Seventy years after Soviet forces crushed Hungary’s uprising, Budapest is commemorating the revolution under a new government following Viktor Orbán’s defeat.

Yet the anniversary raises questions extending far beyond Hungary: how Russia has repeatedly sought to determine the political future of European nations, why economic dependency can become an instrument of influence, and whether the sovereignty demanded in 1956 has finally acquired a more durable meaning.

Seventy years after Soviet tanks entered Budapest to suppress a rebellion against Moscow’s domination, Hungary is marking the anniversary of its 1956 revolution under circumstances that would have seemed improbable only a year ago. Viktor Orbán, whose political career began with a demand for the withdrawal of Soviet troops, has lost power. His successor, Péter Magyar, is welcoming European leaders to commemorate an uprising that remains among the defining events of Hungary’s modern history.

European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen and European Council President António Costa are joining the commemorations on 23 October, six months after Magyar’s Tisza party ended Orbán’s 16 years in government. Budapest’s relationship with Brussels has improved, previously frozen European funding is being unlocked, and the new administration has begun reviewing aspects of the country’s longstanding economic relationship with Russia.

But the significance of the anniversary cannot be reduced to a change of government or Hungary’s renewed diplomatic engagement with the European Union. The revolution of 1956 exposed a fundamental conflict between national self-determination and the security interests of an imperial power. Seven decades later, the methods through which Moscow exercises influence have changed considerably, but the struggle over political autonomy, economic dependence and the right of European states to determine their own alliances has not disappeared.

Indeed, the central question raised by 1956 has acquired renewed relevance since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine: where does legitimate national sovereignty end when a more powerful neighbour claims the authority to determine another country’s strategic choices?

Hungary’s longer history of Russian intervention

The events of October and November 1956 were not the first occasion on which Russian military power had intervened to suppress Hungarian aspirations to independence.

More than a century earlier, during the revolutions of 1848–1849, Hungary attempted to establish political autonomy from the Habsburg monarchy. Under Lajos Kossuth, the Hungarian revolutionary government pursued constitutional government and ultimately declared independence.

Austria proved unable to defeat the Hungarian forces without outside assistance. In 1849, Emperor Franz Joseph turned to Tsar Nicholas I, whose Russian army intervened on the Habsburg side. The military campaign ended with the defeat of the Hungarian struggle for independence.

As historian David Saunders examines in The Revolutions in Europe, 1848–1849: From Reform to Reaction, Russian intervention formed part of Nicholas I’s broader determination to defend the conservative European order against revolutionary movements.

Russia was not seeking to annex Hungary in 1849. Its objective was to preserve a political arrangement favourable to the established continental powers and prevent revolutionary movements from spreading into territories where they might threaten Russian imperial interests.

The distinction is important historically. Tsarist Russia, the Soviet Union and the contemporary Russian Federation represent different political systems and operated under different international circumstances. Nevertheless, all three have, at various points, treated the political orientation of neighbouring European countries as a matter in which Moscow possesses interests extending beyond its own borders.

The pattern reappeared in a substantially different form after the Second World War.

The Red Army’s advance into Hungary in 1944–1945 brought an end to Nazi German occupation and the country’s wartime alliance with Berlin. Yet liberation from Nazi rule was followed by Soviet military occupation and the progressive elimination of independent Hungarian political institutions.

By 1948, the communist leadership under Mátyás Rákosi had established a Stalinist dictatorship. Political opponents faced imprisonment, show trials and persecution, while the security apparatus operated with Soviet support.

Hungary’s political and economic structures were reorganised according to Soviet priorities. Heavy industry received preferential treatment, agricultural collectivisation disrupted rural communities, and Soviet influence reached into the country’s security services, administration and economic planning.

For many Hungarians, the experience reinforced a historical memory in which Russian intervention was associated not with national liberation but with the repeated denial of political independence.

1956 was more than an anti-communist revolt

The revolution that began on 23 October 1956 is frequently remembered as a straightforward confrontation between communism and democracy. That interpretation captures its principal political outcome, but obscures the complexity of the movement itself.

The uprising united students, industrial workers, intellectuals, nationalists, reform communists and citizens who had little interest in ideological disputes but resented political repression and Soviet control.

The sixteen demands adopted by Budapest students on 22 October reveal the breadth of their ambitions.

They called for the withdrawal of Soviet forces, multiparty elections, freedom of expression, independent courts and the restoration of national symbols. They also demanded better wages, the right to strike, changes to agricultural policy and the renegotiation of economic relations with Moscow.

One demand is particularly revealing in the context of present-day Hungary: the students wanted transparency over Soviet exploitation of Hungarian uranium deposits and the right to sell the country’s resources at international market prices.

Political freedom and economic sovereignty were already understood as interconnected.

The revolutionaries did not share a single economic programme. Some favoured democratic socialism and workers’ control of factories, while others wanted the restoration of parliamentary democracy and a market economy. Workers’ councils emerged as institutions of direct political participation, challenging the Communist Party’s claim to represent the working class.

The movement was therefore neither an exclusively conservative rebellion nor merely a liberal-democratic revolution. It was a national uprising against a system that had deprived Hungarian society of the ability to determine its own political arrangements.

The immediate confrontation escalated when demonstrators attempting to broadcast their demands encountered resistance from the state security apparatus. Violence spread, Stalin’s enormous statue in Budapest was pulled down, and armed groups began fighting government forces and Soviet troops.

For a brief period, the revolution appeared capable of succeeding.

Imre Nagy, a reform communist who had previously served as prime minister, returned to office and gradually accepted demands that went considerably beyond his original reform agenda. Political parties re-emerged, Soviet troops began withdrawing from Budapest, and on 1 November Nagy declared Hungary’s neutrality and its withdrawal from the Warsaw Pact.

The Soviet leadership initially appeared willing to consider a compromise. However, it ultimately concluded that Hungary’s departure from the communist bloc would undermine Moscow’s position throughout Eastern Europe.

On 4 November, Soviet forces launched a major offensive against Budapest.

In his final government broadcast, Nagy declared:

“Our troops are fighting. The government is at its post.”

The words, preserved in the historical record of the uprising, described a government confronting the military power of the state that had previously guaranteed its existence.

The resistance was defeated. Up to 3,000 people were killed, approximately 200,000 Hungarians fled the country, and thousands faced imprisonment. Nagy was subsequently arrested and executed in June 1958.

What 1956 revealed about Moscow — and the West

The suppression of the revolution was not simply the consequence of overwhelming Soviet military superiority. It was also the result of strategic calculations in Moscow, uncertainty within the Hungarian leadership and the reluctance of Western governments to challenge the division of Europe established after the Second World War.

