget tenni a funkcionális lojalitás (praktikus okokból való visszatérés) és az érzelmi lojalitás (mély kötődés, azonosulás) között.

A marketing „machismo” problémája

A marketing sokáig a dominancia logikájára épült. „Megfogni” a fogyasztót, „hűségessé tenni”, mintha a vásárló egy megszerzendő trófea lenne.

Csakhogy ez az attitűd szembemegy a szabad piac lényegével. A fogyasztó autonóm, választani akar – és fog is. A lojalitás így nem lehet elvárás, legfeljebb következmény.

Ha értelmes lojalitást akarunk építeni, akkor a kapcsolat felől kell közelítenünk – ahol a bizalom válik az új alapértékké.

A bizalom, mint kötőanyag

Lojalitás csak ott létezhet, ahol létezik az árulás lehetősége is. Vagyis: ahol a bizalom jelen van.

A fogyasztók nem vakon ragaszkodnak, hanem ösztönösen keresik azokat a márkákat, amelyek:

• következetesek,

• kiszámíthatóak,

• emberi méltósággal kezelik őket.

Nem véletlen, hogy a vásárlási élmény – a figyelem, a személyesség – legalább olyan fontos lett, mint maga a termék.

Érzelmi lojalitás: hosszútávú előny

Az üzleti döntéshozók gyakran lebecsülik az érzelmek szerepét. Pedig a valódi, hosszútávú lojalitás innen fakad. Aki kötődik egy márkához, az:

• többet költ,

• ritkábban vált,

• és másoknak is ajánlja.

Az érzelmi lojalitás nem statisztika – sokkal inkább egyfajta érzelmi térkép. Egy bolt, ahol a vásárlót nevén szólítják. Egy gesztus, amelyről érezzük: figyeltek ránk.

Ez az, amit az algoritmusok csak tanulnak – de amit az emberi jelenlét már most is képes megteremteni.

Társadalmi dimenzió: a lojalitás túlmutat a piacon

A lojalitás nemcsak gazdasági fogalom. Ugyanilyen fontos a családi, közösségi és társadalmi kapcsolatokban.

Ha ezekben a tereken gyengül a hűség – ahogy az egyre gyakrabban látható –, az bizalomvesztéshez, elidegenedéshez, sőt apátiához vezethet.

Ezért a marketingnek – ha valóban értékalapú kapcsolatokban gondolkodik – felelőssége is van. Nem elég eladni. Kapcsolódni kell.

Zárszó: új hűségformák ideje

A lojalitás nem halt meg – csak átalakult.

A mai fogyasztó nem azért hűséges egy márkához, mert az „ott van régóta”, hanem mert kapcsolódik hozzá. Mert érzi, érti, és bízik benne. Mert a márka értékei összecsengenek az övéivel, vagy egyszerűen csak valódi emberi kapcsolatot tapasztal.

Azok a cégek, amelyek ezt felismerik, nem csupán ügyfeleket tartanak meg – közösségeket építenek. Ezek a közösségek pedig hosszabb távon többet érnek, mint bármely konverziós ráta.

A lojalitás története nem zárult le. Épp most írjuk újra.

Nem azért írok, hogy igazam legyen—hanem hogy megkérdőjelezzék. Írd meg kommentben a saját tizedik ember álláspontod, a legélesebb ellenérved, vagy akár a halk kételyedet… feltéve, hogy adatokra és tényekre épít, nem pusztán véleményre.

Ne felejts el feliratkozni a további Kritikus Magyarország elemzésekért!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Az inflációt a közgondolkodás válságként kezeli — valami olyasmit lát benne, amit a kormányok minden eszközzel igyekeznek leküzdeni. Ám a tények azt sugallják: sok állam csendben profitál az inflációs környezetből — a megemelkedett költségvetési bevételeken és az átrendeződött gazdasági viszonyokon keresztül. Ez az elemzés Magyarország 2020 és 2023 közötti tapasztalatait használja esettanulmányként, hogy megvizsgálja: milyen mértékben működött az infláció egyfajta rejtett fiskális eszközként. Az adóstruktúrák, bérpolitikák és költségvetési adatok elemzésével ez az írás megkérdőjelezi a megszokott narratívákat — és arra világít rá, hogyan kedvezhetett az infláció az államnak, miközben a háztartások és a kisvállalkozások viselték a terhet.

Mindig is vonzottak azok a megközelítések, amelyek képesek felülírni a megszokott gondolkodást — különösen, ha a tét nagy, és a hivatalos történet túlságosan egyszerűnek tűnik.

Nagyjából tíz éve láttam a Z világháború című filmet. Az egyik jelenet különösen megmaradt bennem. Egy volt hírszerző tiszt elmagyarázza a „Tizedik Ember Szabályt”:

„Ha kilencen ugyanarra a következtetésre jutunk, a tizedik ember feladata, hogy ellentmondjon — bármilyen valószínűtlennek is tűnjön.”

A tizedik ember dolga nem az, hogy öncélúan mást mondjon, hanem az, hogy megvédjen a veszélyes csoportgondolkodástól. Ő az, aki felteszi a kérdést:

Mit nem veszünk észre?

