Budapest. Both, the Hungarian Újszínház (New Theatre) and the Nemzeti Színház (National Theatre) are led by two right wing and, in case of  Attila Vidnyánszky, highly influantial figures: “Far-right extremist Dörner remains director of the Budapest New Theatre,” says the translated title of an article of the Neue Musikzeitung,  reported in 2016 on the occasion of György Dörner’s reappointment by the Budapest city assembly for another five-year term. Dörner had already been appointed director of the Újszínház (New Theatre) in 2011 for the first time. At the time, the decision was widely seen as politically controversial. According to media reports at the time, his appointment was in line with the agenda of then-Prime Minister Viktor Orbán.

In his application, Dörner spoke out against what he described as a “degenerate, pathological liberal hegemony” in the theatre scene.

Despite eleven other applicants, the Fidesz-dominated city council selected him. Observers interpreted the appointment as a cultural policy signal from the government at the time. Dörner’s ideological positioning is also illustrated by his close connection to the now-deceased writer and politician István Csurka, who was repeatedly criticised for antisemitic statements. Dörner is considered a political ally of Csurka and initially planned even to involve him as an artistic advisor after his appointment. He remains at the helm of the New Theatre. In 2022, the Fidesz-affiliated platform DUOL reported the extension of his contract until 2027.

Criticism of cultural policy developments under the Orbán government was also voiced by former National Theatre director Róbert Alföldi. Following the change of government in 2010, he accused his successor Attila Vidnyánszky of using his position to ideologically shape and dominate the theatre sector. Alföldi criticised in particular Vidnyánszky’s extensive powers within the Hungarian cultural landscape. In his view, funding decisions and institutional influence under his leadership reflected a clear political and ideological orientation. He also argued that conservative and partly homophobic positions had become further entrenched in cultural discourse.

Vidnyánszky is also considered controversial due to the number of cultural positions he holds and his role in the restructuring of the University of Theatre and Film Arts in Budapest (SZFE). He is accused of having played a key role in the rightwing political transformation of the historically prestigious institution.

Rethinking the National Theatre

The ideological foundations of the current theatre system are also examined by theatre scholar Noémi Herczog. In her essay Performing illiberalism in Hungary: the ambiguities of an illiberal theatre portrayed by Attila Vidnyánszky’s National Theatre in Budapest on the search for an “illiberal theatre aesthetics,” she analyses Attila Vidnyánszky as one of the most influential figures in Hungarian theatre life. Herczog argues that while Vidnyánszky is closely aligned with Orbán’s political system, his artistic practice reveals internal ideological contradictions. His work combines internationalisation, nationalism, avant-garde elements, and political adaptation.

Among Herczog’s central criticisms are the concentration of cultural power through funding structures and institutional influence in Vidnyánszky’s hands, as well as the privileged position of the National Theatre. It presents itself as a “theatre of the nation,” yet does not represent the diversity of Hungarian theatre culture. Instead, it promotes a conception of theatre that places national identity at its centre while marginalising other perspectives. Herczog ultimately describes the contradictions in Vidnyánszky’s position as a possible key to his success, writing that “gaining international reputation on the one hand, pleasing the pseudo-ideology of illiberal Hungary on the other” works for his reputation.

Zoltán Imres “Re-evaluations of National Theatres in Europe in the 21st Century”

I meet Zoltán Imre in his office at Eötvös Loránd University (ELTE) in Budapest. The theatre historian is an known expert on national theatres and European theatre history. In his essay “Re-evaluations of National Theatres in Europe in the 21st Century,” he examines the redefinition of the national theatre in the 21st century. Imre outlines two central positions: on the one hand, the view that the term “national theatre” has become a largely empty label, as its original function has lost relevance in times of globalisation and European integration. On the other hand, he refers to theatre scholar Janelle Reinelt, who argues that national theatres can still play an important role, provided they are rethought.

In 2007, Imre  and theatre director, László Hudi developed the concept “Nemzeti Színház - mindenkinek!” (“National Theatre for Everyone!”). The concept is based on the so called Scottish model as a production company with a pluralistic approach:

“We believed that a national institution should strive to create opportunities for as many activities as possible to take place and reach as many citizens as possible in the capital and the countryside as well. In our National Theatre, we wanted to create a framework that is open to a wide range of artists and audiences on different professional and amateur levels for adults and children alike.”

Instead of a single central institution in Budapest, they propose a mobile network that includes different regions and social groups. The national theatre is thus understood as a space of diversity and exchange.

“We did not intend to create another elite centre in the capital of Hungary. We thought that if there is something that we can call elite, let us not gather it into a single centre, let us not try to tear it out of its natural environment, but let us seek it out and help it to have an effect where it is created and present. We wanted these creators to have opportunities, to have their work supported, to have a focus, but primarily in the places where they are creating.”

For them, a national theatre is only truly “national” when it makes social diversity visible and creates spaces for discussion and participation.

About Funding, Loyalty, and Control in Hungarian Theatre

In the interview, I ask Zoltán Imre about his perception of the current Hungarian theatre landscape, with a particular focus on the independent scene.

Drawing on more than 25 years of experience in the theatre sector, he describes the National Theatre as  “seemingly  more open, though Vidnyánszky and foreign guest-directors influenced mainly the intuition”, while the New Theatre  stages works only by Hungarian authors, including even those containing openly right-wing or antisemitic narratives. The independent scene, by contrast, is structurally disadvantaged and has been chronically underfunded for many years.