In his book Failed Illusions: Moscow, Washington, Budapest, and the 1956 Hungarian Revolt, historian Charles Gati challenges the simplified account of a united revolution abandoned by an indifferent West.

Gati argues that Nagy struggled to reconcile two conflicting forces: the increasingly radical demands of the Hungarian population and the Soviet leadership’s determination to preserve its strategic position.

A more limited reform programme might conceivably have survived, although this remains a disputed historical possibility. Once Hungary moved towards neutrality and withdrawal from the Warsaw Pact, the prospects of Soviet acceptance diminished dramatically.

Moscow’s calculations were also influenced by fears that political concessions in Hungary would encourage similar demands in Poland, Czechoslovakia and elsewhere in the Soviet bloc.

The United States, meanwhile, supported the principle of Eastern European liberation rhetorically but was unwilling to risk direct military confrontation with the Soviet Union.

The Hungarian crisis also coincided with the Suez intervention by Britain, France and Israel, which diverted international diplomatic attention and exposed divisions among Western powers.

Historian András Nagy explores these contradictions in Diplomacy and Disregard: The Hungarian Revolution and the United Nations 1956–1963, examining the gap between international declarations and the limited practical assistance available to Hungary.

The lesson of 1956 was consequently more complicated than the assertion that the West had abandoned Hungary. The uprising demonstrated that the international system recognised national sovereignty in principle while allowing the military division of Europe to determine how far that sovereignty could be exercised in practice.

For Moscow, the suppression of Hungary established a precedent: a neighbouring state could possess a government and national institutions while remaining subject to coercive intervention if its political direction threatened Soviet strategic interests.

That principle would reappear during the Soviet-led invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968.

The paradox of Viktor Orbán

The political afterlife of 1956 is inseparable from the career of Viktor Orbán.

On 16 June 1989, at the ceremonial reburial of Imre Nagy, the 26-year-old Orbán delivered a speech demanding free elections and the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Hungary.

At a time when the communist system was approaching collapse, his appearance transformed him into one of the most recognisable representatives of Hungary’s emerging democratic opposition.

The symbolism was unmistakable. Nagy, executed as a traitor by the Soviet-backed regime, was being publicly rehabilitated, while a new political generation claimed the revolution as the foundation of a democratic future.

Hungary subsequently completed its transition away from communist rule. Soviet troops withdrew in 1991, the country joined NATO in 1999 and became a member of the European Union in 2004.

Yet Orbán’s later political development introduced a contradiction into the national interpretation of 1956.

After returning to power in 2010, he progressively concentrated political authority, weakened institutional checks and balances, and constructed a system in which government influence extended across significant sections of the media, public administration and economy.

At the same time, his foreign policy cultivated increasingly close relations with Vladimir Putin.

Hungary remained a member of NATO and the EU, but Orbán repeatedly challenged common European positions on Russia. Following the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, his government opposed or delayed sanctions measures, resisted financial assistance to Kyiv and secured exemptions allowing continued imports of Russian oil.

The contradiction was particularly striking because Ukraine’s defence against Russian invasion revived the same fundamental principle for which Hungarians had fought in 1956: the right of a European nation to exist independently of Moscow’s strategic demands.

Orbán presented his position as a defence of Hungarian national interests, arguing that continued energy supplies and avoidance of direct involvement in the war were essential to his country’s security.

His critics argued that this interpretation of sovereignty was selective: resisting political pressure from Brussels while preserving economic and diplomatic arrangements that strengthened Moscow’s influence.

The legacy of 1956 thus became an instrument of competing political narratives rather than a settled national consensus.

From military occupation to economic dependency

Russia no longer possesses the military infrastructure through which the Soviet Union controlled Hungary. It cannot station forces in Budapest under the Warsaw Pact or impose a government through the Communist Party.

Its contemporary methods of influence operate through a more complicated combination of commercial relationships, infrastructure dependencies, political networks, information operations and diplomatic pressure.

Energy remains particularly important.

According to the European Commission’s 2026 assessment of the Hungarian economy, more than 90 per cent of Hungary’s imported oil and 74 per cent of its imported gas came from Russia in 2025.

Such dependence creates vulnerabilities that cannot be eliminated by a parliamentary election.

Long-term contracts, refinery configurations, pipeline routes and nuclear infrastructure impose costs on governments attempting to diversify supplies. Russia’s ability to influence energy prices and contractual arrangements can consequently shape the policy choices available to individual European states.

Hungary’s Paks II nuclear project illustrates the problem.

Awarded to Russia’s state nuclear corporation Rosatom in 2014 under Orbán, the project created a relationship extending across construction, financing, technology and potentially future operations.

Magyar’s government is now examining whether Rosatom should remain the principal contractor. The review, also examined by EU Today, demonstrates how political change does not automatically dissolve inherited strategic dependencies.

Moscow’s objectives, however, extend beyond securing export revenues.

By maintaining influence over energy infrastructure and commercially significant relationships, Russia can acquire opportunities to affect political decisions within individual European countries. The effect can extend to the European Union as a whole where unanimity requirements allow one member state to delay collective decisions.

Economic interdependence is not itself evidence of corruption or improper influence. Nevertheless, opaque contracts, politically connected intermediaries and inadequate public scrutiny can create opportunities for the exercise of foreign influence.

The European Parliament has repeatedly raised concerns about Russian efforts to influence European political organisations, including through funding networks, cultivated relationships and the involvement of political intermediaries.

Moscow’s broader contest for influence in Europe

Russia’s contemporary European strategy is not a straightforward attempt to reconstruct Soviet rule over the entire continent. Its more immediate objectives include weakening European unity, limiting NATO’s freedom of action, obstructing support for Ukraine and establishing recognition of Russian security interests in neighbouring states.

These objectives do not always require governments openly aligned with Moscow. Political fragmentation, institutional distrust and disagreements between European capitals can themselves serve Russian interests.

Information manipulation has become one of the principal instruments available to the Kremlin.

The European External Action Service’s fourth report on foreign information manipulation documents Russian operations designed to exploit social divisions, discredit political leaders, manipulate electoral debates and weaken confidence in democratic institutions.

Rather than promoting one consistent political ideology, these campaigns adapt to local circumstances. In some countries they amplify nationalist rhetoric; elsewhere they exploit economic grievances, hostility towards migration, fears of military escalation or mistrust of European institutions.