Most ezt a szűrőt alkalmazom a magyar inflációs történetre — különösen a 2020–2023 közötti időszakra. És minél mélyebben ástam bele magam, annál erősebben fogalmazódott meg bennem a kérdés:

Mi van, ha a magyar állam nemcsak harcolt az infláció ellen — hanem közben csendben profitált is belőle?

Az infláció hivatalos narratívája

2020 és 2023 között Magyarország rekordmértékű inflációt produkált az Európai Unión belül. A kormány szerint ennek okai csak külső tényezők voltak: Covid, ukrajnai háború, energiaárak, globális ellátási láncok, profithajhász multik. A kormány „háborús inflációról” beszélt, ársapkát vezetett be, “megbüntette” a kereskedőket, bővítette a szociális transzfereket. De ezek az intézkedések többnyire későn jöttek.

A számok viszont így néznek ki:

2020 és 2023 között Magyarországon a kumulált infláció elérte a megdöbbentő 41%-ot – ez az Európai Unió legmagasabb értéke volt ebben az időszakban. Ha ezt összevetjük az eurózónában mért, körülbelül 17%-os inflációval, a különbség nem csupán jelentős, hanem drámai. Ez a szám önmagáért beszél: három év alatt a magyar pénz értéke sokkal gyorsabban romlott, mint az uniós átlagé — és ez a mindennapi megélhetés minden szintjén érezhetővé vált.

Ez a hatalmas különbség nemcsak statisztikailag jelentős — hanem politikailag is sokatmondó.

És ha ez nem a teljes kép?

Mi van, ha ebben az inflációs drámában az állam nemcsak elszenvedője vagy megmentője volt a helyzetnek?

Mi van, ha több is forgott kockán számára?

Mi van, ha a magyar kormányt nem érte teljesen váratlanul az infláció — sőt, csendben haszonélvezőjévé vált, talán egy rejtett részvényesévé ennek a folyamatnak?

Ellenvélemény: Mi van, ha az állam nyert az infláción?

Az inflációról általában azt gondoljuk, hogy ártalmas a kormányokra nézve: nőnek a költségek, dühösek a választók, nő a politikai kockázat.

De mi van, ha Magyarország esetében az infláció valójában… kényelmes volt?

Próbáljuk meg alkalmazni a tizedik ember logikáját:

Infláció mint fiskális eszköz — vagy legalábbis mint túl hasznos mellékhatás ahhoz, hogy visszafogják.

Figyeljük meg az alábbi tényezőket:

• 27%-os áfa: A világ egyik legmagasabb fogyasztási adója → árakkal együtt nő a költségvetési bevétel

• Egységes (flat) jövedelemadó + emelkedő nominálbérek → több adóbevétel, akkor is, ha a reálérték csökken

• Hiányzik a sávos indexálás → az emberek valójában több adót fizetnek, miközben kevesebbet tudnak vásárolni

• Forintgyengülés: formálisan az export támogatása, de valójában inflálja az importárakat és növeli a nominális GDP-t

• Célzott béremelések: Nem átfogó bérrendezés történt, hanem szelektív, ami a minimálbérhez kötött járulékbevételeket stabilizálta

Ha az infláció valóban csak „válság” lenne, ezek csupán kellemetlen mellékhatások. De ha a mögöttes ösztönzőket nézzük — akkor már inkább tűnnek „funkcióknak”, nem hibáknak.

Az infláció nyertesei: a háztartások és a KKV-k nincsenek közöttük

Nézzük meg a KSH (Központi Statisztikai Hivatal) hivatalos adatait a bevételnövekedésről vállalatméret szerint, valamint az általános és élelmiszer-infláció alakulásáról 2020 és 2023 között. Ezt követően, összehasonlításként, vessük össze ezeket az államkincstár adóbevételeivel. Magyarország adómodellje nagymértékben támaszkodik a közvetett, fogyasztásalapú adózásra — különösen az áfára, amely természeténél fogva erősen érzékeny az inflációra.

A KSH hivatalos adatai a 2020–2023 közötti időszakról az alábbi mintázatot mutatják:

• Nagyvállalatok: +74% nominális árbevétel → ~34% reálnövekedés

• Magyar állam: +51% teljes adó- és járulékbevétel

• Áfa-bevétel önmagában: +50%

• Élelmiszeripar: különösen jól járt a +65%-os élelmiszerinflációval

Eközben:

• Bruttó bérek: ~42%-kal nőttek → alig követték az inflációt

• Reálbér-növekedés: mindössze +0,42% (!)

• Mikrovállalkozások: nominális bevételük nem tartotta a lépést az inflációval → reálértékben csökkenés

• KKV-szektor: lassabban nőtt, mint az állami adóbevételek

Összefoglalva: A nyertesek a nagyvállalatok és az állam. A vesztesek: háztartások és kisvállalkozások.

És ha a kormány tényleg „válságként” kezelte volna az inflációt — miért nem hozott olyan intézkedéseket, amelyek saját fiskális nyereségét korlátozzák?

A számok alapján a sokak által elvárt „gondoskodó állam” inkább tűnt önmaga felé gyakorolt paternalistának, mintsem a társadalom felé.

Infláció mint csendes fiskális eszköz?

