BUDAPEST—Last Saturday, the day before the election in Hungary, I went to Puspokladany, a run-down town of about 16,000 in the northeastern part of the country, for the penultimate rally of opposition leader Peter Magyar. Though the region has traditionally been a stronghold of Prime Minister Viktor Orban’s Fidesz party, the square where Magyar spoke was overflowing; there seemed to be at least 1,000 people, many of them teenagers and young families. Over and over, Magyar beseeched the crowd, “Do not be afraid!” The crowd, in turn, broke into a chant: “We are not afraid!”

In an election with the highest voter turnout in Hungary’s democratic history, Magyar’s Tisza Party won a two-thirds supermajority, enough to alter the constitution that Orban had rewritten to shore up his power. In Budapest, Hungarians thronged the bank of the Danube across from the city’s majestic neo-Gothic parliament, cheering, waving flags and popping champagne.

Some admirers of Orban have argued that the fact he lost proves he was never an autocrat to begin with. What it really demonstrates, however, is that opposition to Fidesz was so strong it was able to overwhelm all the structures Orban put in place to protect his rule: wildly distorted voting districts, a captured media, state-sponsored propaganda, local patronage networks, and widespread threats and intimidation.

In recent days, as it became increasingly clear that Orban was losing, some American and British conservatives argued that his ultimate success lay in destroying the Hungarian left. “The reason Peter Magyar has a chance to beat Orban,” wrote Rod Dreher, the doyen of American conservatives in Budapest, is because “he accepts, at least publicly, all the things Orban stands for.”

There is a grain of truth to this. Hungary’s election, like Poland’s election in 2023, was a choice between the center right and the authoritarian right. Magyar voted to keep resisting illegal migration, an issue Orban is known for. Last year, when more than 100,000 people defied Orban’s attempt to ban a gay pride parade by marching in Budapest, Magyar didn’t attend. Kunhalmi told me that the parliament elected on Sunday will be the first since 1989 with no left-wing representation, in part because many progressive candidates stood down to avoid splitting the anti-Orban vote.

But it is a mistake to understate the profound differences between Orban and Magyar, or at least what Magyar is promising. Magyar campaigned on a clean break from the existing order—a message Democrats in the United States might learn from—pledging to prosecute those who’ve enriched themselves at public expense.

The geopolitical consequences of Magyar’s victory could be profound. Under Orban, Hungary has vetoed aid to Ukraine and sanctions on both Russia and Israel. Magyar’s movement is hostile to Russia; people at his rallies have taken up the chant “Russians, go home,” a slogan from the 1956 Hungarian Revolution.

And while Magyar didn’t march in the Pride parade, he’s unlikely to demonize LGBTQ+ people the way Orban did. Among those celebrating by the Danube on Sunday night were Eszter Kalocsai, a 30-year-old bisexual woman, and Milan Gabriel Berki, a 24-year-old gay man. They were delirious with joy. Kalocsai said she’s spent the last 10 years hiding her attraction to women. “It’s amazing!” she cried. “I feel like I can go out and say that I love all people! Oh, my God!” Berki added, “The feeling is overwhelming.”

Magyar told people not to be afraid, and they weren’t.

Michelle Goldberg is a New York Times columnist.

© Arkansas Online