Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones:
Hero lighting the Beacon for Leander
(c. 1892)

"…tall enough to maybe even catch a Glimpse of ourselves standing proud once again."

The news from our beloved Budapest this morning buoys my spirit. I feel as though I’m Glimpsing one of the most alluring futures we might also be facing. The electoral defeat of a corrupt, entrenched, extreme right-wing oligarchy that has served as the lead sled dog in the worldwide effort to unseat liberal democracy. Victor Orbán was the figure inspiring every wanna be dictator in the world, including ours. Our incumbent praised his presence and supported his efforts to hobble the European Economic Union while serving his Kremlin overlords. He even sent our vice president to campaign for him, though initial voting results strongly insist that it made little difference, and might have even further encouraged his opponents. The winner was once an Orbán insider, but left when he found himself unable to stomach the overwhelming levels of corruption dominating Orbán’s rule.

The streets of Budapest were overflowing with cheering young people, a presence that has been disturbingly absent from our domestic protest rallies. The youth reported that they wanted to feel as though they, too, belonged to something bigger than their beloved Hungary. One said he’d know positive change had occurred if he could go to Spain and find a sense of community there, too. The paranoid borders Orbán defended against the usual and ordinary imaginary enemies became a prison for the Magyars, rather than the promised refuge. Orbán’s continuing betrayal of neighboring Ukraine ultimately offended almost everyone. His heavy-handed collusion with Russian Intelligence resurrected uncomfortable memories of Cold War days, before liberation. This ultimately served to undermine Orbán’s Hungarian Christian Supremacist messaging.

A few summers ago, The Muse enrolled in a workshop in Budapest. This gave us nearly a week to ramble around that great old European capital. It was in every way beautiful. We rented a small apartment in a working-class apartment block, and we walked and hopped on convenient public transportation everywhere we went. We shopped in that grand old public market and ate in neighborhood cafes where school children also ate their lunches along with lazy old men drinking their wonderful beers. One evening, we attended a living room jazz concert performed by a three-piece group led by a local who had studied at Berklee in Boston. We felt young European energy, now apparently resurrected. We ate our weight in goulash and sweet pastries. We strolled along the Danube to watch fireworks explode over old Buda.

I had mourned that week once Orbán’s reign started sinking in. He’d been in charge when we visited, but his tenure had not yet turned completely toxic. Oh, he’d already banned George Soros’ Central European University, which he’d founded to promote democracy and open societies. Soros relocated to Vienna, another lovely city further upstream the same blue Danube. Budapest has a long history of oppression and succession, heading back to Hungary’s founding. The most moving memorial stands along the Danube’s shore in front of their lovely wedding cake Parliament building. The top of the sea wall is covered in bronzed shoes of every size and description, intended to represent all those the Nazis drowned there during their WWII occupation. If this memorial doesn’t move you to tears, you can’t possibly be human.

Once again, I am reminded of and reassured by perhaps history’s greatest lesson. Countries have never much more than managed to dabble in the kinds of corruption and oppression Orbán attempted to impose upon those long-suffering Magyars. That form of governance, in modern times, has always proven unstable, largely because the young people refuse to stand and watch their lives slip by under its rule. Oppressors always lack essential compassion, and vestigial memories might just be eternal. We remember any taste of freedom. We fondly recall former liberations, and we cannot stand by while our leaders engage in oppression in our once good name. We rise, if not necessarily as one, but ultimately together, to depose those phonies. We reawaken our courage and stand up tall again, tall enough to maybe even catch a Glimpse of ourselves standing proud once again.

©2026 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #EndDays, #PureSchmaltz