Ez a logika emlékeztet a dohányipar klasszikus stratégiájára:

Ha nem tudod növelni a keresletet, emeld az árakat. Még ha kevesebben is vásárolnak, a bevétel így is szinten maradhat — feltéve, hogy valamilyen módon kordában tudod tartani a fogyasztás visszaesését.

Az infláció – akárcsak a jövedéki adók – működhet egyfajta csendes elvonási eszközként: olyan módszerként, amellyel az állam adóemelés bejelentése nélkül növelheti a bevételeit.

Sőt, még a Laffer-görbe szabályait is képes lehet felülírni — azt a klasszikus közgazdasági modellt, amely az adókulcsok és az állami bevételek közötti egyensúlyt mutatja be.

Normál esetben:
Ha az adó alacsony → az állam alulfinanszírozott marad
Ha túl magas → megfojtja a gazdasági aktivitást

De az inflációval:

• Az áfabevételek nőnek anélkül, hogy az adókulcsokat emelnék

• A jövedelemadó-bevétel nő a nominálbérek emelkedésével

• A reáladóteher csendben emelkedik

Nincs parlamenti vita. Nincsenek utcai tiltakozások. Csak… szépen, csendben duzzadó állami bevételek.

De minden játszmának ára van

Természetesen ez a „stratégia” — ha valóban annak tekinthető — nem fenntartható. Az infláció ugyan képes bevételt termelni, de komoly kockázatokat hordoz:

• A reálbérek és megtakarítások elértéktelenednek

• Nőnek az államadósság kamatterhei

• Zuhan a háztartások fogyasztása (egy főre vetítve az egyik legalacsonyabb az EU-ban)

• Megroppan az intézményekbe vetett bizalom

• Tovább nő a társadalmi egyenlőtlenség

• Fokozódik a politikai bizonytalanság

Ha ez valóban fiskális stratégia, akkor az egy penge élén egyensúlyoz.

Részvényes, résztvevő… vagy mindkettő?

Milyen szerepet játszik ebben a magyar állam?

• Tulajdonosként elvileg a stabilitás őre kellene hogy legyen: védi az állampolgárokat, és harcol az infláció ellen.

• Részvényesként viszont profitálhat a helyzetből: az inflációval felduzzasztott bevételekből, az elértéktelenedő reáladósságból, és az olyan árfolyami környezetből, amely kedvez az exportőröknek.

Az igazság valószínűleg valahol a kettő között húzódik.

De az elmúlt négy év tapasztalatai alapján a mérleg inkább csendes részvényesi szerep felé billen, mintsem a hangos, védelmező állam irányába.

És éppen ezért van szükség kritikus, eltérő gondolkodásra.

Ez nem összeesküvés-elmélet — hanem annak a kérdésnek a felvetése, amit a közmegegyezés hajlamos elfelejteni:

Kinek áll érdekében a status quo fenntartása?

Zárógondolat: Kövesd a pénzt

Az infláció nem pusztán gazdasági mellékhatás. Időnként politikai és fiskális eszközzé válik.

A kis- és középvállalkozások és a háztartások számára: egy lassú, láthatatlan prés.
Az állam számára: egy aranytojást tojó tyúk — ami sosem kotkodácsol.

Szóval legközelebb, amikor egy miniszter „háborús inflációra” vagy a „globális piacokra” hivatkozik, kapcsold be a benned élő Tizedik Embert.

Ha mindenki egyetért az okokkal —állj meg, és tedd fel a kérdést:

Kinek éri meg, ha ez így marad?

Nem azért írok, hogy igazam legyen—hanem hogy megkérdőjelezzék. Írd meg kommentben a saját tizedik ember álláspontod, a legélesebb ellenérved, vagy akár a halk kételyedet… feltéve, hogy adatokra és tényekre épít, nem pusztán véleményre.

Ne felejts el feliratkozni a Kritikus Magyarország blog további írásaira itt.

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Ahogy Magyarország politikai és gazdasági narratívái egyre inkább szerkesztetté és irányítottá válnak, úgy lesz egyre kevesebb a valódi, érdemi vizsgálat.

A Marketingország | Kritikus Magyarország Blog egy olyan tér, ahol strukturált ellenvélemények kaphatnak helyet — adatokra, szakpolitikai belátásra és intézményi elemzésekre építve. Arra keressük a választ, hogyan kommunikálják, igazolják és tartják fenn a hatalmat különböző szektorokban — hogy őszintébb vitát indíthassunk az ország pályájáról és a mögötte álló feltételezésekről.

Magyarország tele van véleményekkel — de alig akadnak őszinte kérdések. A válaszokról nem is beszélve!

A Marketingország | Kritikus Magyarország Blog frusztrációból született — és reményből.

Frusztrációból a kiüresedett, újra és újra felmelegített narratívák miatt, amelyek erőltetve folyamatosan meghatározzák a közbeszédet. És reményből fakadóan, hogy élesebb kérdésekkel, adatokkal és kritikai gondolkodással közelebb juthatunk a társadalom és gazdaság valódi megértéséhez — és hasznosabb értelmezéséhez.

Ez a blog nem pártpolitizál, nem partizán, de nem is „semlegesnek” álcázott közhelygyűjtemény.