Speaking about the Hungarian theatre system, Imre distinguishes between so-called “stone theatres”, meaning state- or municipally or jointly funded repertory theatres with permanent ensembles, and the independent sector, funded basically by the National Cultural Fund (NKA) through yearly application. The National and the New Theatre belong to the “stone theatres”, and despite of their huge economic support, their influence  on actual audiences remains limited:

“People simply do not bother to go there. Not even right wings, not even Fidesz-supporters.”

He describes a situation of weak audience engagement in which even subsidised, therefore cheap tickets attract little demand, and sometimes school classes  being instructed to attend performances. More central, however, is not the question of audiences but of political control. According to Imre, the allocation of leadership positions was determined most of all by political loyalty in the past 16 year: “the most important thing in the selection was political loyalty.” As a result, especially regional theatres are shaped by politically aligned directors.

At the same time, ideological positioning is not always directly visible in repertoire choices:  “you can’t detect directly.” While some productions contain national-conservative or ideologically charged elements, overall repertoires tend to be heterogeneous, including classical works, international, mainly European plays, collaborations, and some contemporary pieces. According to Imre, political orientation is more evident at the level of management than within acting ensembles.

The independent scene, however, is weakened by structural underfunding. This development also has political implications: “the government do not censor them, but silence them by not financing them.” Funding is distributed through the National Cultural Fund (NKA), whose resources for independent companies have significantly decreased in recent years. As a result, many influential independent companies (Krétakör lead by Árpád Schilling, Szputnyik lead by Viktor Bodó, Tünet Együttes lead by Réka Szabó for instance) finished their activities and some of their members and leaders even left Hungary.

Imre also refers to reforms after 2010. A theatre law introduced in 2008 had established six categories and included a binding provision stipulating that at least 10% of state theatre funding should go to the independent sector. After 2010, this system was replaced by a model in which support for the independent sector became discretionary rather than guaranteed.

In retrospect, Imre describes the period before 2010 as a kind of “Golden Age” of the independent scene, despite already existing financial constraints: “from now, that seems as the golden age from the 1990 until 2010.” Regarding the role of the National Theatre, he highlights a major shift under Attila Vidnyánszky. His appointment in 2013 marked a structural break: “first he immediately closed down the repertoire of the previous directorship, and then started to build a sort of right-wing, nationalist repertoire.”

Political tendencies, according to Imre, become visible for instance in the staging of social issues, including discussions around gender issues or the promotion of a conservative family model. Some productions explicitly reflect such narratives, sometimes also through interventions by artistic leadership. At the same time, Imre cautions against generalizing the political stance of theatre personnel. Actors are bound by annual contracts: “if the director doesn’t want to renew your contract, you are jobless.”

When asked about future perspectives, Imre emphasizes the need for the renewal of the cultural dialogue among the different sectors of the theatre world and even for a more urgent need to re-think the entire Hungarian theatre system. After reform debates in the 1990s and early 2000s, a crucial period of systemic discussion was interrupted. Today, he argues, there is again an opportunity to reopen these fundamental questions about the financing and organization of the Hungarian theatres.

Sources: Neue Musikzeitung, hvg.hu, deutschlandfunk.de, Essay: Noémi Herczog’s  “Performing illiberalism in Hungary: the ambiguities of an illiberal theatre portrayed by Attila Vidnyánszky’s National Theatre in Budapest”, Essay: Zoltan Imre “Re-evaluations of National Theatres in Europe in the 21st century”
Photo: Zoltán Imre

For Dorka Szekeres, co-founder of the qLit magazine, football also holds personal significance. She played the sport herself as a teenager but eventually gave it up, as she did not consider it “girly” enough at the time. She later came out as a lesbian. Today, she sees events like this tournament as an opportunity to challenge traditional gender norms and create new spaces for women and queer people. Orsolya Vida, who has been involved with qLit for three years, also brings a long football background to the organization. She played football at club and university level for nearly a decade and originally joined the community through organizing pub quizzes, she now organizes the tournament. 

Information:          The roots of Pride Month lie in the so-called Stonewall Riots of 28 June 1969. Triggered by a police raid on the Stonewall Inn on Christopher Street, New York City, the events sparked protests that are now regarded as a milestone in the fight for the rights of the LGBTQIA+ community.    

Why is this event, and representation in sport in general, important for the community?

Dorka Szekeres: In LGBTQ+ sports, not only in Hungary but across Europe, activities are often dominated by men. That is why it is important to organize women-only events. They allow us to create and claim spaces of our own. This football cup is one way of doing that. We also organize table tennis events for our community every two weeks. Football is a perfect summer activity because nobody here is playing professionally. It is about having fun, being together, enjoying the atmosphere, and spending time outdoors. People can play, socialize, or simply have a picnic.

How would you describe the visibility of lesbians in sport?

Orsolya Vida: In some countries and sports, being openly lesbian is more or less accepted, but that is not really the case in Hungary. We know many openly lesbian football players internationally, but in Hungary there are very few publicly visible examples. I played football for almost ten years, and many of the women I played with were lesbians. They were out within their circles, but they did not have public visibility, so most people never knew about them.

Dorka Szekeres: To be honest, some former professional players who joined us here in Budapest today did not want to appear in public photographs. They are out within the community, and there are many women like them, but the broader social climate still makes it difficult for many athletes to be publicly open about their identity.