Their effectiveness depends partly on the existence of domestic audiences willing to accept or circulate the narratives involved.

Hungary’s April 2026 election offered a direct example of the problem.

Research by Clemson University’s Media Forensics Hub identified a coordinated Russian-linked influence operation targeting Magyar’s Tisza party through fabricated narratives, inauthentic social-media accounts and amplification networks.

Separate reporting alleged Kremlin efforts to assist Orbán’s electoral campaign. Moscow denied interference, and not every allegation has been independently established.

The international election observation mission also identified serious problems involving media imbalance, misuse of state resources and manipulative online content. The election nevertheless produced a decisive transfer of power.

That outcome demonstrates both the reach and the limitations of such methods. Foreign information operations can attempt to shape political perceptions, but they do not necessarily determine how voters ultimately behave.

Other mechanisms, including cyber operations, espionage, sabotage and the cultivation of political or business relationships, form part of the broader contest between Russia and European governments.

The strategic logic differs fundamentally from the Soviet intervention of November 1956. Rather than imposing control through tanks and occupation forces, Moscow can seek to reduce a country’s freedom of political action by exploiting economic vulnerabilities and divisions within its institutions.

Magyar’s government and the limits of a new beginning

The April 2026 election marked a significant change in Hungary’s political direction.

Magyar’s Tisza party won a two-thirds parliamentary majority, creating an opportunity to reform institutions that had been extensively reshaped during Orbán’s years in power.

His government has introduced anti-corruption and transparency measures, sought to strengthen judicial independence and restored more constructive relations with European institutions.

The European Commission has agreed to unlock approximately €16.4 billion in funding previously restricted over governance concerns, although access to individual funding streams and their disbursement remain subject to the relevant procedures.

Yet the new government should not be mistaken for an administration that has abandoned every element of its predecessor’s foreign policy.

Magyar remains a Hungarian conservative politician with his own interpretation of sovereignty and national interests. He has maintained reservations about accelerated Ukrainian accession to the EU and emphasised the rights of ethnic Hungarians living in Ukraine.

Indeed, recent disagreements over Ukraine’s EU accession negotiations demonstrate that improved relations with Brussels have not eliminated Budapest’s willingness to defend positions at odds with those of other member states.

The more consequential test may therefore concern the institutions through which Hungary makes political decisions.

Reducing dependence on Russian energy, establishing transparent public procurement, restoring independent media and ensuring that judicial oversight operates without political interference would reduce opportunities for both domestic patronage and external influence.

The government must also address the institutional legacy of decades of communist rule and subsequent political transformation, including questions about historical accountability and access to security-service records.

These are not simply questions of ideological alignment with Brussels. They concern whether Hungary possesses institutions capable of making and implementing decisions independently of concentrated political or economic interests.

The unfinished meaning of 1956

The presence of European leaders in Budapest on the 70th anniversary of the uprising provides an unmistakable contrast with November 1956.

At that time, Hungary’s government appealed to the international community as Soviet forces dismantled its authority. Today, Budapest participates in European institutions through which it can influence decisions affecting the continent’s political, economic and security arrangements.

Membership of the European Union is not equivalent to membership of the Warsaw Pact. EU membership rests on treaties voluntarily accepted by democratic states, with legal mechanisms for participation, disagreement and withdrawal. Soviet control of Hungary rested ultimately on military force.

Nevertheless, participation in European institutions does not remove the need for national governments to make independent strategic decisions or to account for them democratically.

The revolution of 1956 was, above all, a rejection of political dependency. Its participants did not agree on every aspect of Hungary’s future, but they rejected the proposition that decisions about their country’s government, economy and alliances belonged in Moscow.

Seventy years later, the comparison between Soviet military domination and contemporary Russian economic and political influence cannot be exact. The historical circumstances, instruments of power and international constraints are different.

What persists is the problem of external leverage over national choices.

Hungary’s political transformation in 2026 has altered the balance of power in Budapest, but the country’s inherited economic dependencies, institutional weaknesses and disputes over its strategic orientation remain.

The historical significance of the anniversary therefore extends beyond the rehabilitation of one political tradition or the defeat of another.

In 1956, Hungarians demonstrated that Soviet military supremacy had not secured their political consent. In 1989, the memory of that resistance helped undermine the legitimacy of communist rule. In 2026, another political transition has reopened the question of how national independence should be understood within a deeply interconnected Europe.

The measure of Hungary’s political sovereignty will not be the number of foreign dignitaries attending its commemorations, nor the frequency with which its leaders invoke the language of independence.

It will be the extent to which Hungary can make democratic choices without those choices being constrained by dependence on an external power — or by domestic institutions incapable of resisting its influence.

An apparent vehicle breach at Leipzig/Halle Airport has renewed questions about infrastructure protection. After an earlier drone incident blamed on Russia, Germany faces the challenge of responding firmly while allowing evidence to determine responsibility.

A damaged airport fence would ordinarily be a local policing story. At Leipzig/Halle, it carries a heavier significance. Following an attempted drone attack earlier this year, another security incident inevitably raises questions about whether Germany can adequately protect infrastructure operating in an increasingly hostile environment.

Yet the central distinction remains essential: an apparent perimeter breach is under investigation. Its cause, purpose and perpetrators have not been established. The implications deserve scrutiny; suggestions of another foreign operation remain speculation.

Police said damage was discovered shortly before 11pm on Saturday, October 17th. The northern runway was closed while federal and state officers searched the grounds. In a Sunday morning update, investigators said a vehicle had most probably broken through the fence. Initial searches found neither unauthorised people nor suspicious objects, with further searches planned.

Those findings provide reassurance without resolving the incident. Investigators still need to establish how the damage occurred, whether anyone entered restricted areas and whether the apparent breach was deliberate. Until those questions are answered, describing it as sabotage would run ahead of the evidence.

The operational picture also requires proportion. Although the northern runway remained closed, airport spokesman Uwe Schuhart said on Sunday morning that passenger and freight flights were continuing without restrictions because the second runway remained available. This was a significant security response, but not an airport-wide shutdown.

That distinction matters politically. Public confidence depends on authorities explaining both the seriousness of a suspected intrusion and the effectiveness of arrangements that keep essential services functioning.

Leipzig’s recent history nevertheless makes heightened vigilance understandable. Reuters recalled that investigators discovered an explosive-laden drone near a runway in August. German officials subsequently attributed responsibility to Russia, which denied the allegations. No connection between that episode and the latest fence damage has been established.

The earlier incident changes the context in which airport authorities must make decisions. Once a location has faced a potentially lethal threat, uncertainty becomes more expensive. An unexplained opening in a perimeter cannot be treated casually simply because the first search produces nothing suspicious.