Szándékosan konfrontatív — de nem öncélú provokációból.

Kritikai abban az értelemben, hogy megpróbálja feltárni azokat a struktúrákat, érdekeket és rejtett feltevéseket, amelyek kollektív történeteink mögött húzódnak — és felteszi a kérdést:

Kinek az érdeke ez az egész?

A cél nem a rombolás, hanem a vakfoltok megvilágítása, a diszfunkciók feltárása, valamint ezek megkérdőjelezése, és egy igazságosabb, emberibb működés lehetőségeinek felvillantása.

Minden héten megosztok majd olyan adat- vagy insightvezérelt, gondolatébresztő esszéket, amelyek megkérdőjelezik a domináns narratívák által fenntartott status quo-t Magyarország különböző területein:

• Kulturális identitás és mítoszgyártás

• Gazdasági stagnálás

• Torz sikertörténetek

• Kormányzati és szakpolitikai zavarok

• Hatalmat védő, az alternatívákat ellehetetlenítő mechanizmusok

• Elnyomó társadalmi narratívák

• Polgári jogok és társadalmi igazságosság kihívásai

Itt olyan mintázatokkal, bizonyítékokkal és ötletekkel találkozhatsz, amelyek gyakran kimaradnak a nyilvános diskurzusból — vagy szándékosan el vannak fedve.

Magyarországra koncentrálunk, de közben folyamatosan kitekintünk a régióra, az EU-ra, vagy a jelenünket formáló történelmi visszhangokra is.

Miért pont most?

Magyarország egyre mélyebbre süllyed az irányított narratívák világába — függetlenül attól, hogy épp ki van hatalmon vagy ellenzékben, és hogy a kormányzás mennyire teljesít vagy nem.

Eközben a valóságos emberek napi szinten élnek meg súlyos ellentmondásokat.

Kiknek szól a blog?

Hétköznapi embereknek, önálló gondolkodóknak, felelős állampolgároknak.

Azoknak, akik szakpolitikában, tudományban, újságírásban vagy netán politikában dolgoznak, és adat- és tényalapú kritikákra vágynak

Olyan értelmiségieknek, szakembereknek, kis- és nagyvállalkozóknak, akiket untat a stagnálást takargató „sikertörténet”

Akik politikailag hajléktalannak érzik magukat — kételkednek minden oldalon, de keresik a tisztánlátást

Külföldieknek, akik a magyar valóságot nem klisékből, hanem árnyaltan szeretnék megérteni.

A Kritikus Magyarország Blog nekik szól!

Mit kapsz majd itt?

•Heti elemző esszéket

•Heti rövid jegyzeteket

•Alkalmanként adatokat, ábrákat, adatvizualizációkat

•Mindig független, mindig kritikus, mindig konfrontatív tartalmat

A magyar nyelvű verzióra iratkozz fel itt: Kritikus Magyarország

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Mi van, ha Magyarországon a korrupció nem pusztán probléma, hanem túlélési stratégia? Ez az esszé nem erkölcsi kudarcként, hanem az adaptív reziliencia egyik formájaként tekint a korrupcióra – rendszerszintű működési zavarokra adott pragmatikus válaszként. Egy rossz, túlszabályozott, kirekesztő és merev bürokráciában az informális megoldások sokszor a legracionálisabb módjai annak, hogy a dolgok egyáltalán előrehaladjanak. Talán nem magával a jelenséggel kell még elszántabban harcolnunk, hanem inkább azzal a rendszerrel, amely létrehozza és elkerülhetetlenné teszi az ilyen informalitást.

Ha kilenc ember azt mondja, a korrupció megkérdőjelezhetetlenül gonosz, én leszek a tizedik, aki megkérdezi — mi van, ha mégsem az?

1. tétel: A korrupció újraértelmezése

Az egyik legelterjedtebb meghatározás szerint a korrupció a rábízott hatalommal való visszaélés személyes haszonszerzés céljából. Ez megjelenhet a köz- és a magánszférában egyaránt, társadalmi szinttől függetlenül, és gyakran magában foglalja a vesztegetést, sikkasztást, csalást, nepotizmust, haveri rendszert vagy zsarolást.

A főáramú narratívák a korrupciót kizárólag romboló erőként mutatják be: aláássa a bizalmat, gyengíti az intézményeket, torzítja a piacokat, és akadályozza a fejlődést. Ez a szemlélet uralja a nemzetközi diskurzust – és joggal.

De mi van, ha ez a nézet, bár erkölcsileg megnyugtató, analitikusan hiányos?

2. tétel: A korrupció mint racionális válasz a rendszerhibákra

A mainstream narratívák elsősorban a közszférában és a politikai elit köreiben tapasztalható korrupcióra összpontosítanak. Ezt nevezem a „kevesek korrupciójának” vagy „elitista korrupciónak”.

Magyarország ebben nem kivétel: a jelenség világszerte jelen van, a legfejlettebb demokráciáktól a legszegényebb országokig.

Ami azonban sajátos, hogy – ellentétben sok nyugat-európai demokráciával, ahol a korrupciós botrányok kormányok bukásához vagy intézmények legitimitásvesztéséhez vezetnek – a mindenkori magyar politikai elit meglepően ellenálló az ismétlődő vádakkal szemben. Pártállástól függetlenül.