Have you experienced any hate or backlash because of this event?

Dorka Szekeres: No, not really. We are not primarily an advocacy organization, and we are not very visible outside the community. Most of our work focuses on creating programs and spaces for community members. Because of that, we have not been targeted in the same way as other lesbian and LGBTQ+ organizations that work on political advocacy. Those groups have faced significant hostility in recent years, especially when addressing topics that some people consider controversial, such as family issues or children’s rights. That is not the main focus of our work.

What are your hopes regarding the new government?

Dorka Szekeres: We are cautiously optimistic. Although Péter Magyar has described himself as relatively conservative, the new government includes people with a wide range of views. At the moment, we are trying to identify potential allies and explore opportunities for cooperation on issues that matter to the LGBTQ+ community. There have already been some encouraging signals, including direct statements that were positive towards LGBTQ+ people. We know the coming years will not be easy, but there are reasons for hope.

If you could initiate one change immediately, what would be the first step of the new government?

Dorka Szekeres: Even though we are a lesbian organization, we see ourselves as an inclusive organization. For me, the first priority would be repealing Law No. 33, which prevents transgender people from legally changing their gender marker. The harm caused by that legislation affects the entire LGBTQ+ community.

Orsolya Vida: Another important issue is the right to adopt and the repeal of the so-called “anti-paedophilia law,” which restricts the representation of queer people in educational materials and school books. We have already heard indications that this legislation may be removed, and that is a very important step forward.       

Capa, born Endre Friedmann in Budapest in 1913, left Hungary in 1930 and moved first to Berlin. There he studied political science while working as a lab assistant at the Deutsche Fotodienst agency. After the Nazis came to power, he fled to Paris in 1933, where he collaborated with photographers such as Henri Cartier-Bresson and David Seymour, among others.

Capa gained international fame through his photographs from the Spanish Civil War. Among his most famous images is the photograph The Falling Soldier, also known as Death of a Loyalist Soldier. The full title is: Loyalist Militiaman at the Moment of Death, Cerro Muriano, September 5, 1936. The International Center of Photography describes the photograph as one of the most popular war photos in history, particularly because of its “stunning impact;”. In 1938, the British magazine Picture Post declared Capa “the greatest war photographer in the world”. Quotes such as “If your photographs aren’t good enough, you’re not close enough.”    

At the same time, the photograph is considered one of the most controversial images, with many presenting arguments for or against its authenticity based on historical, topographical, and contextual evidence. During World War II, Capa worked as a war photographer for magazines such as LIFE and documented, among other events, the Allied landing in Normandy. After the war, he co-founded the Magnum Photos agency with other photographers. His work was considered revolutionary because he used a small 35mm camera to get exceptionally close to people and the action of war, thereby shaping a new form of emotional photojournalism. In 1954, Capa died during an assignment in the Indochina War in Vietnam after stepping on a landmine.

Susan Sontag: War Photography Between Documentation and Aestheticization

In an excerpt from her book Regarding the Pain of Others, American writer and critic Susan Sontag (1933-2004) examines the portrayal of war violence in the media, as well as photography’s unique ability to capture and preserve the moment of death. One section of the book examines war photography such as Robert Capa’s The Falling Soldier.

Sontag focuses in particular on the question of how photographs shape our understanding of suffering and our relationship to it. In doing so, she discusses the selective visibility of victims. These are often depicted in a more exposed manner, especially when the people portrayed are simultaneously subjected to “exoticization” through Western perspectives. She therefore describes war photographs not merely as documents, but also as aestheticized representations that can evoke emotion and influence perception. Particularly unsparing depictions of war and disaster often show people who appear foreign to the viewer and with whom there is little personal connection. Conversely, Sontag criticizes the intimacy that war photography can create. Crossing the boundaries of what is bearable can, on the one hand, lead to overwhelming stress, but on the other hand, also to desensitization: “We see the list of the fallen in the morning paper over breakfast and push it out of our minds along with our coffee”. (The passages quoted from Sontag are taken from the German version of her essay and have been translated independently.)   

In the context of Capa’s photography, Sontag suggests that death is made visible here as a frozen moment. The depiction of the potential transition from life to death raises the question of a possible aestheticization of dying. This, in turn, raises the broader question of the extent to which dying in war becomes aesthetically perceptible or consumable through photographic images. A form of iconization can also be discerned in the movement and drama of the image. From a journalistic perspective, no clear conclusion regarding the interpretation of Capa’s photograph can be drawn from this, but rather a tension between different interpretations. According to Sontag, The Falling Soldier thus oscillates between documentation, possible staging, and iconic condensation. Whether she understands the photograph as a staged scene or as an actual snapshot remains unclear: “if we are to believe what is claimed about the image…”

„The camera and its ability to capture the precise moment when death occurs has always been an object of popular fascination.“

Max Pinckers, a photographer from Brussels, is known for challenging the conventions of documentary photography through its staging, theatricality, and cinematic elements. According to his website, Pinckers’ understanding of photography lies not only in the representation of external reality but also in opening up different perspectives on truth. His dissertation, Speculative Documentary Photography, includes a chapter titled “The Falling Soldier: The Staged Depiction of a Militiaman’s Death?”, which addresses the controversy surrounding Robert Capa’s most famous image. Pinckers introduces the chapter with a quote from Susan Sontag’s Looking at War (2002): “Everyone is a literalist when it comes to photographs.” The chapter addresses the debate surrounding Robert Capa and, in particular, the photograph The Falling Soldier.