This creates an uncomfortable imbalance. Damage that takes little time to inflict can require extensive searches, specialist personnel and precautionary closures. Whether caused by criminality, recklessness or hostile intent, a breach can impose costs far beyond the price of repairing a fence.

The wider German security debate gives those concerns additional weight. On October 12, Reuters reported warnings from Interior Minister Alexander Dobrindt about a “shadow war”. Domestic intelligence chief Sinan Selen described Russian activities encompassing disinformation, sabotage and assassination preparations, and said he expected further incidents resembling the earlier Leipzig drone episode.

Those warnings justify preparedness. They do not establish who damaged this fence. Conflating the two would weaken public understanding and risk turning every unexplained incident into an assumed act of geopolitical aggression.

For policymakers, the practical questions are more useful than premature attribution. How quickly was the damage detected? Could security personnel reconstruct movements around the affected area? Were protective measures proportionate to the risks? And what improvements, if any, would reduce the interval between a breach and a reliable assessment?

The airport’s continued operation offers one encouraging lesson: resilience includes maintaining service while investigating danger. A second runway provided operational flexibility. Similar thinking should guide investment across critical infrastructure, where preventing every disruption may be impossible but limiting its consequences remains achievable.

There is also a clear accountability test. Once investigators establish what happened, authorities should explain the findings and any resulting changes without revealing details that would assist future intruders. An accident, an ordinary crime and a hostile operation would demand different responses.

For now, Leipzig presents a warning about vulnerability rather than proof of another attack. Germany needs the capacity to investigate rapidly, protect exposed facilities and sustain normal life under pressure. Its credibility will depend on demonstrating those capabilities—and maintaining the discipline to distinguish justified suspicion from established fact.

Main Image: WikiABG

Explosive Drone Discovery at German Airport Exposes Europe’s Growing Hybrid Security Challenge

As the European Parliament prepares to welcome representatives from six Gulf monarchies, uncomfortable questions are emerging about the moral foundations of Europe’s foreign policy. Can Brussels credibly champion democracy and human rights while deepening relations with governments accused of suppressing dissent, restricting fundamental freedoms and exploiting migrant workers?

The European Union has long presented itself as a global defender of democracy, human rights and the rule of law. Yet its growing enthusiasm for closer relations with the Gulf monarchies raises an increasingly uncomfortable question: how much are those principles worth when substantial economic and strategic interests are at stake?

On October 16th, the European Parliament will host senior parliamentary representatives from the six members of the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC): Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain and Oman.

The conference, chaired by European Parliament President Roberta Metsola, will address parliamentary cooperation, maritime security and the geopolitical consequences of Russia’s war against Ukraine.

On paper, the initiative represents an entirely reasonable diplomatic exercise. Europe needs reliable energy supplies, secure international shipping routes and constructive relations with influential Middle Eastern governments.

But there is another side to this developing partnership, one that Brussels cannot simply dismiss as an inconvenient complication.

Several Gulf governments maintain political systems in which meaningful democratic opposition is severely restricted, freedom of expression is curtailed and individuals can face imprisonment for challenging those in power.

The question is not whether Europe should maintain diplomatic relations with such countries. It plainly must.

The question is whether those relations should be celebrated as strategic partnerships without demanding meaningful improvements in the treatment of their own citizens.

The uncomfortable reality behind Gulf prosperity

Saudi Arabia’s international image has undergone a remarkable transformation in recent years.

Under Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, the kingdom has promoted ambitious economic reforms, tourism projects and international sporting events designed to present a modernising society. Yet this carefully cultivated image sits uneasily alongside its human rights record.

Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have repeatedly documented concerns over executions, restrictions on political dissent, arbitrary detention and the treatment of women’s rights activists.

The murder of journalist Jamal Khashoggi in Istanbul in 2018 remains an enduring symbol of the dangers faced by critics of the Saudi leadership. A 2021 US intelligence assessment concluded that the Crown Prince had approved an operation to capture or kill Khashoggi, an assessment rejected by Saudi Arabia.

Qatar, meanwhile, has attracted sustained criticism over the treatment of migrant workers, particularly during preparations for the 2022 FIFA World Cup. Although labour reforms were introduced, human rights organisations continue to question their implementation and the effectiveness of protections against exploitation.

The UAE, despite its reputation for modernity and commercial sophistication, has similarly faced criticism over restrictions on political expression, detention of dissidents and the absence of meaningful electoral democracy at national level.

Bahrain has been criticised for imprisoning opposition figures and restricting political freedoms, while concerns about migrant labour protections and freedom of expression extend across other Gulf states, albeit with important differences in their individual records.

These are not minor administrative shortcomings. They concern fundamental rights that the European Union claims to regard as universal and non-negotiable.

When strategic interests outweigh principles

There is an unmistakable contradiction in Europe’s approach. The European Parliament routinely condemns authoritarian practices in Russia, Belarus and other countries where political freedoms are suppressed. It demands accountability, democratic reform and respect for international law.

Yet when dealing with wealthy Gulf monarchies, the language often becomes considerably more accommodating. Economic opportunity, investment, energy security and regional stability suddenly dominate the conversation.

Such selective emphasis risks creating the impression that Europe’s commitment to human rights is determined less by universal principle than by the commercial and geopolitical importance of the country concerned.

That is a dangerous perception for an institution whose international credibility depends heavily upon its moral authority.

If the imprisonment of political opponents is unacceptable in Moscow or Minsk, why should comparable abuses become less objectionable when committed by governments possessing substantial sovereign wealth funds or strategically important energy reserves?

Europe cannot reasonably demand consistency from others while appearing unwilling to apply it to itself.

The strategic argument remains compelling

None of this diminishes the genuine importance of cooperation with the Gulf. The Strait of Hormuz and the Red Sea are essential maritime corridors connecting Europe with global energy suppliers and Asian markets. Threats to commercial shipping, regional instability and the activities of Iran-aligned armed groups present legitimate security concerns.

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has also demonstrated the dangers of excessive dependence upon unreliable external partners. Diversifying energy relationships is therefore a sensible strategic objective.

Moreover, Gulf governments possess considerable diplomatic influence, including relationships with states and political actors that European governments may struggle to engage directly.

But strategic necessity does not automatically confer moral legitimacy.

Indeed, Europe’s previous dependence upon Russian energy offers a particularly sobering lesson. For years, European governments convinced themselves that extensive commercial engagement with Moscow would encourage moderation and political stability.