Egyetlen jelentős politikai szereplő sem vesztette el hatalmát korrupció miatt. Ez nem kivétel, hanem maga a szabály. Maga a rendszer. Egy rendszerhiba.

De van a korrupciónak egy másik oldala is, amelyről a mainstream ritkán beszél. Amikor a jogi és gazdasági keretek nem biztosítanak hatékony működést, nem nyújtanak igazságos hozzáférést és nem teremtenek valós lehetőségeket – miközben a rendszer túlszabályozott és a bürokrácia túlburjánzott –, egy másfajta korrupció tölti be az űrt.

Ez a korrupció túlélési mechanizmussá válik – informális megoldássá egy olyan merev rendszerben, amely strukturálisan kirekeszt nagy társadalmi csoportokat. Ezt nevezem a „sokak korrupciójának” – vagy, ha úgy tetszik, a „többség korrupciójának”.

Magyarország társadalmi-gazdasági ökoszisztémájában ez a jelenség kevésbé erkölcsi aberráció, sokkal inkább pragmatikus válasz mély, rendszerszintű működési zavarokra. Ez a második – és az előzőnél jóval kiterjedtebb – rendszerhiba.

3. tétel: Korupció Érzékelési Index egy szubjektív tükör, nem mikroszkóp

A Transparency International (TI) évente kiadott Korrupció Érzékelési Indexe (Corruption Perceptions Index – CPI) az állami szektor korrupciójának megítélésén alapuló rangsort állít fel.

Magyarország folyamatos CPI-romlása az igazságszolgáltatás függetlenségével, az állami elfoglaltsággal és az átláthatatlan kormányzással kapcsolatos növekvő aggodalmakat tükrözi.

Csakhogy a CPI nem a tényleges korrupciót méri, hanem annak megítélését – főként üzletemberek és szakértők körében. Ez több problémát vet fel:

• Az állami elit láthatóságát rögzíti, nem a hétköznapi társadalmi tapasztalatokat.

• Erkölcsi ítéletet közvetít, nem funkcionális elemzést.

• A „kevesek korrupcióját” érzékeli – amelyet a vagyon- és hatalomfelhalmozás hajt.

• Figyelmen kívül hagyja a „sokak korrupcióját” – amelyet pusztán a túlélés motivál.

Olyan országokban, ahol az informális rendszerek gyakran hatékonyabbak a formálisaknál, a korrupció nem feltétlenül számít negatívnak – különösen azok szemében, akik számára ez a túlélés eszköze.

Ez az alternatív valóság nemcsak Magyarországon létezik, hanem több, hasonló strukturális problémákkal küzdő uniós tagállamban is.

4. tétel: Gazdasági alulteljesítés és strukturális romlás

Lehet vitatkozni a különböző regionális gazdasági teljesítményekről, de egy tény vitathatatlan: Magyarország nem tartozik a közép- és kelet-európai éllovasok közé. Ennek számos rendszerszintű oka és következménye van – ezekről korábban már írtam itt.

Hamarosan egy összehasonlító elemzéssel is jelentkezem, amely rangsorolja a térség országainak elmúlt tíz évben nyújtott gazdasági teljesítményét.

Egyes adatok szerint világos összefüggés mutatkozik a gazdasági kulcsindikátorok és a Transparency International CPI-jelentésében szereplő figyelmeztető jelek között:

• Magyarország az EU-tagállamok között a GDP/fő és a tényleges egyéni fogyasztás tekintetében is az alsó régióban van.

• Románia – amelyet évtizedekig gazdasági alulteljesítőként tartottak számon – nemrég megelőzte Magyarországot a háztartási fogyasztás terén: az EU-átlag 88%-át éri el, míg Magyarország mindössze 70%-át.

Ez nem pusztán gazdasági történet, hanem a rosszul összehangolt kormányzás állandó példája – ahol a formális rendszer fenntartásának ára a társadalom jelentős része számára egyszerűen megfizethetetlen.

5. tétel: Kisvállalkozások mint az informális szükségszerűség esettanulmánya

A magyar KKV-k, amelyek a nemzetgazdaság gerincét adják, nehéz környezettel néznek szembe, és a gazdaság egyik legelhanyagoltabb szegmensét képviselik. Ha vállalkoznak, azt széllel szemben, hegynek felfelé teszik. Nem csoda, hogy sokuk kénytelen részben az informális szférába szorulni (amiről a jövőben szintén írni fogok). Erről írtam korábban A nullszaldó hazugsága blogban – itt.

Íme néhány példa a „hegymenet” természetére:

• Világrekorder, 27%-os általános forgalmi adó.

• Havi ÁFA-előlegfizetés, miközben a vevők késlekednek.

• Az egykori KATA eltörlése és az új rezsim kiszámíthatatlansága.

• Felügyeleti szervek büntetésorientált, aránytalan gyakorlata.

• Túlszabályozás és ebből fakadó versenyhátrány.

• Banki bizalmatlanság és irreálisan magas pénzügyi költségek.