In his analysis, Pinckers also refers to this photograph as a globally significant symbol of the struggle against fascism. His detailed examination of Capa’s career encompasses various arguments. He points to Capa’s statement in an interview that, at the moment the photograph was taken, he was holding the camera in the trench and raising it above his head-an unusual account of the creation of photographic images that can be interpreted as an attempt to distance himself from responsibility and authenticity.  

His research also reveals that there are two versions of Capa’s The Falling Soldier, which first appeared in the French newspaper Vu in 1936. A lesser-known photograph, also published in Vu, shows a different soldier falling at exactly the same spot. However, a lifeless body is not clearly visible in either photo.

In July 1937, The Falling Soldier was published in the American magazine LIFE, though with a different page layout and aspect ratio than in Vu. This led to speculation that the image was not taken with Capa’s 35mm camera (Leica or Contax), but possibly with Gerda Taro’s camera. Many of her works were attributed to Capa, as they were easier to market under his brand name. The controversy surrounding the photo’s authenticity extended to forensic replicas and reconstructions to verify whether the soldier’s posture actually corresponds to that of a dying man. The image titles were also changed multiple times, which, according to Pinckers, illustrates the fundamental nature of such press photographs: their meaning can be varied and reinterpreted through titles and captions.

In 2009, historian José Manuel Susperregui was able to demonstrate, through landscape analysis, that The Falling Soldier was not taken in Córdoba, as had long been assumed, but near Espejo-far from the front lines at the time. Since there was no fighting in that area at the time the photograph was taken, there is strong evidence to suggest that the scene was staged. Although the soldier Federico Borrell García is considered to have actually fallen in battle, it was not at the moment captured in Capa’s photograph. However, this interpretation remains controversial. Pinckers also points out that Robert Capa already had experience with staged war scenes. A year after The Falling Soldier, he participated in reenactments of Republican attacks for the newsreel The March of Time. At the time, such staging was not considered problematic in documentary filmmaking; rather, it was sometimes expected and understood as a creative device. According to Stuart Franklin, Capa staged an entire attack scene in Spain in 1937; according to the diaries of those involved, Capa is even said to have remarked: “an actual attack wouldn’t look as real as this.”

At the same time, Pinckers’ work reveals that while Capa photographed staged battle scenes, he also emphasized that “truth” yields the best image:

“No tricks are necessary to take pictures in Spain. You don’t have to pose your camera. The pictures are there, and you just take them. The truth is the best picture, the best propaganda.”

Pinckers arrives at a conclusion that he himself describes as “speculative”:

“I like to believe that Capa was confronted with the speculative, self-fulfilling prophecy of his own photographs when he created an image that foretold the death of the soldier he had playfully collaborated with”.

He goes on to explain that the myth surrounding The Falling Soldier can also be explained by the fact that Capa was confronted with such a “speculative, self-fulfilling prophecy” in his work by creating an image that foreshadowed the soldier’s death, with whom he may have previously interacted in a playful manner. This confrontation created a dilemma: between death as reality and preserving the significance of the photograph. A later admission of a possible staging could have jeopardized both the myth and the fame of the image.

“I think Capa had good intentions as an ambitious young war photographer, with sympathy for the fight against Fascism, and was perhaps a victim of his own success.”

Pinckers ultimately asks whether a scientific refutation of an iconic photograph can actually alter its significance, or whether the importance of authenticity ultimately takes a back seat to the impact of the narrative.

“Do we desire the better story, even when facts disprove them?”

Institutional Perspectives on Robert Capa’s Photographic Legacy

During a personal exchange with the Robert Capa Contemporary Photography Center in Budapest, critical questions regarding the role of and approach to Robert Capa’s photographic legacy were also raised. The contact person was Orsolya Kőrösi, Executive Director and Founding Director of the Capa Center. The museum leadership’s responses come across less as personal statements and more as the precisely formulated position of an internationally active cultural institution. Critical inquiries regarding the authenticity of Capa’s photographs are not answered directly, but rather transformed into fundamental reflections on truth, the culture of remembrance, and the power of visual representation.

When asked about the Capa Center’s current role within the Hungarian cultural landscape, the management describes the institution as a space that bridges the roles of archive, museum, and contemporary exhibition space. The Center sees itself not only as a custodian of the photographic legacy of Robert Capa and André Kertész, but also as a platform for contemporary photography and visual culture.Through exhibitions, educational programs, and international collaborations, the center aims to connect photography with current social and political issues. The center’s international network is particularly important in this regard. The Capa Center works closely with institutions such as the International Center of Photography in New York, Magnum Photos, as well as European museums and universities. As a result, the center sees itself not only as part of the Hungarian cultural scene, but also as a key player in a broader international cultural exchange.

In terms of its audience, there is a special focus on young people. This objective is explicitly emphasized by the management:

“Young people are particularly important. Today’s generation grows up surrounded by images. They photograph constantly, share constantly, consume visual content constantly. Yet understanding images is not the same as producing them. That distinction shapes much of what we do.”

When selecting exhibitions, it is not only artistic quality that matters, but also social relevance. The Center aims to foster visual literacy and encourage visitors to question who produced an image, what interests lie behind it, and what is being revealed or concealed. Especially in the age of social media, algorithmic visual worlds, and artificial intelligence, these questions are more pressing than ever. Photography is therefore understood not only as an aesthetic medium, but also as a political instrument that shapes public perception and memory.