Instead, economic interdependence failed to prevent Russian aggression, leaving Europe exposed when that relationship collapsed. It would be reckless to assume that expanding commercial relations with authoritarian governments necessarily produces political liberalisation.

What does parliamentary cooperation actually mean?

The proposed conference also raises questions about the meaning of parliamentary dialogue.

The European Parliament is a directly elected institution, accountable to hundreds of millions of citizens through competitive democratic elections.

The political institutions of the Gulf states operate under markedly different arrangements, with varying degrees of appointed representation, limited electoral participation and executive authority concentrated within ruling families.

Describing these relationships simply as parliamentary cooperation risks obscuring fundamental differences in democratic legitimacy.

Dialogue can undoubtedly serve a useful purpose. But it should not be allowed to imply an equivalence between representative democratic institutions and political structures in which citizens have far fewer opportunities to challenge those governing them.

Nor should participation in prestigious European institutional events become an exercise in international reputation management for governments facing serious human rights allegations.

A test of Europe’s credibility

The European Parliament has an opportunity to demonstrate that closer cooperation need not mean abandoning its principles.

It could insist that human rights form a substantive part of future engagement, including scrutiny of political imprisonment, freedom of expression, judicial independence and migrant worker protections.

It could also establish mechanisms for monitoring progress rather than relying upon diplomatic assurances.

Such measures would not necessarily undermine economic cooperation. They would establish that the relationship carries responsibilities as well as benefits.

Ultimately, the issue is not whether Europe should talk to the Gulf monarchies, but whether it possesses the political courage to challenge them.

A European Union that condemns authoritarianism in one part of the world while accommodating it elsewhere risks reducing its professed values to little more than diplomatic convenience.

Europe may need the Gulf’s energy, investment and strategic influence, but it should not have to surrender its conscience to obtain them.

And if Brussels cannot reconcile its commercial ambitions with its democratic principles, it must confront a deeply uncomfortable possibility: that Europe’s foreign policy is increasingly being guided not by the values it proclaims, but by the wealth and influence of those sitting across the negotiating table.

The imposition of emergency rule in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, an opposition-controlled province, raises disturbing questions about the relationship between Pakistan’s civilian government and its powerful military establishment. Is this a legitimate response to terrorism, or another calculated assault on democracy?

There is an old saying in Pakistan that most countries have an army, but in Pakistan the army has a country. It is a cynical observation, certainly, but one that has survived successive governments, constitutional crises and military interventions with remarkable durability.

The latest developments in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, the northwestern province governed by the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) party of imprisoned former Prime Minister Imran Khan, suggest that the observation may be as relevant today as ever.

President Asif Ali Zardari’s decision to impose emergency rule in the province, ostensibly in response to deteriorating security conditions, has prompted an obvious and deeply uncomfortable question: is Pakistan witnessing another military coup, albeit one conducted without tanks surrounding parliament or generals appearing on television to announce the suspension of democracy?

The answer depends largely upon how one defines a coup.

A constitutional manoeuvre with political consequences

Under Pakistan’s constitutional framework, federal authorities possess emergency powers that can, under specified circumstances, override provincial administrations.

Such powers are not inherently illegitimate. Khyber Pakhtunkhwa has experienced serious violence involving the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), and the federal government has a responsibility to protect citizens against terrorist attacks.

Nevertheless, the timing of the intervention demands scrutiny.

The province represents one of the most significant remaining political strongholds of Imran Khan, whose imprisonment and continuing confrontation with Pakistan’s political establishment have generated considerable unrest.

Suspending an elected provincial administration in these circumstances inevitably raises suspicions that national security has become a convenient instrument for achieving political objectives.

The crucial distinction is between responding to a genuine emergency and exploiting that emergency to neutralise an inconvenient opposition.

Pakistan’s authorities must demonstrate not merely that a security threat exists, but that the removal of elected provincial leadership is necessary and proportionate.

The army that never really left politics

Pakistan’s military has exercised an extraordinary degree of influence over the country’s political development since independence in 1947.

General Ayub Khan seized power in 1958. General Zia-ul-Haq overthrew Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s government in 1977. General Pervez Musharraf removed Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif in 1999.

These were unmistakable military coups, involving direct intervention against civilian authority.

Yet Pakistan’s experience also demonstrates that generals need not formally assume the presidency to dominate political affairs. The military establishment has long maintained substantial influence over national security, relations with India, Afghanistan policy and, at various moments, the composition and survival of civilian governments.

Under Field Marshal Asim Munir, the relationship between the armed forces and civilian political authority has again attracted intense scrutiny. The central question is therefore not simply whether Pakistan’s generals have seized power. It is whether elected politicians retain sufficient independence to exercise it.

Imran Khan and the price of political defiance

Imran Khan’s political trajectory illustrates the extraordinary volatility of Pakistan’s relationship between civilian leadership and military power.

Once widely regarded as enjoying the establishment’s favour, Khan subsequently became one of its most prominent critics. His removal through a parliamentary no-confidence vote in April 2022 marked the beginning of an increasingly bitter confrontation.

His subsequent imprisonment, the prosecution of PTI figures and restrictions affecting the party’s political activities have fuelled allegations that Pakistan’s democratic institutions are being manipulated to exclude a popular opposition movement.

The authorities reject accusations of politically motivated persecution, while Khan’s supporters insist that his treatment demonstrates the extent to which democratic competition has been compromised.

Against this background, emergency intervention in a PTI-governed province cannot reasonably be viewed in isolation. It forms part of a wider struggle over who ultimately controls Pakistan’s political future.

A coup without the traditional trappings?

The latest emergency is particularly significant because Pakistan’s civilian government and military leadership appear aligned in their criticism of PTI.

According to Reuters reporting on 11 October, the province will be administered by a governor for an initial six months, with troops deployed to support security operations.

Hundreds of activists and three of Khan’s sisters have reportedly been detained ahead of opposition demonstrations.

PTI spokesperson Zulfikar Bukhari has characterised the emergency as a disguised coup. Even Maulana Fazlur Rehman, whose party has been involved in mediation efforts, condemned the intervention as an attack on democracy.

Yet evidence that the military directly ordered the takeover remains absent from the public record. Accusations of military involvement should be investigated rather than treated as established fact.

Nevertheless, a coup need not always involve soldiers removing a prime minister. Democratic institutions can also be progressively hollowed out through ostensibly lawful decisions that concentrate authority and deprive opposition parties of meaningful power.

A dangerous precedent for Pakistan

For Pakistan’s international partners, including the European Union, the implications extend beyond an internal constitutional dispute.