• Korlátozott hozzáférés a közbeszerzésekhez.

• Bonyolult és lassú engedélyeztetési eljárások.

• Krónikus tőkehiány.

• Célzott állami támogatások szinte teljes hiánya.

Ebben a környezetben a korrupció nem a meggazdagodásról szól, hanem a túlélésről. A KKV-k hamar megtanulják, hogy a siker nem a szabálykövetésen, hanem a kapcsolatokon múlik. Aki mereven konformista, az veszít.

Így alakul ki egy párhuzamos gazdaság – saját, informális szabályrendszerrel.

6. tétel: Latin-Amerikai modell Magyarországon mint egy (nem túl népszerű) hipotézis története

A ’90-es évek végén, amikor megszereztem az MPhil-fokozatomat az ország egyik nemzetközi egyetemének politikatudományi tanszékén, egy merész hipotézissel álltam a vizsgabizottság elé: azt állítottam, hogy Magyarország posztkommunista átmenete inkább hasonlít a latin-amerikai országokéhoz, mint az Európai Unió akkori tagállamaiéhoz.

Érvelésem lényege az volt, hogy a korábbi kommunista hatalmi struktúrákhoz kapcsolódó informális hálózatok a privatizáció során fillérekért szerezték meg az állami vagyon jelentős részét, így gyorsan hatalmas magánvagyonokat halmoztak fel. A magyar történelem legnagyobb vagyonátadása rekordidő alatt zajlott le, állami kézből magánkézbe.

A társadalomtudományok már akkor is vizsgálták a közép- és kelet-európai rendszerváltások különböző modelljeit, köztük a latin-amerikai összehasonlításokat is. Magyarországon azonban erről a párhuzamról nemigen akartak hallani. Hipotézisem nem aratott osztatlan sikert, főleg egy olyan intézményben, ahol Rawls Justice as Fairness számított az értelmiségi normának. Akkoriban magam is szerettem volna hinni abban, hogy egy amerikai típusú piacgazdasági modell valósulhat meg itthon.

Azóta eltelt több évtized, amelyet részben nemzetközi nagyvállalati, részben hazai KKV-környezetben töltöttem, mindig szoros kapcsolatban piaci adatokkal, versenykörnyezetekkel, gazdasági valóságokkal. Ma is tartom az eredeti hipotézisemet.

Ahogy sok latin-amerikai gazdaság, úgy Magyarország működése is jelentős mértékben támaszkodik az informalitásra. Így zajlott a posztkommunista privatizáció – és sok tekintetben így működnek ma is a dolgok. A formát leszámítva kevés bizonyítékot látok arra, hogy a német vagy amerikai típusú intézményi modellek érdemben gyökeret vertek volna Magyarországon.

7. tétel: A de Soto-tézisek

Ez az informalitásról szóló nézőpont összhangban áll Hernando de Soto A tőke rejtélye (2000) című könyvének téziseivel.

De Soto szerint azokban a környezetekben, ahol a formális rendszerek merevek vagy kirekesztők, az informalitás nem pusztán a kormányzás kudarca, hanem racionális, adaptív válasz a rendszerszintű zavarokra.

A szerző olyan fogalmakat vezet be, mint például a „holt tőke” – olyan termelő eszközökre utal, amelyek (kisvállalkozások, otthonok, földterületek) kívül rekednek a hivatalos jogi és gazdasági struktúrákon, mivel azokhoz való hozzáférés túl költséges, bürokratikus vagy bonyolult. Ezek az eszközök így nem használhatók fedezetként, nem lehet velük szabadon kereskedni, és nem vonhatók be hatékonyan a formális gazdaságba.

De Soto gondolatmenetét követve ez segíthet megérteni, miért kényszerül a magyar kisvállalkozások jelentős része félformális, vagy akár félig illegális működésre. Parafrazálva a köznyelvet: mindenkinek van (vagy lesz) valami vaj a füle mögött!

Ilyen helyzetekben a korrupció és az informalitás nem rendellenesség, hanem a túlélés racionális eszközei – kényszerből kialakult társadalmi válaszreakciók. A probléma tehát nem elsősorban az emberekben rejlik, hanem magában a rendszerben.

8. tétel: A korrupció mint társadalmi reziliencia

A társadalmi reziliencia azt a képességet jelenti, hogy egy közösség képes túlélni, átvészelni és alkalmazkodni társadalmi, gazdasági vagy politikai válsághelyzetekhez — akár formális, akár informális eszközökkel.

Mivel a magyar társadalom a rendszerváltás óta szinte folyamatos krízisállapotban él, ellenálló- és alkalmazkodóképessége — azaz rezilienciája — állandó nyomás alatt áll.

Magyarországon az informális cserék, a pártfogási rendszerek és a „szürke zónás” ügyletek nem feltétlenül elítélendők; sokszor ezek az egyetlen működőképes eszközök a dolgok előmozdítására:

• Egy tanár nem kapzsiságból fogad el ajándékot, hanem mert a fizetése nem elegendő a megélhetéshez.

• Egy kisvállalkozó „kapcsolatokat” mozgósít, hogy megkerülje a hónapokig húzódó engedélyezési folyamatokat.