“A good exhibition should not provide all the answers. It should leave visitors with questions they did not have before they arrived. Photography has always been connected to politics, memory and power - and we believe exhibitions should help audiences engage with those dimensions rather than avoid them.”

When asked whether the canonization of a figure like Robert Capa might crowd out more critical or lesser-known voices, the Center acknowledged that this risk certainly exists. Famous figures inevitably receive more attention than other equally relevant photographers. For this reason, cultural institutions bear the responsibility of continually expanding the photographic canon and bringing alternative perspectives to light. According to Kőrösi, in addition to exhibitions on Capa, the museum regularly presents contemporary perspectives, overlooked historical photographers, and, accordingly, works by female photographers. Criticism of Capa is not viewed as a threat, but rather as an expression of his cultural relevance. It is precisely contradictory and controversial figures who are particularly interesting. Capa thus does not appear as an unassailable hero, but as a complex personality.

“As for Robert Capa himself, I do not think criticism diminishes his importance. Quite the opposite. The most interesting cultural figures are rarely simple - they are complex, contradictory, sometimes controversial. Capa belongs firmly in that category, and we see critical discussion as an opportunity rather than a problem.”

Regarding the controversy surrounding The Falling Soldier, the Center stated that it did not wish to avoid the debate but rather to engage in it openly. The discussion about authenticity continues to raise fundamental questions about truth and staging in photography. Furthermore, “Robert Capa” was, from the very beginning, a deliberately constructed identity, developed by Endre Friedmann and Gerda Taro in Paris. At the same time, however, the Center emphasized that behind the myth lies a real biography: a Jewish boy from Budapest, shaped by the humor, adaptability, and energy of that city. These qualities remained evident throughout his entire career. While the myth exists, so too does the extraordinary body of photographic work behind it.

“It is also worth remembering that “Robert Capa” was, from the beginning, partly a constructed identity. The name itself was created by Endre Friedmann and Gerda Taro in Paris in the 1930s as a deliberate professional strategy. In that sense, Capa anticipated many aspects of modern media culture, where image-making and self-fashioning are often inseparable.”

When asked whether Capa is being used today to construct a national identity in Hungary, the Center replied that Capa does not easily fit into traditional national narratives.

“Capa occupies an unusual place in Hungarian cultural memory. He was born in Budapest, yet his life was fundamentally international - Jewish, emigrant, global citizen, working across Europe, North Africa, the Middle East and Asia. His story speaks as much about exile, migration and twentieth-century history as it does about Hungary. For that reason, I do not think he fits comfortably into traditional national narratives.

As curators, we carry a real ethical responsibility when presenting images of suffering or conflict. Such photographs should never become spectacles. Context, interpretation and human dignity are not optional extras - they are essential. Visitors should be encouraged not simply to consume dramatic images, but to reflect on the lives behind them.”

In conclusion, the Center stated that Capa’s legacy could only be kept alive through critical reinterpretation. To this day, his photographs continue to raise questions about journalistic proximity, responsibility, truth, and the power of images.

“For us, Robert Capa is not simply a historical figure to be commemorated. He remains a starting point for conversations about photography, ethics and the relationship between images and reality.”

Sources: Susan Sontag: “Regarding the Pain of Others (Auszug)”, Dissertation of Max Pinckers “Speculative Documentary Photography”, capacenter.hu,  Wikipedia, International Center of Photography, maxpinckers.be

Photos: Anna Katharina Breitling, Capa Center (Copyright by Orsolya Kőrösi)

Budapest. The Terror Háza Múzeum (“House of Terror”) describes its cultural significance on its website in the words of museum director Mária Schmidt: “Hungarians have long memories - for both the good and the bad. They are forever grateful for the good, and carve the bad into their collective memory, so as to never allow it to happen again.”

Schmidt is considered a close confidante and advisor to Viktor Orbán. Her political stance is evident, among other things, in her statement regarding the reevaluation of Miklós Horthy. As the “Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung” reported in 2014, Schmidt argued that Horthy should not be judged “solely on the basis of his responsibility for the Holocaust”; he should “not be ‘one-sidedly labeled with negative adjectives’.”

According to Magdalena Marsovszky, the glorification of the Horthy era and references to the period of dualism (Austria-Hungary) are integral parts of the government’s ideology under Viktor Orbán. At the local level, politicians close to Fidesz have repeatedly initiated or supported the erection of Horthy monuments.

The controversy surrounding the House of Terror has now even reached travel guides. For instance, the travel platform Ulysses Travel describes the museum as a rather gloomy place that sensitive visitors would be better off avoiding. This travel recommendation is thus more reminiscent of an advertisement for a haunted house than a recommendation for a national history museum.

Against the backdrop of existing criticism, this article aims to examine the political staging of the past at the “House of Terror” in Budapest. For background information, we drew on Magdalena Marsovszky’s article “The Martyrs Are the Magyars.” Additional insights are based on a personal exchange with the author, in which she elaborated on and clarified her positions.

“The Martyrs Are the Magyars” - An Analysis by Magdalena Marsovszky

Magdalena Marsovszky, born in Hungary, holds a Ph.D. in social and cultural studies, is an art historian, and a freelance writer. She conducts research on ethnic esotericism, antisemitism, and antiziganism at the “Right-Wing Populism” Research Center at the University of Cologne. She contributed her scholarly expertise to this article. In her piece “The Martyrs Are the Magyars,” Marsovszky analyzes the role of the House of Terror in Hungarian memory culture. She describes how the museum’s concept is shaped by a “national perspective” that interprets history ethnically and portrays Hungary as a collective victim. What Marsovszky calls the “ethnic closure of society” describes the process by which Hungary “ethnicizes” itself in its culture of remembrance-that is, defines itself through perceived threats to the national community, such as communism, liberalism, or modernization.

At the center lies a “national victim myth” that deflects historical responsibility and projects guilt onto others. This reversal of perpetrator and victim roles is a pattern well known in Antisemitism research. The Holocaust and Hungary’s shared responsibility are thereby relativized. Antisemitic interpretive patterns also belong to this narrative.  Right-wing and nationalist actors portray themselves as liberators from forces that are antisemitically coded as “Jewish”-for example, in “anti-communist Antisemitism” or in “anti-liberal Antisemitism,” which depicts Western democracy and liberalism as expressions of an alleged Jewish influence. Marsovszky views the museum’s very conception as evidence of this interpretation of history. In her assessment, the museum’s antisemitic elements are found primarily in the “insinuations”-that is, in indirect hints and omissions.

Equating Dictatorships and Downplaying the Holocaust at the House of Terror

When asked whether the House of Terror deliberately equates Nazism and communism, Marsovszky rejects a purely instrumental interpretation. From a social science perspective, she argues that the issue is less about deliberate manipulation and more about deeply ingrained cultural and social-psychological patterns.

Nevertheless, the museum presents both systems-the Arrow Cross regime and communism-in parallel and portrays Hungary as a victim of both regimes. Even at the entrance, the symbols of the two dictatorships are juxtaposed as mirror images.

At the same time, the exhibition shifts historical proportions: the Nazi period is said to begin only with the German invasion on March 19, 1944, thereby largely obscuring the Horthy era and its antisemitic legislation.

“Now, however, the exhibition itself dates the ‘fascist system of injustice’ only from the invasion of German troops into Hungary-March 19, 1944-while the two decades prior under Nikolaus von Horthy (1920-1944), during which ethno-nationalist, Antisemitic, and revisionist policies-including the very first ‘Jewish laws’ in Europe (1920)-paved the way for the final and most destructive chapter of the Holocaust, the murder of nearly half a million Hungarian Jews, and the reign of terror by the Arrow Cross Party, are not even mentioned.”

In contrast, the “socialist system of injustice” occupies significantly more space. The years 1945 to 1989 are portrayed as a continuous dictatorship, even though, according to Marsovszky, repression in late state socialism “was significantly relaxed.”

This shift is also evident in the spatial layout: two rooms are devoted to National Socialism, while 21 rooms cover the communist era.

“Thus, the House of Terror essentially mutates into the ‘House of Communist Terror.’”

In addition to this relativization of the Holocaust, Marsovszky refers to earlier statements by museum director Mária Schmidt. As early as 1999, Schmidt took a relativizing stance; Marsovszky quotes from a lecture by Schmidt that she translated.

“World War II was not about Judaism or genocide. As much as it pains us to say it: The Holocaust-the extermination or salvation of the Jewish people-was a secondary, so to speak, marginal consideration that was not the war aim of any of the opposing sides. /…/ It must also be noted that the Allies did not declare war on Nazi Germany under any circumstances to prevent the planned genocidal policy against the Jews. They had neither the intention of taking in the displaced persons nor of protecting them. Therefore, nothing extraordinary-in other words, unique-happened to them. In our century /…/ a whole series of mass murders and genocides has taken place, though these were consciously perceived by the outside world, with or without sympathy. Likewise, the world-at least those interested or those affected-knew what had been happening since the Bolshevik Revolution in socialist Russia, Soviet Russia, or the Soviet Union, which promised a New World. In the interest of consolidating their rule, the communist regimes elevated mass murder to a genuine method of governance.”

The text is taken from a lecture delivered at the Eckhardt Academy in Budapest on November 13, 1999, and was later published in the daily newspaper Magyar Hírlap under the title “Holokausztok a huszadik században” (“Holocausts in the 20th Century”).

The “House of Terror” in the Context of Orbán’s “Illiberal Democracy”

Marsovszky situates the House of Terror within the political context of Viktor Orbán’s “illiberal democracy.” The political development, which was already apparent during Orbán’s first term in office (1998-2002) and was openly referred to as “illiberal democracy” after his return to power in 2010, is also reflected in the museum’s conception. According to Marsovszky, the museum served not only as a site of historical representation but also as a meeting place and platform for opposition activities aligned with Fidesz. Following the electoral defeat in 2002, Fidesz, KDNP, and later the far-right Jobbik established a national and “ethnic” “völkisch” (racial-national) hegemony through the media, civic networks, and cultural institutions. The House of Terror played an important role in this by offering opposition forces space for events and political campaigns.

According to Marsovszky, the political situation at the time resulted in the following:

“This led-especially given the deficiencies in democracy, the reversal of perpetrator and victim roles, and the failure to properly recognize the warning signs of growing authoritarian tendencies-to such an infiltration of society that the Fidesz-KDNP coalition won the 2010 parliamentary elections with a two-thirds majority.”

Even after Orbán’s election victory in 2010, the museum remained, in their view, a central component of the political restructuring. The foundation associated with the museum has developed into an important think tank for the government and has invited international representatives of the New Right, including Alain de Benoist (French ideologue of the New Right) and Steve Bannon (former head of the far-right website “Breitbart News Network” and former advisor to Donald Trump).

“From the very beginning, the Terror House Museum has engaged in victim-perpetrator reversal, distorts history, and its work is illiberal and anti-democratic.”

How the museum shapes historical consciousness in Hungary

“Denial of guilt and victim-perpetrator reversal, along with revisionism, have been among the cornerstones of the Orbán governments”

According to Marsovszky, this form of historical representation has a significant influence on public historical consciousness in Hungary. It is closely linked to the political symbolism of the Orbán governments. As an example, she cites the elevation of the so-called Holy Crown, which was ceremoniously transferred from the Hungarian National Museum to the Hungarian Parliament building in 2000, as well as the emphasis on the “historical constitution” in the Hungarian Fundamental Law that came into force in 2012.

This reinforces a sacralized conception of the nation in which national identity and state sovereignty are based on historical and mythical traditions.

“The ‘historical constitution’ is described in government publications as the foundation of national identity and national sovereignty, so that-to put it in scientific terms-esotericism forms the basis of state ideology.”

Through this cultural expression of nationalist ideology, public historical consciousness is shaped toward an illiberal, strongly nationalistic self-image.

Hope for a More Critical Culture of Remembrance Under Péter Magyar

“The future prime minister, Péter Magyar, delivered an excellent speech on May 4, May 2026 in the Academy’s ballroom, in which he emphasized that the new Tisza government would respect academic freedom based on source- and fact-oriented, empirical, and critical scientific research under all circumstances, promote scientific institutions, and guarantee their freedom. Such a promise is significant because only through it can critical reflection in historical research continue to develop. In the course of such critical reflection, the concept of the Terrorhaus Museum would also need to be rethought. It is to be hoped that this will take place within a societal discourse in which the past is not regarded as a closed chapter, but rather as an ongoing endeavor within the process of democratization.”

Sources: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, Ulysses Travel, Wikipedia.de, Magdalena Marsovszky auf Academia.edu, Website des Hauses des Terrors, Magdalena Marsovszkys Beitrag „Die Märtyrer sind die Magyaren“ in: Die Dynamik der europäischen Rechten, VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften (2011)

Photos: Anna Katharina Breitling - Pester Lloyd / Please include the URL and the author’s name when using this material. Portrait of Magdalena Marsovszky, Copyright by Magdalena Marsovszky

After a period she herself describes as traumatic, Tóth plans to spend more time in Hungary again. In the meantime, she is once more being invited to events in places that previously ignored her  including schools. For over a decade, she says, she had been banned from the Hungarian media-like many other intellectuals. She describes the Hungarian cultural landscape as deeply divided; hate speech has long become part of everyday life. Personal attacks and public defamation, she says, were part of Orbán’s propaganda:

“I was called a traitor countless times - by people who themselves contributed nothing to Hungarian culture. I assume that this poisoning will not remain without consequences. It will take a long time for these wounds to heal.”

*English version published by Sevenstories New York (Oct 25) ; also available in Croation and Italian, with translations to French, Spanish, Greek and Tamil due in 2027.

“A month later, a witch hunt was underway”

Tóth reports targeted defamation campaigns and how she was publicly discredited by government-aligned media. After she suggested in an interview to replace a work by Mór Jókai in the school canon with a work of contemporary literature, she became the target of media campaigns that intruded deeply into her private life due to their aggressiveness. Even before the interview, one of her self-authored textbooks had already been banned by the Orbán government; only a centrally controlled standardized edition of textbooks was permitted. In the media, she was defamed as a “mediocre nobody” who “who wanted to eradicate the great national classic from schools.” Deliberately unflattering photos of Tóth were published, and she was publicly analyzed as “untalented” and “stupid.”

She also experienced defamation in her private life, including threatening emails. A teacher at her daughter’s school shared the defamatory newspaper article via the email distribution list with other parents; some stopped greeting her. The media began referring to Tóth as a “traitor,” television viewers voted on her alleged incompetence, and her appearance was mocked. In her everyday life, she was exposed to verbal attacks from strangers; she describes an incident in which she was spat at on the metro. On social media, insulting and racist comments about her children also appeared. At times, she no longer dared to leave the house.

Defamation as a Political Instrument

Her identity as a divorced woman and adoptive mother of a Roma child made her an “ideal target” for misogynistic and racist narratives. The attacks on her as a woman also functioned as a form of mass mobilisation:

“Those who enjoyed seeing a woman suffer in the digital space willingly joined in. Even strangers wrote insulting, sexually explicit messages and threatened me and my children.”

She assesses these attacks as deliberate intimidation meant to demonstrate what criticism under Viktor Orbán’s system entails. She describes the experience as an existential rupture, the consequences of which continue to this day:

“I remember everything and I forget nothing. I will never forgive the Orbán regime’s propaganda machine for what they did.”

She adds that the otherwise independent magazine HVG also contributed significantly to the events through an anonymous article, without having apologised to this day.

“I am a Hungarian writer, and my readers are in Hungary. I will now spend more time in Budapest. But the wounds will not heal, and I cannot forgive. They have hurt and humiliated me. I have done nothing other than bring a good reputation to this country. For me, what happened was an existential rupture.”

Cultural Policy under and After Orbán

When asked whether she plans to return to Hungary in the future and how she assesses the potential of a new government, Tóth responds with hopes and expectations for the period after a possible change of government.

She describes a clear imbalance between the art academies: one of them received substantial financial support under Orbán, with its members receiving high monthly stipends. The second, independent academy, by contrast, receives no state funding and does not have anything close to comparable resources-although it includes two Nobel Prize winners among its members, Péter Nádas and Péter Esterházy. She sees the future of these academies after the end of Orbán’s rule as uncertain. Due to his influence, the original structures are unlikely to be restorable; moreover, the immediate priority will be the recovery of the depleted economy as well as the rebuilding of industry and agriculture.

The education system is also in a poor state, including a shortage of teachers, whose resolution will take a considerable amount of time. On a positive note, Tóth emphasises that she considers the new Minister of Education in a Péter Magyar government to be competent and open, and that women generally hold important positions: “The immediate deputy of Péter Magyar is also a woman, which sends a strong message in this macho society.”

Misogynistic narratives in political Discourse

Tóth expects that the political climate will change only very slowly. Public discourse, she says, continues to be shaped by problematic practices and narratives. As an example, she refers to the circulation of an image by the popular anti-Orbán influencer Róbert Puzsér, which he published after the victory of the Tisza Party. It shows an explicitly sexual act in which Fidesz, represented as a woman in bed, is humiliated by the Tisza Party, which is depicted as the man.

She situates this example within the political climate she criticises:

“I find this terrifying and disgusting! The subordinate position is weak and, according to a Hungarian, misogynistic way of thinking, a woman. This attitude must absolutely disappear, because otherwise we will never belong to Europe in our thinking. The influencer publicly said it was just an opinion and that the image is very funny - whoever does not like it simply does not understand humour … This must change, otherwise we will fall back exactly to where we are trying to work our way out of!”

She assesses the extent of Orbán’s long-term propaganda as a deep division within the country, as it has “caused significant psychological damage,” the repair of which will take at least a decade

Language, Visibility, and Literary Responsibility

When asked what challenges women writers are particularly confronted with today, Tóth identifies language as the main one: Hungarian women writers depend on translations in order to achieve international relevance. She also sees engagement with broader political phenomena as a priority, rather than focusing exclusively on individual experiences.

She hopes that in contemporary Hungarian literature, gender will increasingly recede into the background and that women writers will be perceived not as “women in literature” but as part of literature as a whole. However, she says, there is still a long way to go before this becomes the norm in Hungary.

“I do not want people to kiss my hand, really not, I want to be treated as an equal human being, and I do not want to be asked anymore who is taking care of my child while I am at a Hungarian book presentation!”

A central position she holds is that experiences should be told in a universally relatable way; authenticity, she argues, contributes significantly to understanding.

“For example, I have been hurt, but I do not want that to be my topic. At the same time, I cannot ignore it. I will continue my work as before. I believe that a writer must keep a distance from current power, in fact from any power. Literature must be independent and maintain critical distance from current events. In my opinion, good literature asks questions, it does not give answers. It tries to ask the most important questions: Where is the world heading? How can we preserve our personal integrity? What role does literature play in this - how can it help?”

Only in this way, she argues, can the polarisation of thought promoted by Orbán, as well as the coarsening and vulgarisation of language, be countered:

“It is a populist method to simplify reality and claim that one has understood it, but the task of thinkers is to grasp the world in all its diversity and subtlety.”

Which contemporary Hungarian women writers should international readers know?

“I would definitely recommend the works of Petra Szőcs. Mónika Mesterházi is an excellent poet and translator of English literature, as is Anna Szabó T. Réka Mán-Várhegyi and Edina Szvoren are also outstanding prose writers.”

“In general, there has been a clear hostility towards intellectuals.”

Viktor Orbán has repeatedly constructed various groups as enemies, including migrants, the EU, and also educated women. Tóth explains that this persistent construction of enemy figures has created a sense of threat, whereby criticism could be labelled as “betrayal.” As a result, despite 54 published books, she is perceived not through her work but through Orbán’s propaganda.

According to Tóth, Orbán has fostered a general hostility towards intellectuals and artists through political measures and the public devaluation of their work. Internationally known philosophers such as the late Ágnes Heller were taken to court; during the global pandemic, part of the polemical treatment of critical voices included telling artists they should “get a job.”

Tóth on the Rejection of Critical Art in Orbán’s Hungary:

“Authoritarian societies do not like real art, only kitsch - especially historical kitsch that produces a false nostalgia for the past. Populist leaders insist that art must be accessible to the general public. In reality, however, they promote nonsense and kitsch, because real art is a danger - it raises questions.”

She stresses that not only publicly defamed individuals suffered under Orbán; the dignity of those drawn into the system - including children - was also severely violated.

The role of literature when democratic norms are under pressure

“We must restore the integrity of thinking and rebuild a culture of debate. We must make the importance of argumentation and reason clear. Viktor Orbán relied on short, simplified messages that appeal to emotions. However, politics based on hatred is not sustainable in the long term. Literature must restore trust in language, because only through words and stories can we understand one another and the complex world around us.”

Sources: Krisztina Tóth, tothkrisztina.com

Pictures: tothkrisztina.com, Copyright by Krisztina Tóth