Pakistan benefits from preferential access to European markets under the EU’s GSP+ trading arrangement, which is linked to commitments concerning human rights, democratic governance and international conventions. Brussels should therefore be watching developments closely.

If emergency powers become a mechanism for suppressing political opposition rather than protecting public security, the European Commission will face legitimate questions about Pakistan’s adherence to its international obligations.

The immediate crisis may not constitute a conventional military coup. But the more troubling possibility is that Pakistan’s political system is evolving towards a form of government in which elections continue, civilian politicians remain in office, and the military’s influence is sufficiently powerful to determine the boundaries of democracy.

For Imran Khan‘s supporters, that distinction may offer little consolation.

Pakistan’s generals have seized power openly before. The question now is whether they need to do so again.

Geneva side event sharpens focus on Pakistan’s GSP+ status and rights record

As Russian missiles continue to devastate Ukraine, Germany’s disgraced former Chancellor Gerhard Schröder finds time to celebrate Vladimir Putin’s birthday. His latest Moscow pilgrimage is another reminder of the scandalous relationship between German political power and Russian energy money.

There are few spectacles quite so nauseating as a former democratic leader enthusiastically embracing the dictator whose aggression has brought death and destruction to Europe.

Yet there was Gerhard Schröder, Germany’s former Chancellor, grinning alongside Vladimir Putin at the Russian president’s 74th birthday celebrations, apparently oblivious to the moral obscenity of the occasion.

According to Reuters, Schröder visited Putin’s home in Moscow, where the two old friends were photographed smiling and shaking hands against a suitably cosy backdrop of traditional Russian furnishings.

How touching. While Ukrainians endure another year of Russian bombardment, Schröder enjoys the hospitality of the man responsible.

The photographs could scarcely provide a more damning illustration of how completely one of Germany’s former leaders has lost his moral compass.

From German Chancellor to Kremlin’s Favourite German

Schröder’s relationship with Putin has long since ceased to be merely an embarrassing personal friendship. It represents one of the most troubling examples of the revolving door between European political office and Russian commercial interests.

Having served as German Chancellor between 1998 and 2005, Schröder promptly embarked upon a remarkably lucrative second career in the Russian energy industry.

His involvement with Nord Stream was particularly scandalous.

While still Chancellor, Schröder championed the Baltic Sea gas pipeline linking Russia directly to Germany. Shortly after leaving office, he accepted a senior position with the consortium responsible for the project.

The arrangement raised an obvious and deeply uncomfortable question: had German energy policy been shaped exclusively by national interests, or had the groundwork also been laid for an exceptionally rewarding retirement?

There is no need to allege criminal wrongdoing to recognise the appalling appearance of a conflict of interest.

Schröder subsequently became chairman of the supervisory board of Rosneft, Russia’s state-controlled oil giant, in 2017.

This was three years after Putin’s illegal annexation of Crimea, when any responsible European statesman should already have understood the dangers of strengthening Moscow’s financial and strategic position.

Instead, Schröder continued to prosper within the Russian energy establishment.

Nord Stream: The Pipeline That Helped Putin

The Nord Stream controversy was never simply about natural gas.

It was about geopolitical leverage, European security and the extraordinary willingness of successive German governments to disregard warnings from Poland, Ukraine and the Baltic states.

Those countries understood precisely what Berlin preferred not to acknowledge: energy dependence on an authoritarian Russia was a strategic vulnerability.

Schröder became one of the most prominent advocates of precisely that dependence.

The Nord Stream 2 project subsequently became entangled in further controversy surrounding a foundation established in Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania, ostensibly for environmental purposes, which helped companies involved in completing the pipeline navigate American sanctions.

The foundation received €20 million from Nord Stream 2 AG. The affair prompted parliamentary scrutiny and questions about Russian corporate influence over German political decision-making.

Schröder’s involvement in the wider Nord Stream enterprise remains a central feature of that controversy.

No Shame, No Apology

Even Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 failed to produce the moral reckoning that Schröder’s conduct demanded.

He eventually relinquished his Rosneft position and declined a proposed Gazprom board appointment. His political reputation, however, was already in ruins.

The Bundestag stripped him of his parliamentary office and staff privileges. His own Social Democratic Party faced demands to expel him, although attempts to remove him ultimately failed.

Yet Schröder apparently remains incapable of recognising why his behaviour disgusts so many Germans.

His latest Moscow appearance has provoked outrage from Chancellor Friedrich Merz, whose government described the birthday visit as profoundly immoral. SPD co-leader Lars Klingbeil condemned it as completely unacceptable.

A Useful Friend for the Kremlin

There is another dimension to this disgrace.

Putin has previously suggested that Schröder could serve as an intermediary in negotiations concerning European security. European governments understandably rejected the proposal.

Why would Europe entrust its security to a man whose professional judgement has been so closely associated with Russian commercial interests?

Schröder’s latest Russian appointment, on the supervisory board of supermarket operator Hyperglobus, merely reinforces the impression that Moscow remains an irresistible attraction.

Perhaps he regards himself as a bridge between Russia and Germany. If so, it is a bridge built upon extraordinary political misjudgement.

Schröder is entitled to choose his friends. Europeans are equally entitled to judge him by those choices.

History will remember that, while Ukraine fought for its survival, a former German Chancellor travelled to Moscow to celebrate the birthday of Vladimir Putin, the man directing its destruction.

It is difficult to imagine a more humiliating epitaph for a once-powerful European statesman.

Main Image: Kremlin.ru

By refusing to recognise Vladimir Putin’s newly elected State Duma, the European Parliament has drawn an important line against the Kremlin’s authoritarianism. However, despite Europe possessing enormous economic and diplomatic leverage, the question still remains whether the European Commission and member states are prepared to turn condemnation into meaningful consequences.

The European Parliament has delivered an unusually unequivocal denunciation of Vladimir Putin’s Russia, refusing to recognise the legitimacy of the newly constituted State Duma following September’s parliamentary elections.

In a resolution adopted by 482 votes to 41, with 39 abstentions, MEPs rejected the elections of 18–20 September as neither free nor fair, condemning what they described as the deliberate destruction of Russia’s remaining democratic institutions.

The resolution is significant not simply for its language, but for its demands. Parliament wants European governments to refuse official contact with the new Duma, impose additional sanctions on those responsible for repression and electoral manipulation, and reject any normalisation of relations with Moscow until fundamental conditions concerning Ukraine have been met.

It is a substantial political statement. Whether it becomes an effective European policy is another matter.