• Egy startup kikerüli a hivatalos közbeszerzést, mert a tenderek sorsa előre eldőlt.

Ezek nem a gonoszság történetei, hanem a funkcionális alkalmazkodásé. A társadalom párhuzamos rendszereket épít ott, ahol a formális intézmények működésképtelenné váltak. Ezt nevezzük rezilienciának — még ha a kifejezést hagyományosan csak morálisan elfogadható válaszokra alkalmazzuk is.

9. tétel: A rendszerrel kellene foglalkozni, nem a tünetekkel

Azok a játékszabályok, amelyek betarthatatlanok, nem jó szabályok. Ennek kellene lennie az alapelvnek — a szervező elvnek. Magyarországon azonban, a jurisztokrácia keretei között, ez nem így működik.

A korrupció büntetése anélkül, hogy kezelnénk a rendszerszintű vagy szerkezeti okokat, amelyek korrupcióra kényszerítik az embereket, olyan, mintha a lázat próbálnánk csillapítani, miközben a fertőzést magát nem gyógyítjuk.

Ha Magyarország valóban vissza akarja szorítani a korrupciót, a politika nem moralizálhat tovább. Ehelyett a következő lépésekre lenne szükség:

• A bürokratikus folyamatok egyszerűsítése és a túlszabályozás csökkentése.

• Tisztességes hozzáférés biztosítása a hitelekhez, közbeszerzésekhez és állami forrásokhoz.

• A versenyfeltételek kiegyenlítése a KKV-k és a politikailag kapcsolt vagy nemzetközi nagyvállalatok között.

• Az informális gyakorlatok formalizálása — jogi védelem és támogatás biztosítása a már működő, produktív viselkedésformák számára.

• A bizalom újraépítése, nem csupán a szabályok kikényszerítése.

És ami talán a legfontosabb: Magyarországon a korrupció nem »kulturális sajátosság«, hanem kormányzati rendszerhiba. A rendszerhibák pedig — megfelelő politikai akarattal — orvosolhatók.

10. tétel: Nem botrány, hanem rendszer

A magyarországi korrupció nem az egyéni erkölcs hanyatlásának története, hanem egy diszfunkcionális rendszer logikus következménye.

Az igazi botrány nem az, hogy az emberek kiskapukat keresnek — hanem az, hogy a rendszer erre kényszeríti őket. Nem a szabálykerülés a kivétel, hanem maga a túlélés eszköze.

A korrupciót adaptív túlélési stratégiaként értelmezni nem mentegetés — hanem diagnózis. Minden valódi reform diagnózissal kezdődik. Nemcsak büntetni kell, hanem átalakítani.

Ha Magyarország valóban el akar mozdulni a túlélés logikájától a jólét struktúrája felé, le kell számolnia azzal a rendszerrel, amely a korrupciót nemcsak eltűri, hanem újratermeli.

Nem azért írok, hogy igazam legyen—hanem hogy megkérdőjelezzék. Írd meg kommentben a saját tizedik ember álláspontod, a legélesebb ellenérved, vagy akár a halk kételyedet… feltéve, hogy adatokra és tényekre épít, nem pusztán véleményre.

Ne felejts el feliratkozni további Kritikus Magyarország elemzésekért!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

What if corruption in Hungary isn’t just a problem — but a survival strategy? This essay reframes corruption not as a moral failure, but as a form of adaptive resilience in response to systemic dysfunction. In a system defined by overregulation, exclusion, and rigid bureaucracy, informality becomes a rational way to get things done. Instead of cracking down harder, maybe it’s time to reform the system that makes informality necessary in the first place.

“If nine people say corruption is an unqualified evil, I will be the tenth to ask—what if it isn’t?”

Take 1: Reframing Corruption

Corruption is typically defined as the abuse of entrusted power for private gain. At all levels of society. This may occur in both public and private sectors and often involves bribery, embezzlement, fraud, nepotism, cronyism, or extortion.

Mainstream narratives portray corruption as a purely destructive force: it erodes trust, weakens institutions, distorts markets, and impedes development. This framing dominates international discourse—and for good reason.

But what if this view, while morally comforting, is analytically incomplete?

Take 2: Corruption as a Rational System Response

In my view, within Hungary’s socio-economic ecosystem, corruption functions less as a moral aberration and more as a pragmatic response to deep systemic dysfunctions.

Where legal and economic frameworks fail to deliver equitable access or opportunity, corruption fills the void. It becomes a survival mechanism—an informal workaround in a rigid system that structurally excludes large swathes of society.

Hungary is not unique in this. But unlike many Western democracies where corruption scandals topple governments and delegitimize institutions, Hungary’s elites remain remarkably resilient in the face of repeated corruption allegations.

No major political figure in Hungary has lost power because of corruption.
That fact is not an outlier—it is the system.

Take 3: The CPI is a Subjective Mirror, Not a Microscope

The Corruption Perceptions Index (CPI), published annually by Transparency International (TP), ranks countries based on perceived public sector corruption. Hungary’s steady decline in CPI rankings reflects growing concerns over judicial independence, state capture, and opaque governance.

But the CPI doesn’t measure actual corruption — it measures perceptions of it, mostly among businesspeople and experts. This raises several critical issues:

• It captures elite visibility, not grassroots lived reality.