Putin’s democracy: an election without a choice

The circumstances surrounding the September ballot demonstrate why MEPs reached their conclusions.

According to Parliament, there were no genuine alternative candidates, no free media, no credible independent observers and no meaningful political freedoms.

Opponents of Putin’s regime have been imprisoned, driven into exile or, in some cases, murdered.

Under such conditions, elections cease to provide a credible means of holding government accountable. Instead, they risk becoming exercises designed to confer an appearance of democratic legitimacy upon an entrenched authoritarian system.

Particularly disturbing was Moscow’s decision to conduct voting in occupied Ukrainian territory, including parts of Donetsk, Kherson, Luhansk and Zaporizhzhia.

Parliament also condemned the organisation of voting in Moldova’s Transnistrian region and Georgia’s Abkhazia and Tskhinvali/South Ossetia regions.

These are not merely procedural irregularities. They raise fundamental questions about sovereignty, territorial integrity and Russia’s willingness to respect internationally recognised borders.

The Parliament’s refusal to recognise the new Duma therefore carries considerable diplomatic significance.

Europe has the economic power. Does it have the political determination?

Yet there is an uncomfortable contrast between the Parliament’s forthright language and the difficulties European governments repeatedly encounter when attempting to strengthen economic pressure on Moscow.

The European Commission has played a central role in preparing successive sanctions packages. However, proposals can become entangled in negotiations between member states determined to protect particular commercial interests.

As EU Today has repeatedly argued in its coverage of Russia’s aggression and European sanctions policy, the effectiveness of restrictions depends not simply on their announcement, but on their enforcement.

Europe possesses enormous economic leverage through its financial markets, technology industries, maritime services and access to international trade.

There is a strong case for examining whether that leverage is being employed as consistently as possible against the networks sustaining Russia’s war economy.

The Commission cannot act entirely independently: major sanctions decisions require agreement among member states. Nevertheless, its responsibility for proposing measures, coordinating implementation and pursuing infringements gives it considerable influence.

The central criticism is therefore not that Brussels has failed to act, but that European action remains vulnerable to political compromise, uneven enforcement and commercial exceptions.

Target the machinery of repression

The Parliament’s resolution offers a particularly practical starting point. MEPs want additional restrictive measures against judges, prosecutors, officials of Russia’s financial monitoring service, Rosfinmonitoring, members of the Central Election Commission and individuals involved in organising staged elections in occupied territories.

This represents a more targeted approach than indiscriminate economic punishment.

Those who administer political persecution, facilitate repression or organise unlawful electoral processes should face appropriate individual accountability, subject to evidence and legal safeguards.

The resolution also calls for action against transnational repression, recognising that Moscow’s efforts to intimidate opponents can extend beyond Russia’s borders.

Such measures would complement existing sanctions rather than replace them.

No return to business as usual

Perhaps the resolution’s most consequential element concerns the conditions for restoring relations with Russia.

Parliament insists there can be no normalisation without a just and lasting peace for Ukraine, full Russian withdrawal, the release of prisoners of war, the return of forcibly deported Ukrainian children, reparations and accountability for crimes committed.

It also opposes normalising Russian participation in international sporting and cultural events.

These are demanding conditions, and their implementation would require sustained diplomatic coordination.

Nevertheless, the resolution establishes a clear principle: restoring ordinary relations cannot be separated from the consequences of Russia’s aggression.

It also importantly distinguishes Putin’s regime from Russian democratic forces, calling for continued support for those opposing the war and seeking a democratic future.

The real test begins now

The European Parliament has articulated a comprehensive position combining electoral legitimacy, territorial sovereignty, individual accountability and Ukraine’s rights.

The challenge for the Commission and European governments is to determine how these demands can be implemented effectively, consistently and lawfully.

Europe has the resources to exert considerable pressure on Moscow. What remains contested is how far its governments are prepared to accept the economic and diplomatic costs of doing so.

Condemning Putin’s electoral system is one thing. Ensuring that those responsible for repression and aggression face meaningful consequences is quite another.

The European Parliament has made its position unmistakable. The Commission and member states now face the more difficult task of demonstrating that European economic power can reinforce European democratic principles.

The European Commission Wants More Bureaucrats – Europe Wants More Results

Main Image: Mathieu CUGNOT © European Union 2026 – Source : EP Usage terms: Identification of origin mandatory

 

For years, the European Union has struggled with a peculiar contradiction in its dealings with China. The EU is one of the largest and wealthiest trading blocs on earth, capable of determining access to a market of some 450 million relatively affluent consumers, yet it frequently conducts foreign policy as though it were the supplicant.

Hilde Vautmans, the Belgian Renew Europe MEP and European Parliament rapporteur on EU-China political relations, is right to challenge this timidity.

Her report, debated this week in Strasbourg, does not advocate severing relations with Beijing. Nor should it. China is too economically important and too influential on questions ranging from climate change to international security for Europe simply to close the door.

But dialogue must not become an alternative to action.

“Europe has economic power. It’s time to use it,” Vautmans told Parliament ahead of the vote. That sentence ought to be pinned above every desk in the European Commission dealing with China.

The figures make the case brutally clear. In 2025 the EU imported €559.4 billion of goods from China while exporting just €199.6 billion in the opposite direction. The resulting deficit was €359.8 billion — almost €1 billion every day.

As EU Today reported recently, Commission President Ursula von der Leyen has herself warned of a potential “second China shock”, with subsidised Chinese industrial production threatening European manufacturers.

Fine words. But Beijing has heard fine words before.

The Commission’s preferred formulation remains “de-risking, not decoupling”. There is sense in that distinction. Nobody seriously proposes shutting down trade with the world’s second-largest economy. But de-risking becomes meaningless if every risk identified is followed by another dialogue, another working group and another opportunity to postpone difficult decisions.

Indeed, the Commission acknowledges that European companies operating in China face regulatory obstacles, inadequate intellectual-property protection, restrictions on data flows and pressures associated with technology transfer.

Europe possesses formidable weapons with which to respond: anti-dumping duties, anti-subsidy measures, foreign-investment screening, the Foreign Subsidies Regulation, the Anti-Coercion Instrument, procurement restrictions and controls on strategically sensitive technologies.

These instruments should not be deployed indiscriminately. But neither should they sit polished in the armoury while Beijing exploits European openness.

Vautmans is particularly right to connect economics with security and values. China cannot reasonably expect privileged access to European markets while helping sustain the Russian war machine. The European Parliament’s own research service describes Beijing as a “decisive enabler and dual-use provider”, including through goods entering Russian weapons and drone supply chains.

If Chinese companies materially assist Russia’s ability to wage war against Ukraine, Europe should be prepared to impose a direct economic price. The same principle should apply to human rights.

EU Today has warned repeatedly that Brussels’ ritualised engagement with Beijing risks becoming precisely that: ritual.

We reported earlier that the EU-China Human Rights Dialogue risks losing credibility, pointing to the continuing imprisonment of Swedish citizen Gui Minhai and Uyghur academic and Sakharov Prize laureate Ilham Tohti. After round upon round of discussions, Beijing has learnt that European expressions of “deep concern” are inexpensive things to endure.

The problem is hardly new. Years ago, EU Today highlighted calls for concrete EU action over goods associated with forced labour in China, including demands for tougher restrictions on entities implicated in abuses against Uyghurs.

Yet repression continues. In March this year China adopted its new Law on the Promotion of Ethnic Unity and Progress. The European Parliament subsequently condemned what it described as intensified repression and assimilation affecting Tibetans, Uyghurs and other minorities, by the overwhelming margin of 439 votes to 52.

Europe therefore faces a straightforward question. What is the purpose of economic power if it is never translated into political influence?

The EU should not attempt to bully China. Nor should it abandon diplomacy. Vautmans is correct that channels of communication must remain open. But reciprocity must become something more than a word appearing in communiqués.

Where China closes markets to European companies, Europe should be prepared to restrict equivalent access. Where state subsidies distort competition, Brussels should respond rapidly with trade-defence measures. Where strategic dependencies expose Europe to political coercion, alternative supply chains must be built. Where Chinese entities support Russia’s military-industrial complex, sanctions should follow. And where companies benefit from forced labour or serious human-rights abuses, access to the European marketplace should carry consequences.

That is not protectionism. It is leverage.

Totalitarian states understand leverage perfectly well. China routinely uses access to its enormous market as an instrument of statecraft. Europe, by contrast, too often behaves as though exploiting its own commercial strength would somehow represent a failure of diplomacy. It represents precisely the opposite.

The European Commission has spent years discovering that China is simultaneously a partner, competitor and “systemic rival”. It is time to move beyond discovering the obvious.

Vautmans has identified the essential point. Europe already possesses economic power on a scale few countries can ignore. What it appears to lack is the political confidence to use it.

Main Image: by Valentine ZELER, © European Union 2026 – Source : EP

The European Parliament’s debate on Monday, October 5th, comes at an awkward moment for Brussels. After years of confrontation with Viktor Orbán, the European Commission now believes Hungary has done enough to justify releasing €4.2 billion in cohesion funding and restoring full access to Erasmus+ and Horizon Europe.

The question before MEPs is therefore deceptively simple: have the conditions really been met, or has Brussels simply found a convenient political moment to declare victory?

The answer matters well beyond Hungary. The original dispute was not some abstract quarrel over Brussels etiquette. In 2022, the EU suspended €6.3 billion in Hungarian cohesion funding after identifying deficiencies in public procurement, conflicts of interest, corruption controls and the effectiveness of prosecutorial action. The conditionality mechanism was deliberately designed to make access to EU taxpayers’ money dependent upon safeguards for the rule of law and the protection of the EU budget.

That principle is important. If membership of the EU means anything, it cannot mean that governments receive billions regardless of whether public money is properly administered.

But Hungary has changed politically. Viktor Orbán’s 16-year rule ended with Péter Magyar’s decisive election victory in April. Magyar campaigned partly on repairing Hungary’s relationship with Brussels and unlocking the billions frozen during the Orbán years. His government subsequently notified the Commission that it had implemented the required reforms.

The Commission has now accepted that argument — albeit partially. Its September 23rd proposal says Hungary has addressed the rule-of-law breaches affecting the EU budget, citing improvements in public procurement, the anti-corruption framework, prevention of conflicts of interest and prosecutorial effectiveness. If the Council approves the proposal, €4.2 billion in cohesion commitments will be reinstated and Hungarian students and researchers will regain full access to Erasmus+ and Horizon Europe.

That is a substantial political prize for Magyar, and a substantial test for the EU.

The danger for Brussels is obvious. Having spent years insisting that European money must not subsidise corruption or institutional capture, the Commission cannot now appear to have changed the rules simply because a more congenial government has arrived in Budapest.

There is, however, an equally serious danger on the other side. If Hungary has genuinely implemented the reforms demanded by Brussels, continuing to withhold money would make the conditionality mechanism look less like a defence of European values and more like a political punishment system. That would be profoundly damaging. Rules that apply only to governments Brussels likes are not rules at all.

This is why Monday’s debate matters – and the €4.2 billion is only part of the story.

The Commission has made clear that other Hungarian funds remain blocked. Around €3.5 billion is affected by a separate mechanism, including approximately €2.7 billion linked to horizontal conditions concerning the EU Charter of Fundamental Rights, including academic freedom, LGBTI rights and asylum.

Meanwhile, Hungary is still seeking access to roughly €10 billion under the Recovery and Resilience Facility. The new Hungarian recovery plan includes measures on anti-corruption, public procurement, transparency, judicial independence and stakeholder participation, with payments tied to the achievement of specific milestones.

So this is not a clean victory for either side.

For Magyar, the release of €4.2 billion demonstrates that his strategy of accommodation with Brussels is delivering tangible results. For the Commission, it provides an opportunity to demonstrate that conditionality can work: reforms are made, the Commission verifies them, and money is released.

But the real test will come afterwards. Brussels must monitor whether the reforms survive political pressure. Anti-corruption bodies must remain genuinely independent. Public procurement must be transparent. Prosecutorial safeguards must work in practice rather than merely on paper. And the judiciary must be capable of challenging the government when necessary.

That is where the European Parliament should concentrate its fire. The temptation will be to turn Monday’s debate into another referendum on Viktor Orbán. That would be yesterday’s argument. Orbán has gone. The more important question is whether Hungary’s new government has actually dismantled the machinery that generated the dispute.

There is a wider lesson here for the European Union.

Conditionality can only work if Brussels is prepared both to withhold money when standards are breached and to release it when standards are met. Anything else undermines the credibility of the entire system.

The Commission says Hungary has crossed that threshold. The Council must now decide whether it agrees.

MEPs should therefore resist both triumphalism and cynicism, if the reforms are real, Hungary should get its money.

If they are cosmetic, Brussels should keep the cheque in the drawer.

Brussels Moves to Release €4.2bn to Hungary as Magyar Unwinds Orbán-Era Dispute