• It judges morality, not functionality.

• It highlights the corruption of the few — driven by wealth and power accumulation.

• It overlooks the corruption of the many — driven by survival needs.

In environments where informal systems function better than formal ones, corruption may not even be perceived negatively — especially by those who rely on it to get by. This isn’t unique to Hungary; similar dynamics exist across several structurally challenged EU economies.

This helps explain why no major political figure in Hungary has lost power due to corruption.

Take 4: Economic Underperformance and Structural Rot

There appears to be a clear correlation between key economic indicators and the warning signs highlighted by the Corruption Perceptions Index (CPI). According to data published by Transparency International—drawing from the 2024 IMF, 2023 Eurostat, and their own proprietary sources:

• Hungary ranks near the bottom among EU member states in both GDP per capita and actual individual consumption.

• Romania, long regarded as an economic underperformer, has now overtaken Hungary in household consumption—88% of the EU average compared to Hungary’s 70%.

This is not merely a story of economics—it’s a story of misaligned governance, where the cost of formality has become unaffordable for most.

Take 5: Small Businesses are a Case Study in Informal Necessity

Hungarian SMEs—comprising the majority of the national economy—face a punishing environment:

• 27% VAT, the highest in the EU.

• Pre-financed monthly VAT payments, while clients delay payment for months.

• The demise of KATA, which obliterated a tax-friendly regime for micro-entrepreneurs.

• Predatory oversight, where small errors lead to massive penalties, and large players enjoy impunity.

In this environment, corruption isn’t about enrichment—it’s about survival. SMEs learn early that success depends more on connections than compliance. And thus, a parallel economy forms, operating by its own informal rules.

Take 6: The Hernando de Soto Theses

Back in the late ’90s, as a political science PhD student, I presented a hypothesis: Hungary’s post-communist transition more closely resembled the Latin American model than other models. Informal networks of former communist power structures took control of most Hungarian state assets during privatization, acquiring them for peanuts, amassing fortunes, and completing the largest transfer of wealth in the country’s history in record time.

At the time, it was dismissed in favor of idealized societal visions inspired by Rawls’s Justice as Fairness—visions that existed only on academic paper. But after decades working in both international corporations and local SMEs, gathering and analyzing market data and insights, I stand by my original view. Like many Latin American economies, Hungary relies heavily on informality to function. This is how post-communist privatization occurred—and, in many ways, it’s still how things work today. I see little evidence that German or U.S. institutional models have truly taken root.

This perspective aligns with the thesis of Hernando de Soto in his influential book The Mystery of Capital: Why Capitalism Triumphs in the West and Fails Everywhere Else (2000). De Soto argued that in environments where formal systems are rigid or exclusionary, informality is not a failure of governance, but a rational, adaptive response to systemic dysfunction.

De Soto introduced the concept of “dead capital” — productive assets (like small businesses, homes, or land) that remain outside formal legal frameworks because entering the system is too costly, bureaucratic, or complex. As a result, these assets cannot be used as collateral, traded, or invested productively. They are essentially locked out of the formal economy.

In such contexts, corruption and informality are not aberrations — they are features of survival, engineered by necessity. The problem lies not in the people, but in the system itself.

Take 7: Corruption as Social Resilience

In Hungary, informal exchanges, favoritism, and “gray” transactions are not always viewed with disdain—they are often the only functional pathways to get things done.

• A teacher accepts a gift not out of greed, but because wages are insufficient.

• A small contractor uses “contacts” to bypass months-long licensing delays.

• A startup bypasses official procurement because tenders are stitched up in advance.

These are not stories of villainy. They are stories of functional adaptation—a society building parallel systems where formal ones fail.

This is what we call resilience—though the term is usually reserved for more morally palatable responses.

Take 8: Policy Implications — Fight the System, Not the Symptom

Punishing corruption without addressing the structural reasons people rely on it is like treating fever without curing the infection.

To truly combat corruption in Hungary, policies must move beyond moralism. They must:

• Simplify bureaucratic procedures and reduce overregulation.

• Ensure fair access to credit, tenders, and state funds.

• Level the playing field for SMEs against politically connected giants.

• Formalize the informal, giving legal cover and support to existing productive behavior.

• Rebuild trust, not just enforce compliance.

Most importantly: corruption in Hungary is not a cultural flaw. It is a governance failure. And failures of governance are fixable.

Conclusion: A System, Not a Scandal

Hungary's persistent corruption is not a story of individual immorality, but one of systemic necessity.

The real scandal is not that people find ways around the system—but that the system demands it.

Understanding corruption as an adaptive survival strategy doesn’t excuse it. It explains it. And from explanation comes the possibility of reform—not just punitive enforcement, but transformation.

If Hungary is to move from survival to prosperity, it must stop fighting corruption as if it were merely a crime—and start dismantling the system that made it necessary.

Disagree? Good. I don’t write to be right—I write to be tested. Bring your Tenth Man view, your sharpest counterpoint, or even a quiet doubt—so long as it builds on data. The most useful critique is often the one that unsettles my own thinking.

Don’t forget to subscribe for more Critical Hungary Insights!

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment